A sudden image flashes through my mind: my hands all over Logan’s chest, rigorously unbuttoning his checkered shirt to uncover the muscle underneath. Blood rushes through my cheeks.
Why did my mind go there?
Logan must notice my discomfort because he raises his glass to change the subject. “To old friends,” he says simply.
I clink my glass with his, careful not to spill a single drop of this godly elixir. “To old friends,” I repeat before taking another huge sip. My eyes roll almost uncontrollably from the explosion of flavour. Logan smiles, satisfied at my reaction.
“So,” he starts after swallowing his swig of beer. He leans comfortably against the table. “What has Avery Breton been up to for the past seventeen years?”
“Well, that’s a loaded question.” I have no idea where to start. “You know … the usual.”
He chuckles. “The usual? And what would that be?”
“Well, for starters,” I begin with a deep breath, “I’m my own boss now. Well, kind of.” I pause, expecting him to jump into the conversation, but he doesn’t. Instead, he’s staring intently at me. Listening. Like,actuallylistening. Waiting for me to continue.
This throws me off for a moment. I’m used to people speaking over me—even Sophie will interrupt me all the time, although she doesn’t do it out of malice. She just can’t contain herself.
“I write stuff for businesses, like, on a freelance basis,” I explain. Telling people you’re a copywriter typically doesn’t pan out well. They’ll either assume you’re in copyright law, or they’ll have no idea what you’re talking about.
“Oh? What kind of stuff?”
“The words on their websites, social media, emails … that kinda stuff.”
“Oh, so you’re a copywriter.”
I’m stunned. “Yes, exactly!” I say with way too much enthusiasm. And now that he’s started my engine, I find it hard to stop. “But this recent project is a doozie, so I needed a new perspective. Which is why I drove from Montreal all the way here.”
“Ah,” he says, giving an approving nod. “So why here in particular?”
“I always wanted to visit the cape I share a name with,” I explain. I don’t waste any time launching into my follow-up. “But I could ask you the same. I thought you were working in San Francisco.”
Surprise hits his face.Oops. Now he’ll know I’ve been low-key stalking him online. Or, at least, that I used to at some point.
“Well, um,” he stammers. “I was. For a long while, actually.” I can see him squirming in his seat a bit. Did I hit a nerve already? But he shrugs it off and continues. “Still am, actually. I just took the summer off to switch things up a bit.”
“Okay, so why here?”
“That’s easy.” He motions with his arms as if showing me the entire place. “My uncle bought this place two summers ago.”
“Ooh.” So this is a family business?
He leans back into his chair to exaggerate his smug look. “Yup. I mean, he’s never here, and it’s all run by his manager, but still. It got me an in.”
“Cool.” There’s a sudden quiet tension that fills the evening air. Unable to let this silence hang for more than a few seconds, I spit out what’s likely the most chaotic sentence I could utter:
“Actually, I lied—I’m not just here for a new perspective. I’ve got writer’s block because I just got dumped last month and I needed to get away …”
Oh my God, why can’t I shut up?
“And if I don’t do this project, I’ll run out of money and lose my apartment.” As soon as those words leave my mouth, air escapes my lungs. What is wrong with me?
A small bit of shock registers on his face. “Oh,” he says, looking genuinely sorry. Now I’m mad at myself. The last thing I want is for him to pity me.
But he’s not done speaking. “Was the guy an idiot? He must have been an idiot.”
“Why?”
“He lost you,” Logan says simply.
