The mural is finally done. Jake wants me at the council office tomorrow morning to talk about what comes next, which means more eyes on me, more pictures, more attention. And the truth is, the dull, faded pink I’ve been walking around with feels too much like the ghost of someone who doesn’t exist anymore.
So here I am, gloves sticky with dye, bathroom a mess, trying to make myself look like someone I can actually stand to be.
The knock at the front door startles me. I freeze, dye-stained fingers hovering midair, heart thudding. It’s late—later than I realized—and I wasn’t expecting anyone.
Another knock. Firmer this time.
I strip the gloves off, toss them into the trash, and wipe my hands on a towel. I almost debate not answering. But when I crack open the door, I see Boone standing there on the porch, broad-shouldered and rumpled, and all my hesitation evaporates.
“Hey,” I say, smiling automatically. But my smile falters when I see his expression. His jaw is tight, his eyes darker than usual, stormy in a way that doesn’t match his usual calm steadiness. Something’s wrong.
“Can I come in?” he asks. His voice is low, controlled, but I hear the undercurrent.
“Of course.” I step back quickly, gesturing him inside. “Sorry for the mess, I wasn’t—uh—planning on company.”
Boone glances around the small space, but his gaze comes back to me almost immediately. “It’s fine,” he says. “What were you doing?”
I motion toward the bathroom, feeling suddenly self-conscious. “Dyeing my hair. The mural’s finished, and Jake wants to meet tomorrow morning, so I thought… you know. I should probably touch it up so it looks more… fresh. More me.”
His eyes soften just a fraction. “It looks good already. But I get it.” He hesitates, then adds, “How can I help?”
Something twists in my chest at that. He’s clearly upset about something, his whole body telegraphing it, and yet he still asks how he can help me. I study him carefully, noting the tension in his shoulders, the restless way his hand flexes at his side.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“Nothing,” he says too quickly. “Just got into a bit of an argument with Gabe.” He tries to brush it off, but I catch the flicker in his eyes.
My stomach tightens. “Was it… about me?”
The question slips out before I can stop it. I hate how small my voice sounds, how vulnerable. I don’t want to be the reasonwedges get driven between them. Not when they’ve all been nothing but kind to me.
Boone’s expression shifts the second the words leave my mouth. He steps closer, reaching out to touch my arm like he can anchor me. “Hey, no. It’s complicated, but it’s not your fault. I’ll sort it out, I promise.”
I stiffen anyway. “I don’t like being in the middle of it.”
“I know,” he says quickly. His thumb brushes against my skin. “The issue we’re having is separate. Right now, I just want to be here with you.”
The earnestness in his voice loosens something in me, and I exhale slowly. “Okay.”
He glances toward the bathroom. “So… want some help with the hair?”
I laugh, tension breaking a little. “What do you know about hair?”
“Nothing,” he admits, mouth tugging into a grin. “But I can learn.”
“Alright, paramedic,” I tease, trying to sound lighter. “Let’s see how steady those hands really are.”
Somehow, I end up sitting on the edge of the tub while Boone kneels beside me, rinsing out sections of my hair under the faucet. He’s focused, careful, like every strand matters. His large hands are gentle, supporting the weight of my hair so the water runs through it clean.
“You’re better at this than I expected,” I murmur, closing my eyes as warm water cascades down.
He chuckles softly. “Don’t sound so surprised. I’m good at following instructions.”
“Instructions, huh?”
“Yeah,” he says. “I mean, most of my job is following them. Staying calm when other people can’t. Making sure I don’t screw up because if I do, people get hurt. This?” His fingers skim alongmy scalp, sending a shiver down my spine. “This is nothing compared to that.”
When he finishes, he wraps a towel carefully around my head, squeezing the water out gently. Then he pulls me up and onto the couch, tugging me so I’m half in his lap while I towel-dry.
