I pull a beer from the fridge and hand it over. “Can I ask what happened?” I nod toward his right shoulder. “I mean, I know it happened in LA. But I don't really watch the news and haven't seen any of the videos.”
Logan winces, and for a moment, I wonder if I messed up. He rubs his shoulder as if it's sore. “It was the eighth inning and my arm was already aching like a bitch,” he starts, his voice almost monotone.
“At that point, there had been no runners on base, and I was looking at a shutout. Then Sanchez hit a line drive through the midfield. I ran to cover first base when that son-of-a-bitch slammed right into me like a freight train.”
I grimace, knowing how that must have hurt. Hell, it makes my own shoulder ache in sympathy.
“Among other bumps and bruises, the collision tore my rotator cuff and two tendons.” He swigs a gulp of beer. “I was lucky enough that the surgeries were successful. But my range of motion was altered and I couldn't throw the way I used to. So after six months or so into my rehab, management retired me.”
“I'm so sorry, Logan.” I sit down across from him. “That had to suck.”
He nods, frowning. “That literally came on the heels of Tracy's accident.”
“It's been a rough year.” I glance toward the living room, where Violet and Cookie are in snuggling on the couch. “For both of you.”
“Yeah.” His eyes roam over my face, taking on a glint. “But I have to say it's getting better by the minute.”
A hot rush moves up my neck and I know I’m blushing. I hate it when I do that because my cheeks get red and blotchy. Plus, there's no way this hunk of a man is flirting with me. He must have a supermodel girlfriend in every town. What could he possibly want with a small-town librarian? Other than a little conversation and maybe a hot dinner?
We're not high school kids anymore, and I'm not helping him pass English class. It's just wishful thinking on my part. So similar to that feeling I'd had when I tutored the town's golden boy. It was hard enough to watch him walk away then. I'm not about to go there again.
I jump up and make myself busy, scooping Cookie's food into her bowl. Snagging a bag of shredded chicken, I call out, “Violet, do you want to help me make Cookie's dinner?”
Violet appears by my side in just seconds, her face eager. Cookie appears next to her, a similar twinkle in her expressive eyes. I hand over the chicken and kibble, directing her on how to mix the ingredients.
“Cookie likes to feel as if she's getting a gourmet meal.” That comment earns me another corgi side-eye. “Okay, that's perfect. Good job, honey. You can set it over there for her. She's ready to eat,” I add as I pull the casserole from the oven and place it on the table. “This is done. Now it just needs to rest for a couple minutes.”
We settle in and I can't help but note how domestic this feels as I dish out servings. This really is my signature dish and the seasonings were on point. But I always wonder how someone else will feel about it. Plus all that cheese…
I know I hit the jackpot when Logan moans and his eyes roll back in his head as he chews slowly. After several moments of savoring his bite, he shoots me a grin that does illegal thingsto my pulse and should probably come with a warning label. “That's just about the best damn thing I think I've ever tasted.”
I nearly wilt in relief, both annoyed and pleased that he likes it. Annoyed that his approval means that much and pleased in a deep guttural way that I can't explain. Warmth blooms in my chest, and I know my cheeks are glowing at the compliment.
“I'm telling you, it's the cheese. Dairy overload for the win.”
“I like it,” Violet chimes in, shoveling in a huge bite that barely fits in her small mouth.
Logan blinks, staring intently at his niece. Then his gaze lifts to mine, and a huge smile stretches across his face. He gives me a dashing wink before he digs back in.
I can't decide what affects me more, that wink or the humming sound coming from Violet. But I know I haven't felt this peaceful or happy in a long time.
“I'm not sure if your marketing people mentioned it, but the town is holding an artisan market at the fairgrounds in a few weeks. They usually schedule them four times a year, and the Christmas market is in November. It always draws the biggest crowd, so we’ll be swamped.” I shrug. “I mean, it would be a great opportunity to get the baseball team in front of the community. I have a booth for the library. If you wanted, I could see if they'd give you a spot, and we could do a promotion together. Our focus is the new children’s library.”
Logan frowns. “The new children's library? What's wrong with the one you have? It was popular today.”
“It is,” I agree. “But we can do so much better than just that small section. I want to create an interactive reading place where children can really learn to love books. I submitted another grant to Sapphire Development, but that may take a while and it’s a longshot. They already donated to outfit the lighthouse for our archives and move the general library to the lightkeeper’scottage. I'm not sure they'll want to invest more. But they've been incredibly generous to all the organizations in the area.”
“So if we partner together,” he inserts, “with you promoting the library and us promoting The Rockets, we'll cover more ground.”
“Exactly! Cross-promotion always works better. And your marketing team is always welcome at the library if you want to do any season ticket drives.”
Logan purses his lips and rubs his square chin. “I like it. I'll talk to them tomorrow.”
“Great.” I lean my elbows on the table. “So what does it look like on the inside? Are The Rockets as chaotic as everyone thinks?”
He frowns. “What do you mean?”
“Well… you know.” I flail a hand in the air. “They've been struggling with attendance for years and finally got that new ball field. Which is amazing, by the way. They had a Bring-Your-Dog night in July, and Cookie and I had a great time. She spent most of the time trying to steal hotdogs from unsuspecting attendees.”
