Page 71 of Role Play (Off the Books #1)

Boone considers this for a moment, then gestures for me to sit at the kitchen table.

His face is thoughtful, the lines around his mouth deepening as he presses his lips together, formulating his response.

After lowering the heat under the chili, he joins me, the wooden chair creaking slightly beneath his weight.

“Let me tell you about Forrest’s mom,” he begins, folding his hands on the aged wooden surface. His knuckles are enlarged from years of hard work, and a faded scar runs across the back of his left hand. His wedding ring is still there, a plain gold band worn thin by time.

I lean forward, hungry for these pieces of Forrest’s history that he rarely shares. It feels like a treasure, Boone entrusting me with his past, with the story that shaped his son.

“Marnie was a firecracker. Beautiful, wild, full of big dreams.” His eyes take on a faraway look, and for a moment, I can see the young man he once was, captivated by a woman who burned too bright to stay. “I fell for her hard and fast.”

The kitchen seems to recede as he speaks, his deep voice painting pictures of a younger Boone and the woman who captured his heart—dark-haired Marnie with her restless spirit and city dreams that couldn’t be contained by the vast Wyoming horizon.

“Problem was, she got cabin fever something fierce.” He runs a thumb over the scuffed edge of the table, tracing a pattern only he can see.

“Life on a ranch wasn’t enough for her. She wanted to travel, explore, live more…

extravagantly than I could provide.” His eyes meet mine briefly, then drift back to the window, where the landscape stretches endlessly beyond.

“So she left. When Forrest was just nine.”

“That’s awful,” I say softly, imagining a small Forrest watching his mother walk away.

“Would’ve been easier if she’d stayed gone,” Boone continues, a muscle working in his jaw.

He takes off his hat, setting it on the table, and runs a hand through his silver hair—another gesture so reminiscent of Forrest that my heart twists.

“But she’d keep popping back in when things fell apart for her elsewhere.

She’d play house for a few months, get Forrest’s hopes up, then disappear again when something more exciting came along. ”

My chest aches thinking of a young Forrest, repeatedly abandoned by the person who should have been his constant. I want to reach across time and hold that boy, tell him it wasn’t his fault, that he deserved better.

“This went on until he was about sixteen,” Boone says, his voice roughening with the memory.

He clears his throat, blinking rapidly, and I pretend not to notice the sheen in his eyes.

“As a boy, I told him that was his mama, like it or not, and he’d respect her while he was under my roof.

But when he was sixteen, that’s when he finally told her he didn’t care to see her anymore.

He made that choice as a man, and I respected it. ”

He picks up his hat, turning it in his hands, examining the frayed edge of the brim as if it holds the answers to questions he’s spent decades asking himself. The gold of his ring catches the glint of the sunlight through the window.

“You’re divorced but you still wear your ring?” I ask, then immediately choke on my words. “I’m so sorry, Boone. That’s overstepping, and not my business. Please excuse me.”

He smiles at me. “You’re full of manners, aren’t you, city girl?”

“Careful there. ‘City girl’ is starting to sound like a compliment.” I wink at him.

“It is,” he assures me. “And you didn’t overstep. Marnie and I are still married on paper. That’s why I wear my ring. But in every other sense…”

He doesn’t need to explain. I can fill in the blanks. Marnie probably had a dozen other relationships, while for Boone, it seems he found solace in work.

The weight of this revelation settles upon me. Now Forrest makes so much more sense than ever before. It always seemed odd how despite everything, he was still so supportive of Hannah having custody. He wanted Dakota to have what he didn’t—a relationship with her mom.

“The best way to be there for Dakota,” Boone says, meeting my eyes directly, his gaze steady and clear, “is to just be there. The way Marnie wasn’t.” He echoes my internal sentiments as if he can read me like a book.

I nod, understanding blooming like a sudden light.

This is why Forrest finally made his big change.

Hannah committed the ultimate sin in his eyes by moving to Tokyo with her boyfriend without Dakota.

Her arrogant, entitled personality was tolerable, but when she chose to abandon her family, she became another Marnie—the one thing he couldn’t forgive.

“I can do that,” I say firmly, determined suddenly and completely. “Be there, I mean.”

Boone studies me for a long moment, his eyes searching mine as if gauging the weight of my promise. What he sees must satisfy him, because he nods, a small smile softening the hard planes of his face. “I know you can.”

He rises, setting his hat back on his head with a practiced motion, and returns to the stove. “Now come on. Let’s get the cornbread started. We’ve got a hungry bunny hunter to feed.”

“Yes, sir,” I say, pushing my chair back and rising to my feet.

“Tell me about your books,” he says, surprising me. “Forrest mentioned you write romance books.”

I blink, trying to picture Forrest discussing my writing with his taciturn father. “I do.”

“Never read much romance myself,” Boone admits, his cheeks coloring slightly. “But I reckon yours are good.” He gathers the cornbread ingredients, which in the country is apparently not just a box of Jiffy. “What’s your latest one about?”

It seems too overwhelming to explain, really. So I answer as simply as I can in true Boone fashion. “My parents. They had a strained relationship as I was growing up. They got divorced when I was a teenager. But ten years later, they’re dating again.”

Boone lets out a low hum. “Well, how about that. You think they’re going to last this time?”

I smile to myself, warmth filling my cheeks and my heart. “Yeah, I think so.”

Dakota bursts through the door at that moment, face flushed with cold and excitement, clutching something in her small hands. “Look, look, look! A special rock! It’s got sparkles!”

Boone immediately crouches to her level, hat tipped back, face alight with genuine interest. “Well now, let’s have a look, Pumpkin.”

As Dakota displays her find, chattering about where she discovered it and all its magical properties, I stir the chili and watch this unlikely pair—the reticent cowboy and the tiny, chatty city girl—heads bent together over an ordinary quartz pebble as if examining the Crown Jewels.

All I can think as I watch them together is that this place is full of all the things I put in my stories, but have never experienced for myself. Love, family, warmth, and security.

And maybe it’s time for me to start living.

The barn door grinds as I push it open, balancing a large picnic basket against my hip.

The interior is dimly lit, with dust motes dancing in the slanted beams of late-afternoon sunlight that filter through high windows.

The smell of hay and old wood wraps around me like a blanket, earthy and comforting in its unfamiliarity.

“Forrest?” I call, stepping carefully over the uneven floorboards. “You in here?”

“Back here,” his voice echoes from the far end.

I follow the sound, navigating past stacked hay bales and abandoned farm equipment. A rusty tractor part. Coils of wire. A saddle stand missing one leg, propped against the wall like a wounded soldier. Each piece a chapter in the story of this land.

I find him in what must have once been a stall, surrounded by feed bags and various tools. He’s changed into what I can only describe as full-on cowboy mode—faded jeans, scuffed work boots, and a buffalo-plaid shirt hanging open over a white tee that’s smudged with the dirt of a day’s honest labor.

My heart does a ridiculous flutter. City Forrest is undeniably sexy in his tailored shirts and designer jeans, but Country Forrest? With his tousled hair and that casual confidence that comes from being in his element?

I might need to sit down… And cross my legs.

“You missed dinner,” I say while shamelessly gawking.

He glances at his watch, genuine surprise crossing his features. “Shit, really? I lost track of time.”

“You’ve been at it since breakfast,” I point out. It’s not that late, actually. It’s just past five o’clock. I’ve quickly learned that out here, dinner happens when the sun’s still high. Very different from New York, where “dinner” typically coincides with sane people’s bedtime.

“Sorry I disappeared on you all day,” he says with an exhausted sigh.

“Your dad explained you were trying to compress three months’ worth of ranch work into one weekend.” I lift the picnic basket. “I brought leftovers. Here’s your ‘wimpy chili,’ not a hint of spice in sight.”

Forrest laughs, the sound echoing in the cavernous space. “Keep teasing me, Sora. See what happens.”

I pump my eyebrows at him. “I’m feeling daring, wimpy boy. Do your worst.”

He smirks. “Three dates. Remember?”

Damn his resolve.

“Your dad took Dakota into town to buy her cowgirl boots,” I say, setting the basket down on a relatively clean hay bale.

“I thought I heard the truck.” Forrest’s smile falters. “He doesn’t need to spend money on that. They’re unnecessary.”

“He wanted to,” I say gently. “And he agreed to watch her and put her to bed tonight so you could show me around town. Maybe go out?”

His expression softens, and he wipes his hands on a rag tucked into his back pocket. “That was thoughtful of him.”

I kneel to unpack our makeshift picnic. “We had a nice talk while making chili. He told me some things about your mom.”

Forrest stills, his posture tensing slightly. “Did he now?”