Page 49 of Bittersweet & Strange

“But you didn’t.”

“No.” Boone’s answer comes immediately, and his expression tightens at the mere thought of him. “Lucien is rude and conceited, and he has this way of talking to me like he already knows what’s best for me, even when I’ve told him otherwise. I’ve known him most of my life, but there’s always been something about him that puts me terribly on edge. Something I can’t explain well enough to justify beyond the fact that whenever he’s near me, some part of me is waiting for something bad to happen. Every time he asked me to marry him, I told him no.”

The tension in my shoulders eases.

Boone continues talking about Lucien, about years spent growing up together and all the times the man apparently found reasons to appear at their house. I hear less and less of the story with every passing sentence. I imagine another man standing beside Boone in that tiny kitchen, bringing him food, asking for his hand and believing that someday Boone might finally agree to belong to him.

My fingers curl slowly against my knee.

I say nothing.

He laughs suddenly, the sound surprising enough that I look up at him.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He shakes his head, but the smile remains. “I was just thinking about my father. One winter, we were nearly out of food, and he decided he was going to catch us a rabbit.”

I wait for him to continue.

“He spent half the morning building this ridiculous trap behind the house because he refused to admit he had no idea what he was doing. He kept telling me his father had taught him how to trap rabbits when he was a boy. When I asked why the trap looked like it would have trouble catching a blind mouse, he told me to stop questioning his expertise.”

I almost smile.

“The next morning, he woke me before sunrise because something had triggered it. He was so excited that he didn’t even bother putting on his boots properly when he ran outside.” Boone’s smile widens as he settles deeper into the chair. “I followed him through the snow, and when we got there, we discovered he’d caught something.”

“A rabbit?”

“Our neighbor’s rooster.”

I stare at him.

Boone laughs again, louder this time. “The thing was furious. Absolutely furious. It was flapping everywhere, my father was trying to get it loose without being attacked, and I was standing several feet away laughing so hard I could barely breathe. Then the rooster got free and chased him halfway around the house.”

“Why didn’t he kill it?”

“It wasn’t ours.”

“You were hungry.”

“That didn’t make it ours.” His laughter quiets, but the smile remains as he looks toward the fire. “He finally escaped by climbing onto the woodshed, and the rooster stood under him for nearly an hour waiting for revenge. I brought my father his coat eventually, but only after making him apologize for telling me not to question his expertise.”

I study his face as he speaks, watching the affection soften every feature.

“What did you eat?”

“Potatoes.” Boone smiles. “We had three left, so my father roasted them over the fire and divided them between us. He gave me two and kept one for himself.”

“You let him?”

“I was twelve, Rhys.”

“He still should have divided them equally.”

“He tried.” Boone’s smile turns wistful. “When he wasn’t looking, I cut one in half and put it on his plate.”

“And he didn’t notice?”

“Oh, he noticed. He put it back on mine, so I waited until he looked away and put it on his again.” A quiet laugh escapes him. “We passed the same half a potato back and forth so many times that eventually neither of us could remember whose plate it belonged on.”