The House Across the Lake(16)

“Nice to meet you, Boone. Thanks for stopping by.”

He pauses a beat. “You’re not going to introduce yourself, Casey Fletcher?”

I’m not surprised he knows who I am. More people than not recognize me, even though sometimes they’re not sure how. “You just did it for me.”

“Sorry,” Boone says. “The Mitchells told me your family owned the house next door. I just didn’t think you’d be here.”

“Neither did I.”

“How long are you staying?”

“That’s up to my mother,” I say.

A sly grin plays across Boone’s lips. “Do you do everything your mother tells you to?”

“Everything except not doing this.” I lift my glass. “How long will you be staying?”

“Another few weeks, I suspect. I’ve been here since August.”

“I didn’t know the Mitchells needed so much work done on their house.”

“Honestly, they don’t,” Boone says. “They’re just doing me a favor after I found myself in a bit of a lurch.”

An intriguing response. It makes me wonder what his deal is. I don’t see a wedding ring—apparently a new obsession of mine—so he’s not married. Not now, at least. I peg him as recently divorced. The wife got the house. He needed a place to live. In step David and Hope Mitchell, a friendly but dull pair of retirees who made their money in pharmaceuticals.

“How do you like life on the lake?”

“It’s quiet,” Boone says after thinking it over for a few seconds. “Don’t get me wrong. I like the quiet. But nothing much seems to happen here.”

Spoken like a man whose spouse wasn’t found dead on the lakeshore fourteen months ago.

“It takes some getting used to,” I say.

“Are you also here by yourself?”

“I am.”

“Don’t you get lonely?”

“Sometimes.”

“Well, if you ever get bored or need some company, you know where to find me.”

I note his tone, pitched somewhere between friendly and flirtatious. Hearing it is surprising, but not unwelcome to someone like me who’s watched way too many Hallmark Channel Christmas movies. This is how they always begin. Jaded big-city professional woman meets rugged local man. Sparks fly. Hearts melt. Both live happily ever after.

The only differences here are that Boone isn’t a local, my heart’s too shattered to melt, and there’s no such thing as happily ever after. There’s only happy for a short period of time before everything falls apart.

Also, Boone is more attractive than the blandly handsome men of the Hallmark Channel. He’s unpolished in the best of ways. The stubble on his chin is a tad unruly and the muscles evident under his clothes are a bit too big. When he follows up his offer of company with a sleepy, sexy grin, I realize that Boone could be trouble.

Or maybe I’m simply looking for trouble. The no-strings kind. Hell, I think I’ve earned it. I’ve been intimate with only one man since Len’s death, a bearded stagehand named Morris who worked on Shred of Doubt. We were postshow drinking buddies for a time, until suddenly we were more. It wasn’t romance. Neither of us was interested in each other that way. He was, quite simply, yet another means to chase away the darkness. I was the same thing for him. I haven’t heard from Morris since I got fired. I doubt I ever will.

Now here’s Boone Conrad—quite an upgrade from Morris and his dad bod.

I gesture to the pair of rocking chairs behind me. “You’re welcome to join me for a drink right now.”

“I’d love to,” Boone says. “Unfortunately, I don’t think my sponsor would be too happy about that.”

“Oh.” My heart sinks past my spleen. “You’re—”

Boone interrupts me with a solemn nod. “Yeah.”

“How long have you been sober?”

“A year.”

“Good for you,” I manage. I feel like a horrible person for asking an alcoholic if he’d like a drink, even though there’s no way I could have known he had a problem. But Boone definitely knows about mine. I can tell from the way he looks at me with squinty-eyed concern.

“It’s hard,” he says. “Every day is a challenge. But I’m living proof it’s possible to go through life without a drink in your hand.”

I tighten my grip around the bourbon glass. “Not my life.”

After that, there’s not a whole lot else to say. Boone gives me his little twelve-step pitch, which I suspect is the real reason he stopped by. I express my distinct lack of interest. Now there’s nothing left to do but go our separate ways.

“I guess I should get going then.” Boone offers a little wave and turns back to the woods. Before stepping into them, he gives me an over-the-shoulder glance and adds, “My offer still stands, by the way. If you’re ever feeling lonely, stop on by. There might not be any liquor in the house, but I can make a mean hot chocolate and the place is well stocked with board games. I need to warn you, though, I show no mercy at Monopoly.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I say, meaning thanks but no thanks. Despite Boone’s looks, that doesn’t sound like a good time. I suck at Monopoly, and I prefer my drinks stronger than Swiss Miss.