Noah perks up, milk dripping down his chin. “Is Logan gonna be my brother?”
The question catches me so off-guard that I laugh hysterically, and soon everyone joins in.
“We’re just friends, Noah,” I say, ruffling his hair.
Mom sets down her tea with a decisive clink. “The sooner he leaves, the better. This kind of attention isn’t good for anyone. You know how this town works. One whisper becomes front-page news before you can blink.”
I don’t think Mom realizes she’s the supervisor at the rumor mill.
“Logan didn’t ask for this either.” The defense springs from my lips before I can consider it. “He came here to escape all that.” My fingers tighten around my glass. Would I handle paparazzi camping outside my house with even half his grace? One encounter left me ready to file restraining orders against the entire profession.
Mom’s lips press together, forming that thin line that means she’s mentally editing her response down from a five-page dissertation to something more diplomatic. “He brings . . . trouble. And you’ve already dealt with enough.”
“Mom! Can we please not excavate my romantic past at the breakfast table for once?
She sighs, shoulders softening as she slides off the stool. “Well, the spring festival setup waits for no one. Less than two weeks away, and we still haven’t decided where to put the face-painting booth.” She reaches for her purse. “I’ll need your help, you know.”
“I’ll be there. Promise.”
She wraps us one by one in a quick hug then grabs her keys and disappears out the door.
I snatch the remote and turn off the TV before my face can make any more unwanted appearances on the news.
Chrissy now clings to me, both arms wrapped around my waist tightly. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault,” I say, reciprocating the gesture.
As I’m spreading peanut butter on bread for a sad-adult breakfast, my phone starts to ring. I lunge across the counter, hoping it’s Logan calling, but no such luck.
“Hey, Claire.”
“Is it true?” Her voice comes through breathless, like she’s been sprinting or holding her breath in anticipation. “What they’re saying on the news?”
I sink onto a stool. “Yes and no.”
“Explain. Immediately.” I can practically see her leaning forward, eyes wide.
“After our coffee date, I ran into Logan, and we’ve been hanging out.” The half-truth sounds less convincing each time I tell it. Maybe we should just call this whole thing off. I could figure something out for the wedding—food poisoning, sudden leprosy, witness protection.
Claire’s squeal threatens the structural integrity of my eardrum. “This ismassive. How did it happen? Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“He moved in next door. To lay low, I guess. Hide out from whatever’s going on in his life.”
“Are the rumors about him true?” Her voice drops like someone might overhear us. “The stuff about the label? Victoria?”
“I honestly don’t know.” I trace circles on the countertop with my finger. “But he’s definitely hiding something. Why else would a famous musician disappear to Maplewood Springs of all places?”
“What’s he actually like in person?” The eagerness in her voice makes me smile despite everything.
My mind instantly brings up Logan’s shirtless, muscular frame, and I give myself a mental shake. “He’s . . . much better looking than in person.”
Claire’s dramatic gasp almost makes me laugh. “You’re practically famous now. What are you going to do?”
Excellent question to which I have no answer. “I wish I knew, Claire.”
“Well, gotta run,” Claire chirps. “We’ve got customers. Keep me updated on every tiny detail, or we’re no longer friends.”
“Will do.”
