by Katie Lane
“You mean on the roof? It was just an accident.”
Cheyenne shook her head. “I’m not talking about what happened on the roof. Emma already told me it was an accident. I’m talking about what happened to change the way you act around each other. You and Emma don’t seem to be mad at each other any more.”
He shrugged and forced a smile. “I think Emma’s happy to finally be getting rid of me.”
Cheyenne’s eyes turned sad. “So you really are moving?” When he nodded, her brow crinkled. “But I don’t get it. If she’s happy you’re leaving, why did she cry so hard the other day?”
Boone stared at her. “Emma cried?”
“She didn’t just cry. Like she really cried. I thought she was having like some kind of nervous breakdown or something. One second, she was showing me how to organize the paintbrushes, and the next second, she burst into tears and ran to the bathroom. I thought she would stop after awhile and come out, but she just kept crying. I had to call Miss Gertie.”
So that was why Miss Gertie had shown up. It hadn’t been to check on her grave marker. It was because Emma had lost it. And Emma never lost it. She wasn’t a crier. In fact, the only time he could remember her crying was on prom night.
He set down the paint can and moved closer. “Tell me what she said, Cheyenne. Tell me exactly what she said before she started crying.”
Cheyenne fidgeted. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. Miss Johansen probably didn’t want you to know she was crying because you’re leaving.”
“She said that? She said she was upset because I was leaving?”
“Not in actual words, but she’s acted weird ever since you haven’t been coming to the store. At first, I thought it was because she felt bad for pushing you off the roof. But she doesn’t act guilty as much as sad. She stares off into space a lot like I did after my grandma died. I think it’s because she misses you.”
Boone had never wanted to believe anything more in his life. But years of Emma’s hate had jaded him and he had a hard time believing she actually missed seeing him every day. It was more likely that Cheyenne had just misread Emma’s emotions and the tears had just been tears of relief that Boone would soon be gone from her life.
But what if Cheyenne was right? What if Emma did still have a few feelings left for him?
Before Boone could question Cheyenne more, Emma walked into the barn. There was a smudge of paint on her cheek and a sparkle in her eyes. The thought of those eyes being filled with tears made Boone’s heart ache. At the same time, it brought such hope that his knees felt weak.
“Admit it, Boone Murphy,” she said. “I was right. Canary yellow looks awesome on barns and houses.”
He wasn’t sure about the barn or the house, but the canary yellow paint sure looked good on her. He had never wanted to kiss someone so much in his life. Then he remembered what had happened on the roof. Whatever feelings Emma still had for him needed to be handled gently. If he wanted a chance with her, maybe he should start at the beginning. Maybe they needed to go back to when they had just been two friends who enjoyed each other’s company.
He reached out and tugged one of her braids. “The only thing I’m going to admit is that paybacks are hell, Em.” He winked. “Hell.”
Chapter Fifteen
Emma stepped into the foyer of her parents’ house and couldn’t help feeling sad that soon this house would hold someone else’s memories like it still held hers. Every Christmas, her father set up their artificial tree in front of the big picture window in the living room. And that night, the Murphys would come over for a tree decorating party. The following night, the Murphys would invite them over to decorate their tree. She and Boone always fought over who got to put the stars on top. Until their first kiss. After that, Boone had always handed her the stars. As if she were the keeper of all his stars.
She walked into the kitchen and placed the mail she’d collected from the mailbox on the counter. The same counter where she and Boone had done their homework and put together numerous class projects—including a volcano that had exploded rather than erupted, shooting baking soda and vinegar lava everywhere. Emma smiled at the memory of Boone laughing so hard he’d cried.
And how many dinners had they shared with the Murphys at the dining room table? How many holiday meals and pizza nights?
The family room held even more memories. Watching romantic comedies with her mom and reading with her father and making out on the couch with Boone until their teenage hormones raged. There were so many memories in the house. Some she didn’t want to let go of . . . and some she did.
Leaving the kitchen, she headed down the hallway to her old bedroom.
Unlike DeeDee, who had kept Boone’s room exactly the same, Gina had changed Emma’s room into a spare room for guests as soon as she moved out. But her mom had kept all of her things. They had been boxed neatly, labeled, and put in the closet.
Which was why Emma was there.
Her mother had been after her for weeks to go through the boxes and figure out what she wanted to keep and what she wanted to give away. The first box Emma pulled out was filled with awards and trophies, her Girl Scout sash with all her badges, and high school yearbooks. She couldn’t get rid of anything in the box and moved it to the keeper pile before taking out the next box.
This one was heavy and she knew immediately that it would be filled with books. Not just any books, but all the books Boone had given her over the years. While she had thrown away almost everything else that reminded her of Boone, she couldn’t bring herself to throw away books. She took each book out and opened them up to read the inscriptions. Besides the date, they all said the same thing.
To my bookworm, Em. Love, Boone.
The books ranged from middle school mysteries to high school romances. And since Boone wasn’t much of a reader, she knew a salesclerk had helped him pick them out. But the fact that he knew what gift Emma would love the most had made the books all the more special. Even now, she couldn’t bring herself to get rid of them. She neatly placed the books back in the box and slid the box over to the keeper pile.
The next box held all the frilly dresses her mother had bought her over the years. Emma had never been a frilly dress girl. She dressed professionally at work, but only nice pants and the occasional skirt. She was most comfortable in jeans and sweatshirts. Still, she had exclaimed over the dresses when she got them so as not to hurt her mother’s feelings. Then she promptly hung them in the back of the closet.
She was about to shove the few dresses she’d pulled out back and place the entire box in the giveaway pile when she spotted a flash of jade green mixed in with the pastel colors. She pulled out the rest of the dresses and found an apron at the bottom of the box. It was the apron her father had given her when she graduated from college. Simple Hardware was embroidered in white across the bib with her full name underneath—as if everyone in town didn’t know it.
Her father had been so proud when she’d put it on. Proud that his daughter would be following in his footsteps and taking over the family business. Emma remembered hugging her dad and telling him it was the best gift ever. But if that was true, than why hadn’t she ever worn the apron? Why had she placed it on a hanger at the very back of the closet—with all the frilly dresses she hadn’t wanted?
Probably because, like the dresses, she had never really wanted the hardware store.
As a child, she had loved going there, but only because she got to be with her father. In high school, it was because she got to be with Boone. After Boone broke her heart, she’d continued to work at the store because it was familiar and comforting. When he returned, she wanted the store just to spite him.
Maybe it wasn’t just spite. Maybe she fought for the store because it was all she knew. All she had ever known. As her grandmother used to say, comfort breeds conformity. As she sat there with the apron clutched in her hands, she realized that her life was the definition of conformity. She had never stepped out
of her comfort zone. Never risked anything to live her own life.
The realization made her feel sad and angry—angry at herself for wasting so much time and energy on something she didn’t even want. And yet, she still couldn’t bring herself to put the apron in the giveaway pile. She carefully folded it and placed it in the box with books before she pulled the last box from the closet. This box wasn’t labeled.
When she lifted the lid, Emma’s heart skipped a beat at what she found.
The box was filled with everything she had thrown out after Boone left. All the pictures of her and Boone, his football jersey that she’d stolen from his room and slept in all through high school . . . and her blue sequined prom dress. She thought the sight of all the memories would bring her pain. Instead, she only felt a bittersweet pang of sadness for lost youth and love.
She lifted the jersey and pressed it to her face. After all the years and washes, it still smelled like Downy. Or maybe that was just her imagination playing tricks. She carefully folded the jersey and placed it on the floor next to her before she took out the pictures and started going through them. There were so many. Pictures of them as kids—running through the sprinklers, sitting on Santa’s lap, hunting for Easter eggs. Pictures of them as adolescents—riding bikes, dressed as vampires for Halloween, sharing a strawberry shake at the pharmacy soda fountain. And pictures of them as teenagers—first day of high school, swimming at Mesquite Springs, homecoming.
Mixed in with the pictures was a white envelope. Inside, she discovered the ripped up photos of prom night. How her mother had collected all the pieces from the trash was beyond her. But somehow she had. Once Emma had spread them out on the carpet and pieces them together like twelve mini jigsaw puzzles, there was not one piece missing.
When her mother had first given them to her, Emma hadn’t even looked at them. She’d tossed them into her desk drawer and when Boone hadn’t called or come home, she’d ripped them up and thrown them away. But now she took the time to look at each one.
All she remembered from that night was how angry Boone had been. But as she looked at the pictures, she realized he hadn’t been angry at all. He’d been hurting. Tortured was the only way to describe the look in his eyes. As a teenager, she’d been so wrapped up in her own emotions and desires that she hadn’t even considered Boone’s. But now, as an adult, she finally could understand what he’d been going through.
He had gotten accepted into Harvard. It was a huge accomplishment. But it also came with unbelievable pressure. Pressure from his parents to do them proud and from every person in town who had bragged about how smart Boone was and how he was going to show those Easterners a thing or two. To add to that, he had the pressure of a controlling girlfriend who had planned out his entire life before he even got a chance to live it. They would graduate, get married, and run the hardware store while they raised their four kids. Emma had even made a list of possible kids’ names.
What young man wouldn’t lose it and tell her and everyone else to go to hell?
Yes, he’d broken her heart. But hadn’t she broken his too by assuming he’d want the same things she did and not letting him have a say in his own life?
Just like her father had done to her. He’d assumed she loved the hardware store as much as he did. And because she loved him and felt so sad about him losing his parents and brother when he was younger, she’d gone along with his dream. But love shouldn’t come at the cost of your own happiness. If her father knew how she felt, he never would’ve given her the apron or the store. Just like if she had known how Boone felt, she never would have pushed him toward marriage.
She looked down at all the Boone memorabilia. Who was she kidding? She had been a love struck teenager who couldn’t see past the stars in her eyes or hear anything but the wedding bells ringing in her ears.
As if on cue, the doorbell rang, startling her out of her thoughts. Figuring it was the realtor wanting to show the house, she quickly put everything back in the box before heading for the door.
But it wasn’t a realtor standing on her parents’ front porch. It was Boone. He was dressed in a t-shirt, shorts, and flip-flops. She waited for the rioting emotions that usually assailed her whenever Boone was near. But the only thing she felt was a warm feeling in her stomach. The same content feeling she’d felt as a kid when she found Boone standing at the door. She realized that she had finally come to terms with him leaving and forgiven him.
She smiled—not just with her lips, but also with her heart. “Hey, Boone Murphy.”
He answered her smile with one that made her breath hitch. “Hey, Emma Johansen.”
They stood there smiling and looking at one another for a long moment before she asked, “Is there a reason you rang my doorbell?”
His gaze grew soft. “I was wondering if Em could come out and play.”
She crossed her arms and sent him an inquisitive look. “And just what did you want to play?”
“Oh, I don’t know. We could get a double decker chocolate ice cream cone from the pharmacy soda fountain . . . or maybe run through the sprinklers nek-ked.”
Fighting to keep her laughter in, she tapped her chin. “Hmm. That’s a hard choice. But I think I’ll choose the ice cream cone.”
He snapped his fingers. “Damn. I kinda had my heart set on the sprinklers.”
“Maybe later.”
His green eyes twinkled. “Something to look forward to. So you ready?”
“Let me just lock up.” She hurried to the kitchen and grabbed the house key. After she locked up, she headed across the street. She expected to find Boone waiting in his truck parked in the driveway. Instead, he was waiting on the old bicycle he’d had since they were kids.
She shook her head. “Oh, no. I’m not riding on the handlebars.”
“Don’t tell me Emma Johansen is chicken.”
“No, I’m just an adult woman whose butt is not going to fit on those handlebars anymore . . . at least not comfortably.”
“I can fix that.” He pulled off his shirt and folded it over the handlebars. Just like when they were painting the barn, her mouth lost all moisture at the sight of Boone’s tanned muscled chest. “Come on, Em.” His eyes twinkled devilishly. “I dare you.”
Her butt fit . . . barely.
“You’re going to have to lean back,” Boone said as he pedaled down the driveway. “I can’t see a thing.”
She leaned back on his hard, muscled shoulder and felt a little lightheaded. The feeling grew as they gained speed and raced down the hilly street towards town. Suddenly, she was eight again, enjoying a perfect summer afternoon with her best friend. She giggled and the giggle turned into an out and out laugh. Boone pedaled faster and laughed right along with her. It wasn’t until they got to town that she started to worry about how foolish they looked.
“Stop, Boone, and let me off. I can walk the rest of the way.”
“Hang tight, Em. We’re only a few blocks from the pharmacy.”
“I mean it, Boone. Stop. Everyone is going to think we’ve gone crazy.”
He snorted. “In Simple, crazy behavior is normal.”
He was right. Not one person in town seemed to think anything of Boone Murphy riding Emma Johansen on the handlebars of his bicycle. When they passed people on the street, they just waved and smiled.
“Hey, Boone.”
“Hey, Emma.”
“Nice day for a ride, ain’t it?”
When they got to the pharmacy, Boone rode right up on the sidewalk and parked in the same spot he’d parked his bike in so many times before. But her body had been a little more flexible when she was eight. Emma slowly got off the handlebars and rubbed her sore butt while Boone grinned.
“It was a little easier when we were younger, wasn’t it?”
Until then, she hadn’t even thought about his injured ankle. “Your ankle? We should’ve taken your truck.”
He got off the bike and pulled on his t-shirt. “Are you kidding me? I wouldn’t h
ave missed that for the world. Now let’s go get some ice cream before it sells out.”
They each got double deckers and ate them in their favorite booth. As usual, Boone devoured his in seconds while Emma took her time licking hers and looking out the window.
They had a perfect view of the entire street, including the hardware store with the huge silver screw sitting on the roof. The screw had been there ever since the store had first opened and every graduating class from Simple High School had tried to steal it . . . and failed. Boone’s grandfather had it made out of solid cast iron and had to reinforce the roof with steel beams just so it wouldn’t fall through. It was referred to in the family as Grandpa Sims’ Screw Up. And was just one of the many stories about the store that Boone loved to retell over and over again to customers when they came in.
“Are you going to eat that, Em, or let it drip all over your hand?”
At Boone’s words, she realized she’d been daydreaming and the ice cream was dripping down the cone. She took a few more licks before she handed it over to Boone to finish. As he ate, his gaze shifted out the window. She knew he was looking at the hardware store.
“You love it, don’t you?” she said.
He glanced over at her. “You know that chocolate has always been my favorite.”
“No, I mean the store. You’ve always loved it.”
He lowered the cone and his eyes grew serious. “I’ll be okay, Em. It’s not like I can’t start another hardware store in another town.”
“And that’s what you want to do? Work in a hardware store?”
“Yeah.” He continued to eat the ice cream. “I tried out a lot of different jobs while I was in college and the year after I graduated—Harvard graduates don’t have any trouble finding jobs. But not one suited me the way hardware does.” He shrugged. “Call me a macho caveman, but getting a new shipment of drill bits and saw blades in makes my heart go pitty-pat. And I love helping people figure out how to fix things. I guess it’s in my blood. Both of my grandfathers were tool guys. And I am.”