When it dawns on me that he’s teasing his grandson about basically being a hit-it-and-quit-it player, inappropriate laughter bursts from my lips.
Jillian pats my shoulder. “Don’t encourage him, dear.”
I press my lips together.
Finished with his breakfast, Graham pushes his empty plate away and leans his elbows on the table. “If you morons are done arguing, we have things to discuss. There’s lots on the agenda today.”
“Yes, boss,” Matt says with a groan.
I nibble on my scone and listen to the day’s plans.
“The Polaris needs spark plugs, and the shed needs re-roofing before the snow flies. Plus, I need help with the beer-brewing process today.”
“The beer’s not ready,” Matt says. “So, what do you need help with?”
“Someone’s got to babysit the fermentation process, and I can’t be in two places at once,” Graham says gruffly.
Logan looks up from his plate. “I’ll help out. Wherever you need me.”
I venture a look in his direction. I know I don’t belong here, but I won’t do well with being ignored all day either. “Can I speak to you after breakfast?”
He meets my eyes for the first time today, and a shock of awareness buzzes through me. “Sure. Once I help Austen in the garage.”
“Okay,” I say with a nod.
After a few minutes sorting out who will be working where today, the guys rise from the table, clearing plates and pausing to lean over to give their mom a quick peek on the cheek, thanking her for breakfast. Even Graham.
“Thanks for feeding us, Mom,” he says, stacking his plate with the others by the sink.
“You need more coffee?” she asks.
“I’d better not.”
Once they’ve left out the back door, the house goes quiet. Grandpa Al retires to the living room and settles into his recliner with a newspaper.
I busy myself by rinsing dishes and loading them into the dishwasher while Jillian cleans her cast iron skillet. Now that we’re alone, I recognize that this is my opportunity.
“Jillian?”
“Hmm?” She wipes the skillet dry and places it in a cabinet.
“I know we just met and all, but I just wanted to say how sorry I was to hear about the passing of your husband last summer.”
She gives me a warm look. “Thank you, honey. Thirty-two years, we were married. I loved him with my whole heart,” she says with a faraway look in her eyes that pinches my heart.
“That must have been hard on all of you.”
“It was. Hardest damn time in my life. Some of the boys took it harder than others.”
“Like Logan?” I ask, rinsing a mixing bowl.
Jillian’s about to respond when footsteps draw our attention.
Logan is standing in the kitchen doorway, wearing a look of fury.
He overheard everything.
Shit.
And he does not look happy.
5
* * *
LOGAN
Forget. This.
Furious, I storm out the back door with Summer hot on my trail.
“Logan, wait!” she calls out after me.
But I don’t wait. I don’t even slow down.
Summer’s been here for less than twenty-four fucking hours, and she’s already talking about me with my mother. If that’s not an invasion of privacy, I don’t know what the hell is. I should have kicked her out on her ass yesterday because she has no right to be here.
And now she’s pretending like she cares about me and the family, and bringing up my father? Fuck that. She doesn’t care about me or this family, despite what she wants my mom to believe. This is her job.
“Please, let me explain,” Summer calls out. “I’m sorry I brought things up with your mom.”
Scowling, I turn and face her, waiting for her to catch up. “This isn’t going to work. You need to pack up your shit and go back to Boston. You don’t belong here.”
“Logan, please. I was serious when I said I wanted to help you.”
“Yeah?” I scoff. “I don’t see how it’s going to help me to have some psychologist dredging up the past and talking to my family about me.”
She chews on her lip and looks down at the ground for a moment before meeting my eyes again. “I know what it’s like to lose someone, so I have some kind of idea of how you might be feeling.”
It’s not what I expected her to say, and for a moment, I’m speechless. “Who?”
“My mom,” she says quietly. “She was my best friend. Her death devastated me and still does.”
My stomach tightens, and I swallow the sour taste of regret. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
Summer nods. “It’s not something I announce when I meet new people.”
“How long ago?” My tone has softened significantly, and when Summer looks up, she gives me a small, sad smile.
“Two years.” She swallows and takes a breath. “But sometimes it feels like so much longer. I can barely remember her laugh, and I hate that. It kills me.”
A pang of emotion wells inside me. “What about your dad?” I ask, suddenly more interested than I wish I were. She’s supposed to be packing and leaving, but instead I’m asking about her family. And I have no idea why.
“I never knew him.”
“Siblings?”
She shakes her head. “I’m an only child. It was only ever me and Mom.”
“Shit. I’m sorry.”
It’s in this moment that I realize I’ve been acting like an asshole. Just because I’m mad about, well, everything, it doesn’t make it okay to take it out on her.
But Summer is an easy target. A stranger. Someone I plan on never seeing again. But even though I may not know her, I can’t help hating the thought that she’s alone in this world without any family.
“So, breakfast must have been a whole new experience for you then.” I smile, nodding back toward the house where my loud-ass family probably frightened her.
“It was very eye-opening,” she says with a chuckle. “But in a good way. I’ve never experienced that. Never had a big family. And now it’s just me.”
Even if I’ve felt lost and out of control lately, her words remind me that I’m a lot more fortunate than most. I have a family, people I can count on and who’ll support me through the shitstorm currently facing us. Still, that doesn’t mean everything is magically going to be okay, and that’s what I’m struggling with.
How’s life ever supposed to be “normal” again?
“They love you, you know,” Summer says softly. “They just want you to be okay.”
I nod. “I know.” When the wind picks up and Summer wraps her arms around herself, I say, “Come on. I’ll walk you back to your cabin.”
It’s about a hundred yards from the house, and we’re quiet most of the way. When we get there, Summer opens the door and pauses in the entryway.
“So, after you help Austen in the garage . . .”
I peer around her, realizing the woodburning stove is empty and the place feels cold. “Did you start a fire last night?”