She laughs, the sound dissolving into a soft moan when I find the sensitive spot below her ear. “You're going to be the death of me.”
“God, I hope not. I have plans for us.”
I kiss her again, deep and slow, until we're both breathing hard. I ease back, noting with satisfaction that her lips are the color of crushed berries, and her eyes have gone dark and hazy in a way that makes me want to dive right back in.
“Now that's a proper good morning.”
“Very proper,” she agrees, looking pleasantly dazed.
“Uncle Logan, something smells funny.”
The acrid odor of burning food hits my nose. “Shit!” I spin around to see smoke rising from the pan on the stove. So much for my impressive cooking skills. Heather bursts out laughing as I rush to save breakfast, and the sound fills every corner of the house like sunshine.
Breakfast is slightly burned but nobody seems to care. We’re settled around the kitchen table, Heather, Violet, and I, with Cookie on the floor beneath Violet’s chair. Heather tells Violet about the new books that arrived at the library yesterday. Violet tells Heather about every single stuffed animal at the tea party and their individual personalities. And Cookie steals their toast when they’re not looking.
I just watch, my coffee forgotten, my chest tight with something that feels dangerously close to complete happiness.
“We should probably get going soon,” Heather says reluctantly, glancing at her watch. “I have that planning meeting with Amy.”
“I know. I have a bunch of meetings today, too.” I reach across the table and take her hand. “But before you go, how about Saturday night? After the artisan market wraps up, will you have dinner with me? A real date. Just the two of us.”
Her smile is radiant. “I'd love that.”
“I'll make reservations somewhere special. Wear something nice.”
She frowns. “Now I'm nervous. Where are we going?”
“It's a surprise.” I bring her hand to my lips. “Just trust me?”
“Okay,” she says softly. “I trust you.”
Violet glances between us, her expression thoughtful. “Are you guys gonna kiss again?”
“Violet,” I sputter, but Heather laughs.
“Probably,” Heather tells her honestly. “Is that alright with you?”
Violet juts out her chin, considering, then nods decisively. “It's okay. But only if Cookie can stay the night again.”
I chuckle. “We can make that happen, sweetpea.” I pin Heather with my gaze. “Saturday,” I remind her. “After the market.”
“Saturday,” she confirms. “It's a date.”
It’s only three days away but that feels like an eternity. After several more thorough kisses, I watch from the porch as she and Cookie cross the yard to her house. She turns back once to wave, and I wave back, feeling like a lovesick teenager.
Chapter 9
Heather
Ifloat into the library on a cloud, my lips still tingling from Logan's goodbye kisses. Plural. The man made sure I knew he’d miss me before finally letting me leave, and I'm pretty sure I have a dopey smile plastered across my face.
Amy is already in the conference room, setting up for our meeting. The woman looks like she stepped straight out of a 1990’s library photo, sporting one of her signature colorful sweater vests that celebrates the current season. This one showcases autumn leaves in burnt orange and gold over a crisp white button-down. Her silver hair is styled in its usual neat bob, and her reading glasses dangle from a beaded chain around her neck.
“Good morning, Heather,” she says, her eyes twinkling with barely contained amusement. “You're looking particularlyrefreshedthis morning.” There’s a teasing note in her voice, as if she knows something I don’t.
Cookie settles on a pillow in the corner as I set down my coffee and laptop. I shrug, trying to school my features into something resembling professional neutrality. “Just a good night's sleep, I guess.”
“Mmmm-hmm.” Amy's grin widens. “I bet. I’m sure it has nothing to do with a certain handsome baseball player who happens to live next door?”
