Page 89 of Homebound

Lana leans back in her velvet wingback chair. I don’t think Gerald, the owner, has updated the furniture in this old house-turned-coffee shop since the forties. He still has the same pink floral wallpaper.

“I don’t care what he wants. He doesn’t matter anymore,” I say, though I’m glad we’re talking about Boone and not Nash. I need a light distraction from all that heaviness, and Boone doesn’t dredge up feelings.

Not anymore.

She slaps the counter. “Oh, but you matter to him, babe.”

Gerald shuts off the espresso machine and points a wrinkled finger at Lana, effectively saying, tone it down, young lady with just his eyes. “I can still hear you, Alanna.”

“Sorry, Gerald!” she sing-songs.

Gerald opened Granite Falls Coffee twenty years ago, and he can sum up his entire life in one breath, so by the time you finish ordering coffee, you know he’s got twenty-three grandchildren, a wife who died of old age, and a new “lady friend” who makes the best blueberry scones but won’t share her secret recipe.

We love the Geralds of the world.

“Anyway,” she says. “What’re you gonna do about Boone?”

I sip my murky coffee. “Nothing. I don’t care if Boone wants me back because I don’t want him back. Honestly, I don’t know what I ever saw in him.”

Lana nods. “Good, because if you chose him over Wyatt, I’d actually disown you as a friend.”

“There’s not even a choice,” I say fervently.

Lana leans back, scrutinizing me with an impressed smile. “Look at you defending the blond men of the world. Since when did you turn over that leaf? I didn’t realize you had a thing for golden boys.”

“I don’t. I just have a thing for Wyatt.”

I think the reason I always went for the broody assholes is because I never loved myself enough to fall for someone I deemed worthy. I settled for men who used to treat me like shit because I felt like shit, but maybe all these insecurities were planted in my head by other people, not me. I want to be good enough for a man like Wyatt.

My phone buzzes on the wooden table, and I flip it over to see a text on the screen.

Wyatt

I can’t stop thinking about you

Butterflies roar to life in my stomach, and I press my lips together to hide my smile. I can’t believe this man who I’ve known for over a decade is giving me toe-curling, feet-kicking butterflies like some high school crush.

Another buzz.

Another under-the-table feet kick.

Wyatt

Or last night… on the kitchen counter (;

I’m tempted to snuggle into myself.

Lana slaps a manicured hand to the table, grinning smugly. “Oh, babe. Look at that smile! You totally knocked boots, didn’t you? How was it? I need details.”

Heat climbs up the back of my neck. I used to give her all the details about the guys I slept with, but Wyatt’s different. “It was great,” I mumble into my black coffee.

She groans. “No. I need more than this. Pick a different adjective.”

“Fine,” I say, keeping my voice low. “It was really great, but I don’t want to talk about it because it’s personal.”

“Okay, fine. I get it.” Her red lips spread into a smile. “I’m happy for you, babe, and not jealous at all that you’re having amazing sex.”

I let out an amused snort.