“It does have a lot of nostalgia. What were y’all—sixteen when you first gave him that?”
I nod. “I’m going to give it back to him. As soon as I sign the papers, I’ll give him the ring along with them. You know, so maybe we can let go of the divorce and then...”
“And then you can talk about throwing out your rules!” Ginny says. “Get a divorce and start to date each other—that’s exactly what you two should do!”
I smile at her enthusiasm. “Maybe. I’m nervous he won’t want the same things.”
“I bet he will. You two are always so in sync. He’s probably feeling the exact same way and isn’t sure how to broach it with you.”
“You think so?”
“Definitely.” Ginny pats my arm. “Talk to him, Mace. Don’t live with regrets.”
The door dings, and I feel Logan just like I always do when he’s walked into a room. The air thickens, the temperature rises, and I feel…noticed.
Sure enough…
“Guess who just walked i-ii-in,” Ginny begins in a singsong voice.
I follow her bright eyes toward the front door.
Logan Wild is back in Darcy. And God, I’ve missed him.
Logan takes off his motorcycle helmet, revealing his mess of dark hair and tanned skin. He waves at Ginny and then locks eyes with me as he saunters over to the bar. “Hey, bartender. Long time.”
He needs a haircut, but his whiskey eyes still look at me like lasers, and his worn t-shirt shows off his muscled biceps and solid chest better than anyone’s in town.
“So, were you unbearably lonely out there in the desert? Painfully sunburned?” I ask.
“I’m happy to be back,” he says simply. “The trip took longer than I expected.”
We look at each other in silence for a long beat until Ginny stands up and gives Logan a quick hug. She waves good-bye while she mouths “good luck” to me and leaves.
Logan takes her stool and leans over the bar to kiss my cheek.
I take a closer look at his face. Something’s different. Logan’s eyes are…dull. They’re always so bright and brash, but not today.
“You look different,” I say bluntly.
“I’m fine.” He narrows his eyes at me in warning, but I’ve never been good at keeping my mouth shut.
“What happened out there?” I say.
His expression closes down. “I painted. Like I said I was gonna do.”
“Did something else happen?”
Instead of answering me, he hops on top of the bar, leans back to grab an empty glass, and presses it against the Lone Star tap to fill up, all in one motion.
“Every time,” I say. “It’s not sanitary to put your ass on the counter. And how often do I have to tell you I’m the bartender, not you?”
“I’m helping you out.” Logan reclaims his seat on the stool and takes a drink of his beer. “So how are things here?”
“Fine.”
“What about your novel?”
“No comment on that,” I say.
