The tasks—jarring, labeling, packaging, and shipping—were rudimentary, but he got to work with Evan, listen to Motown as loud as he wanted, and, thanks to Bonnie, he ate like a king. Plus, the hours were flexible, which meant he could fit them in between his caretaker responsibilities at the inn and helping Abby with Max.
Mr. B handed them each a cinnamon roll. The plump mound of buttery goodness drenched in icing obscured most of the plate. Logan dug his fork into the soft, spongy dough, but paused midbite. “What are you guys doing?”
The father-son duo leaned against the opposite counter in the exact same position—right ankle crossed over their left, the plate held precisely at chest level. Side by side, they looked scary similar. As if they might be the same person, only one of them had traveled back in time thirty years. They had identical blond hair, blue-green eyes, and a small bump on the bridge of their nose. But that wasn’t the spooky part. In perfect rhythm, they both scooped out the center of their cinnamon roll.
“We’re eating,” Evan mumbled past the massive bite in his mouth. “What’s it look like?”
“I see that, Captain Obvious. But why’d you go straight for the center?”
“Why not?” Evan shrugged.
“Because it’s weird.”
“I didn’t realize I’d broken proper pastry protocol,” Evan joked. “Maybe I need to brush up on the handbook.”
“I’ll email you a copy,” Logan lobbed back with a good-natured grin.
“You’ll need to add an addendum for Bonnie’s cinnamon rolls,” Mr. B interjected. “She hides a creamy caramel in the middle of each one.”
“Ah, I see. So, you eat the best part first instead of saving it for last like a normal person? That’s definitely a code violation. I’ll have to take it up with the review board.”
“I’ll shoulder the penalties on behalf of my son since he learned the bad habit from me,” Mr. B offered, going along with the gag. “Sins of the father and whatnot.”
“Thanks, Dad.” Evan and his father shared a matching slanted smile.
As he watched the exchange, the hollow void in Logan’s chest expanded—the aching cavern where memories of his father lived. Every nuanced detail remained cemented in his mind. The deep lines around his eyes and mouth. The small scar on his jaw, by his left ear where he’d cut himself shaving. He was only seven when his parents died, but he’d held on to the mental images as tightly as the rip cord on a parachute.
His father should be here now, to give him advice. His mother, too.
That’s probably why he related so well to Max. He knew exactly how it felt to lose the two people closest to you. The two people who were supposed to help guide and protect you in a confusing, chaotic world.
The cinnamon roll forgotten, he stuffed his hand into the front pocket of his jeans, fingering the frayed edges of the tiny velvet bag—the one with his mother’s ring. He still remembered the way she’d spritzed it with Windex whenever she cleaned the windows. The solitaire diamond was simple, but thanks to the Windex bath he’d given it that morning in her honor, it sparkled brighter than anything he’d ever seen.
His phone buzzed, and he yanked his hand from his pocket to check the text.
Two words appeared on screen.
Got it.
Relief rippled through him, followed by exhilaration. But the euphoria didn’t last long.
An unsettling realization rammed into his brain, knocking the grin off his face.
“What happened?” Evan asked, noting his stricken expression. “You didn’t win the bidding war?”
“I did, but—” Logan hesitated to admit the gaping hole in his plan. “I have a minor problem. I know I want to give Abby the engagement ring inside the sugar bowl, but I don’t know how I should give Abby thesugar bowl. Do I wrap it? Tie a bow around it? Should I put sugar in it first? And what kind? The fancy little cubes? Or the regular granular stuff?”
Evan’s eyes widened, and he looked equally stumped.
“Proposals don’t have to be complicated.” Mr. B offered his wise counsel while licking the icing off his fork.
“Not according to my ex.” Logan snorted. Not only had his former fiancée, Kelli Clayton, picked out her own engagement ring, she’d told him exactly how to propose, down to the pair of shoes he should wear. The elaborate display took place at a popular Air Force event and involved a skywriter, fireworks, and a couple thousand of their closest friends.
Mr. B set his empty plate in the sink. “The key is keeping her interests in mind. What’s important to Abby?”
“Max. The inn. Her friends.” Logan rattled off the list without any reservation.
“Great. Then whatever you do, make sure it includes those elements, and you’ll do just fine.”
