I have a momentary happy distraction when, after four form rejections come in from agents, a fifth one emails and asks for the full manuscript. I’m so excited I send it off to her naively and then realize this probably won’t lead to anything momentous. But it’s a start.
Finally, around seven p.m., with the rain pouring down outside, I lie down on my couch and fall into a fitful sleep.
My cell phone is ringing. Over and over. I lift my head off the pillow and drag myself off the couch to go answer it. But I can’t find it anywhere. Every time it rings, I go in the direction I think I’m hearing it from, and it’s not there.
After forever, it stops, and I give up and head for my couch again.
I’m walking past the front door when my doorbell rings.
Sure it must be Ginny, I reach for the handle without looking out. “Did you forget something earlier?”
Logan’s standing on my steps.
I take a step backward and widen my eyes.
Logan Wild is standing on my steps.
107
Logan’s truck is in the driveway.
He’s standing in front of me with his dark brown hair and his whiskey eyes with those long lashes. He’s dressed in his blue t-shirt and worn jeans and cowboy boots. He’s getting wet from the rain pouring down, and I can’t stop staring at him long enough to invite him inside.
Because he’s supposed to be in Florida.
I take him in slowly.
Dark circles under his eyes like he hasn’t slept in days, his pale face a stark contrast to his day-old sexy stubble, but his cheeks wear a familiar flush. That flush he has when he’s happy about something. And the sparks in his eyes are frenzied as he takes me in hungrily like he hasn’t really seen me in months.
I look at him, then back to his truck, then back to him.
“What—” I start to say. “Why—are you here?”
“To find you,” he says simply.
I stare up at him as my lips part.
His gaze is unrelenting on my face, and then it drifts to my green and white checked cowgirl button-down shirt, my denim cut-off shorts, and my bare feet with freshly painted pink toenails. He drags his gaze back up to mine and tugs at my braid. “I like your hair that way.”
He grabs my hand and gently pulls me outside onto my top step. The rain comes down onto our heads as he brings me so close to him I can hear his racing heart and smell the familiar scent of moss mixed with cowboy.
When he cups my face in both hands and puts his mouth on mine, I melt into him, desperately kissing him back. His tongue tastes like whiskey, and it asks me to let him in. I do without hesitation as I press my body even closer against his. He feels warm and solid, and I lean against his solid chest and wrap my arms around his waist.
His lips go to my neck, and I roll my head back as he sucks and licks his way down to my collarbone. The raindrops fall on my face as I let out a moan.
Logan removes his lips from my neck and chastely kisses my head. “Let’s go to the lake. The rain will stop soon.”
The path is so muddy from all the rain that we can hardly get the truck through the West Street parking lot to the private part beyond. But Logan is determined, and after ten minutes of stopping and starting, we make it to our favorite part, the part where no one hardly ever goes and certainly not on a night this wet. And like a second miracle tonight, as soon as we park, the rains stop.
“I picked up dry firewood and marshmallows.” Logan lays out a thick picnic blanket, the kind that’s waterproof on the bottom. “You hungry?”
“Always.”
I help him start the fire, and we sit around it in silence. It casts a bright enough light that I can see Logan clearly next to me. I try to stay calm, but my foot is tap dancing on the nearby log. My insides are clenched with anxiety.
But I learned a long time ago that pushing Logan just makes him shut down more. So I accept the marshmallow on a stick that he offers me and eat it in two quick bites. I toss the empty stick on the ground and stare into the flames of the fire, wondering if I could get some sort of a medal in patience. Logan finishes his third marshmallow, and his empty stick lands next to mine on the ground. That’s when he decides he’s ready to talk.
“I knew you’d pick up,” he says to me suddenly.
