I pushed him away, but Logan reached for me and tried to put me behind him. So I stepped on his foot and he jumped, and then I got back in front. Logan grabbed me again and tickled my side until I squealed and he could move me behind him again.
Mr. Wild watched our exchange with glassy eyes until finally he said, “Oh, forget it! Y’all are like two fireflies darting around. Let’s just sit down and eat.” He put his belt back on, and that was it.
Logan took my hand underneath the table. Just for a second.
He walked me home later that night, and asked if I wanted to take a dip in the town lake.
Nobody was around, and I kept on my tank top and underwear. Logan wore his boxers, and we swam until it started raining.
“We’d better go,” I said. “It may thunder.”
“One more swing?” he asked as he climbed onto the rope hanging from the large oak tree.
“Okay.”
After he’d belly flopped in (why do boys do that—it seems so painful), I did my specialty. The flying-fish dive. I let go the rope looking like I was going to do a cannon ball, but at the last second, before I started dropping toward the water, I put my head down with my arms over my head and dove in.
As soon as my head popped up from under water, Logan swam over to me and pressed his mouth to mine.
His lips were wet from the lake, and his breath smelled like mint and chocolate from the ice cream his mama had served for dessert.
I tried to tread water and kiss him back, but I slid under again.
I bobbed back up to the surface and coughed and hacked while Logan patted my back and made sure I was okay.
I can still feel his lips on mine.
I stop reading and touch my fingers to my lips. All these years later, I remember that first time Logan put his mouth on mine—that magic of a young girl’s first kiss.
In an instant, my writer’s block disappears.
I open up my laptop toGhost Love, delete the entire manuscript, and start over at page one.
Chapter Thirteen
When my mother steps inside The Cowherd an hour and a half later, I slam my laptop shut and shove the divorce papers underneath a dishtowel.
Mr. Bingley jumps up onto the bar, and as hard as I try to shoo him off the counter, he won’t budge. Figuring he’s decided to stand guard, I let him stay. My mother heads across the room and waves at me enthusiastically while two strange men trail in behind her.
Mama’s hair peeks out from underneath her “Jane Austen bonnet,” the red hat she always wears for auditions, and she has a bright green scarf tied loosely around her neck.
The two men—one with thick black-rimmed glasses, and a blond-haired younger guy—are wearing cowboy hats. As the one with glasses stops to look around the saloon for a moment, Mama pauses and looks with him.
“This place is hallowed ground,” he says in an awestruck tone as he scans the bar for a second time. “I can’t believe I made it here.”
Mama leads the two men up to the bar and they all take seats on the stools. She leans across the bar to give me a kiss, and I immediately wipe my cheek where I know her bright red lipstick’s left a mark. One reason I use chapstick. The Cowherd is dimly lit, but as usual, Mama keeps her shades on.
I reach for a wine glass and quickly start to fill it with our bar’s house red, Mama’s favorite.
I nod to the men with her. “Can I help y’all?”
“My name’s Skip,” the one with glasses says with an easy smile. “Skipper Scott, to be exact.”
“Macey Henwood. I don’t think I’ve seen you around before.”
“I’m a new reporter for theDarcy Gazette, but I’m also working remotely for theDallas Sun’seditorial department. In fact, I came down here from Dallas because of the legend of Darcy.”
I’m immediately on guard. “You’re a reporter?” I shoot Mama a look, but she just smiles at me innocently. “And you asked specifically to cover this story?” I’m not buying this guy’s “awestruck” side for a second. He’s clearly here to uncover our town’s secrets so he can get a good story.
