“There ya go,” Leo booms. “Piece of cake.”
“Thank you,” I say, slightly befuddled about how quickly he was able to unlock the door. “That’s, uh, a handy little trick you have there.”
He slips one thumb through a strap on his bib overalls. “I could teach ya someday, if ya want.”
Boone laughs. “You better get back to Coy’s, or you’ll have lots of time on your hands quick.”
Leo laughs right along with him. “I ain’t scared of him. Besides, we’re done for the night. Only have another day or two out there, and the recording studio will be done.”
Recording studio? I look at Boone curiously, but he ignores me.
“Coy will be happy about that. He’s getting antsy to start on a new album,” Boone tells Leo. “And, to be honest, I’m tired of his agent up my ass all the time. I’ll be glad to get back to normal.”
Leo nods. “All right. If that’s all, I’m heading home to get some dinner. Wife made some pork chops and scalloped potatoes, and I’m a-starvin’.”
“Of course. Go home and eat. Thank you for coming by,” I say. “What do we owe you?”
Leo pats Boone on the shoulder. “Eh, I’ll add it on my invoice to Coy. He’ll never know the difference.”
“No. Wait. I—” I begin to protest, but Boone cuts me off.
“Charge him double. He can afford it,” Boone tells Leo, making him laugh. “I’ll see ya tomorrow, my man.”
“Later. And it was nice to meet ya, darlin’,” Leo says.
“You too,” I tell him, my voice drifting off in confusion.
I want to argue about the payment. I certainly don’t want to owe Boone’s brother—a man I don’t even know. I don’t want Libby feeling like I inconvenienced her neighbor either. But, by the time I get my bearings, Leo is climbing in his truck, and Boone is waving goodbye.
Shit.
Boone faces me. His smile begins to slip as he takes in my face.
“What?” he asks.
“I’m not going to let your brother pay for this,” I tell him matter-of-factly. “I can’t do that.”
“Sure you can.”
“Sure I can’t.”
His smile falters. “Jaxi, honestly, it’s no big deal. Leo had to go right by here on his way home. Besides, he had fun picking that lock. It probably reminds him of stories we don’t want to know.”
My eyes go wide. “Why?”
“I don’t know,” he deadpans. “Do you feel a kindred criminal spirit with him?”
I smack him on the arm. He grabs it and pretends to be in pain. I, on the other hand, pretend not to notice how solid his biceps are.
“Are you sure?” I ask, gripping my backpack strap again in hopes that my brain will focus on that sensation and not the contact it just made with Boone’s arm. “I don’t want to—”
“I’m sure. Conversation is over.”
The air from Libby’s house filters around us, encouraging us to come inside with its sweet scents. The longer Boone and I face each other, the thicker the silence gets between us.
I want to invite him in. It’s been a very long time since I could talk so easily with someone. While it’s probably just because he and I don’t know each other so nothing that we say matters, it’s still refreshing not to have to choose my words carefully or avoid topics altogether.
Besides, he’s interesting. His brother apparently has a recording studio and he knows a guy like Leo. People usually know one kind of person or the other.
Boone waits patiently for me to say something, and I wonder if he’s waiting on me to invite him inside. Would he come inside if I asked? What would he expect? Anything?
Suddenly, a weight filled with reality seems to drop out of the sky and land on my shoulders.
I blow out a tired, uneven breath. “I would like to pay you for Leo’s time.”
“No. Besides, he wouldn’t take money from you if you begged him.”
My stomach twists.
“Consider it a gift,” he says, trying to convince me to accept the gesture. When I don’t bend, he shifts his weight and tries again. “Consider it a gift to Libby so you don’t tear up her windowsill.”
A grin flickers on my lips. My heart skips a beat at his kindness and his insight. I loathe feeling vulnerable.
“Thank you,” I say, still not sure, but realizing I’m not going to get anywhere with him right now.
“You’re very welcome.”
My heartbeat quickens, and I try not to blush. I step through the threshold before turning around again. Boone is watching me closely as he backs down the steps.
“If you need anything, just come over,” he says. “Crawl through a window if I don’t answer …”
“Asshole.”
He laughs. “I mean it, though.”
I grip the side of the door. “I know you do. Thanks.”
He pauses for a long moment as if he anticipates me saying something else. I should, probably. It feels like I should. But I don’t.