“Hey,” she says sleepily.
“You awake?”
“Sort of,” she murmurs, stretching and relaxing into me.
“How’d you sleep?” I ask, holding her close.
“Amazingly. Although I gotta say, I didn’t know you were the cuddling type.”
I chuckle. “I didn’t either.”
The truth is, I’ve never been the cuddling type before Summer. But the few times I woke up, I was happy to realize I wasn’t alone, that she was still in bed, warm and softly breathing beside me. I moved closer and held her then, thankful for her presence.
Resting my palm on her waist, I bring my lips to hers and give her a soft kiss. She wraps her arms around me, pressing closer, and I wonder if she can tell I’m hard. Although it’s not because I was having indecent thoughts about waking up with her this morning . . . I’m like this every morning. But now that she’s kissing me back, my body gets a bunch of new ideas about how we can make the most of our morning. I refuse to think about the fact that it could be our last morning together.
Matt’s words ring in my head. Find a way to make her stay.
Summer pulls back and meets my gaze with a shy expression. Her hair is loose on the pillow, messy from sleep. Damn, she’s gorgeous. Even having just woken up, without a bit of makeup on.
“Thanks for letting me stay,” I say, pressing my lips to her shoulder. “Last night was incredible.”
This time with her has been so much more than I was expecting. She’s so low-drama and sweet. My entire family has fallen in love with her. There’s that l-word again. I can’t seem to help myself from it constantly flitting through my brain, which is completely out of character for me.
I’m about to ask her if she wants to get up, maybe get some coffee, or even pancakes in town at a great diner I know, when Summer trails her fingertips over my chest, then down over the muscles in my stomach. My pulse jumps, and I forget all about breakfast.
The press of her soft curves fitting against me sends a jolt of desire down my spine.
While her hand ventures under the elastic of my boxer briefs, I begin exploring too, testing the weight of her luscious breasts in my palms. Finally, I draw her panties down her legs.
A few minutes later, when I join us, her breath catches in her throat. It’s the best sound, so desperate and need-filled. Of the two of us, she’s the strong one, the one with her life together. She was sent here to help me—and here she is coming undone for me. I love it.
“You feel so fucking good, sweetheart,” I growl, picking up the pace.
She moans and clutches my hips in her hands to draw me even closer.
Our lovemaking is slow and unhurried, and completely perfect.
Which is why, when Summer is showered and had coffee, I’m shocked when she walks out of the bedroom carrying her bags.
The crunch of tires in the driveway catches our attention, and I look through the window to see a yellow minivan parked in front of the cabins. The sign on the side of the van advertises rides to the airport.
My neck feels hot, and when I turn to face Summer, everything inside my brain scrambles. “Sweetheart?”
“I called a shuttle service to pick me up.”
I give her an uncertain look. “You . . .”
She nods. “I didn’t want to inconvenience anyone by asking for a ride. But I need to get back to the city. It’s time.”
My chest throbs with the displeasure of that statement, and I rub at the tender spot unconsciously. Even though everything inside me disagrees with it, I give her a stiff nod and cross the room to help her with her bag.
Her duffel has grown considerably heavier since she’s been here. A stack of books that my mother insisted she take. A new pair of boots. A wool scarf that Grandpa Al loaned her and made her promise to keep. Then there’s the piece of my heart she’s taking with her . . . does she even know?
I swallow a painful lump in my throat as Summer opens the cabin’s door and waves to the driver. A gust of frigid air sweeps over us.
She turns to face me, but before she can tell me good-bye, I take her hands and squeeze.
“I don’t want you to go.”
The words are real, and raw, and I watch as Summer draws a quiet breath.
“It’s been amazing being here, Logan, but I—”
“Can’t you stay . . . even a few more days?” I pause, weighing my words. “We should talk about this thing with us.”
This thing. The word is entirely wrong for the depth of emotions I’ve experienced these past couple of weeks.
With a sad look, Summer shakes her head. “I can’t stay. I can’t be with you like this. It would be a huge conflict of interest, and my entire professional reputation would be shot. It’s all I have.”
“Summer . . .” I caress the back of her hand with my thumb. She can’t just walk away from something this big.
“I’m sorry. I can’t. No matter how much I might want to.” Her hand slips from my grasp.
“Would it change things if you were married? I mean, no one could hold anything against you if your husband just happens to play hockey, right?”
The stunned look on her face is priceless. I just shocked her, but I won’t apologize for thinking big, crazy thoughts. Marrying Summer would be crazy, but also . . . well, perfect.
When her shock fades away and is replaced by cool indifference, I know I’m not that lucky.
“No, I guess not.”
“Then marry me.” The words fall from my mouth without warning, without grace.
I’m not down on one knee, and I don’t have a ring, but there’s a sincerity in my words. An absolute truth. And isn’t that what she’s wanted from me this entire time—facing my truth, letting myself be vulnerable? It doesn’t get any more vulnerable than this. I brush my fingertips against her cheek, tilting her face to mine.
Summer blinks. “I can’t . . . I can’t just marry you.”
My stomach lurches. “Why not?”
“Because . . .”
20
* * *
SUMMER
Because.
The word hangs between us as my mind goes blank.
Logan blurted out a marriage proposal without even thinking. Of course I can’t hold him to it. But he’s still watching me, and despite the intensity of our connection, there’s no way I can marry him.
But why not?
I’m falling in love with him. And with his big meddling family. Isn’t this everything I’ve ever wanted?
Of course it is. Say yes, my brain pleads.
“I just can’t,” I say after a long beat of silence.
“Okay,” he says softly and releases my hands.
The shuttle driver steps out of the minivan and comes around to help with my bags, seemingly oblivious to the enormity of the moment he’s interrupting.
Ignoring him, Logan pulls me close for one last hug, causing a sharp ache to pierce my chest.
“Good-bye, Summer,” he whispers against my hair.
“Good-bye, Logan.”
• • •
I held myself together for the entire shuttle ride, all the way through airport security and for ninety percent of the flight from Durango to Denver. But there’s something about this second flight, the one from Denver back to Boston, that feels different. More final.