“What's there to say? 'Please don't take this dream job because it'll break my heart'? That's not fair to him.”
“Neither is deciding his answer before he's even made a decision,” Amy counters. “You're protecting yourself by assuming the worst.”
“Because the worst is what happened last time.”
“You were kids last time. He had to leave,” Julie says. “This is different.”
“I know.” I force out something between a laugh and a sob. My brain understands the logic perfectly, but it's my heart that refuses to accept it. “That doesn’t make it hurt any less.”
“You should have an honest conversation about what you both want. Maybe there's a compromise you haven't considered.”
“I doubt there's a compromise between San Francisco and Pelican Point.”
“Maybe not,” Julie says gently. “But you won't know unless you actually talk to him.”
I stare morosely into my wineglass, feeling hollowed out and exhausted.
“He gets back on Friday,” I whisper. “I don't know if I can face him.”
“You can,” Amy says firmly. “Because that's what love is. Showing up even when it's hard. Even when you're scared.”
But I am beyond scared. Terrified, actually.
Because this time, if Logan Maddox breaks my heart, I’m not certain I'll survive it.
Chapter 12
Logan
The hotel room is too quiet.
Staring out at the city lights sprawling toward the bay, I wonder about the twists of fate that brought me here. It's after midnight, and Violet's been asleep for hours in the adjoining room, but sleep eludes me. My mind won't stop replaying the day. It had been the second round of interviews with team executives, a tour of the training and stadium facilities, and a brief meet and greet with select staff.
Everything about the position is perfect, from the state-of-the-art equipment to the extensive support system designed for one thing: winning the World Series. The salary is nothing to sneeze at either. This is the opportunity retired baseball players dream about but rarely achieve.
So why does it feel wrong?
I lean my forehead against the cool glass. I close my eyes and Sunday morning replays in my mind—Heather's hollow smile, the way her arms circled her own waist like she was physically holding herself together.
I'm serious, Logan. This is your career. Your dream. You can't pass this up.
She'd been so certain, so insistent that I go. But I'd seen the truth in the slight tremble of her hands, heard it in the forced brightness of her voice when she'd wished me luck. She was pushing me away to protect herself, building walls before I could hurt her.
My phone sits dark on the nightstand. I've texted and called several times since arriving, casual updates about the interviews, asking how Cookie's doing. When she actually does answer, her responses have been just as casual, just as careful. Surface-level pleasantries that tell me nothing about what she's really feeling.
I miss her. God, I miss her so much it's a physical ache in my chest.
The city sprawls below me, all lights and possibilities. But all I can think about is a small Florida coastal town, a woman surrounded by books and a guarded heart, and the perfect life I've been building there.
Wednesday morning dawns gray and drizzly, the kind of San Francisco fog that blocks out the sun. Violet picks at her hotel breakfast, her usual chatter subdued. She hasn’t been herself since we left Pelican Point.
“You okay, sweetpea?”
She shrugs, pushing eggs around her plate. “I miss Cookie.”
“I know you do. I miss her, too.” And I really did. I missed the light Cookie brought to Violet’s eyes, the comfort she delivered just by being her doggy self.
“I want to go home.” My heart breaks at the lone tear that streaks down her sweet face.
