“Logan, will you drive to Vegas with us?”
He’d just gotten out of the shower, and all he was wearing was a towel around his waist. I tried to keep my eyes trained on his face, but I couldn’t help peeking at his bare chest and his white towel and how it didn’t leave a lot to the imagination.
Logan gave me an amused smile and made no effort to put on a t-shirt or turn away.
“What will we do in Vegas?” He reached out and touched his hand to my neck until I shivered.
“You and I will support our two friends as they walk through the gates of permanent coupledom.”
“Permanent coupledom. You say it like they’re two swear words. Like you’re spitting them out of your mouth to make sure none of the stain stays with you.”
“Logan, shut up and come with me. Please?”
He pulled me inside his cottage and disappeared inside his bedroom. When he reappeared, he was dressed in a t-shirt and my favorite pair of his jeans. And he had a suitcase.
“All right. Let’s go.”
I return my focus to my tiny kitchen, which feels even smaller now, and lay my hand over my chest. It’s hot in here. And about to get hotter. Time to finally hear what my heart had to say about my one and only wedding.
Holy cattle.
I reread the last sentence of my Vegas entry for the third time, and then I stand up. I leave my diary open on the table, grab my purse, and walk out of the house in a daze.
I drive aimlessly around town and try to forget about Logan for at least five minutes.
Maybe I should call him.
No. I shouldn’t.
I wouldn’t want him calling me after saying something like what he said.
I know I want to call him, though. I stop at the creek but stay in my car and look out at the water. I guess I’m hoping for some kind of sign, some inspiration that will lead me to the right answer.
The skies get dark within five minutes, and when the water does come down from the sky, it’s hard, nearly hail. A few hailstones do hit the windshield, and I curse myself for not getting that special sealant Lou offered me the last time there was a hailstorm here.
But the hail doesn’t last long, just long enough to get my attention. The thunder and lightning come for the next minute or two, hard and bright, and the rains continue to pelt on my car.
And that’s when I see red. Red mud. I haven’t seen that in over three years, not outside of a painting.
That’s my sign.
Yes, I have to let Logan go, but I can’t let him go without letting him in.
I drive home and run inside my duplex and over to my laptop.
I know it’s a long shot. Checking his email account is probably the last thing on his mind right now, but I’m going to try anyway. I attach a copy of the full manuscript of Ghost Love and add a little note.
“Hey,” I write. “You always told me I could do this. I hope all your dreams come true also.”
As soon as I press send, I immediately panic and try to hit cancel so that everything I just gave Logan would be safely back in my house where he can’t read the words that came straight from my heart.
But the email goes through successfully.
And once I’ve unclenched my white-knuckled fists from the table, I relax.
Macey, you had to give it one last shot before he becomes someone else’s husband. You had to let him know maybe he shouldn’t give up on you just yet.
Mostly, I want Logan to know that I haven’t given up on him, either. If two four-hundred-year-old ghosts can find their way back to one another, then there must still be hope for us mortals.
