“Without the ghost loophole, the mayor’s unlikely to bend. If my father stays sober, then maybe. But that means he can’t slip at all. And I don’t know how long he has to stay sober for the mayor to agree. Probably a long time.” I exhale. “Honestly, today I can’t even hit a darn beer can. I’m a lousy shot on top of it all.”
“You’re the best shot in Hunt County, and you damn well know it.” Logan shakes his head. “How can I help?”
I bat my eyelashes at him flirtatiously. “You already did. Last night. And the night before that.”
“Mace.”
I exhale. “I think I just need time to process.”
He nods slowly. “I’ll give you space if that’s what you need. Maybe you should make some time for yourself so you can start writing that novel you’ve always dreamed about.”
Logan always told me he could never be a novelist—he wouldn’t know what to say. He said that he always knows what to paint, though.
“Maybe,” I say without much confidence. “I can at least write in my journal.”
“Hey.” His eyes turn serious. “You deserve to start writing. No matter what your family’s going through.”
“I’ll try,” I say, knowing I don’t have any extra energy to think about a book right now.
As he turns to leave, I call out to him.
“Logan.”
He looks back at me.
“I can’t thank you enough for everything.”
He nods. “Anytime. You know that.”
I twist my hands together as I fumble for the right words. “Our once-a-year thing this year felt extra…”
“Special.”
Yes.
I blink. “And also…”
“Macey.” Logan grabs my hands, forcing me to stop wringing them. “It was perfect. And next year, whenever that happens, will be amazing, too. Right?”
I exhale in relief. “Right. So. I’ll see you tomorrow?”
He tips his cowboy hat. “Count on it.”
