Avery was less delighted.
“Hi,” Logan said.
And at the sound of his voice—deeper, with a touch of gravel that never used to be there, but still Logan through and through—she was seventeen all over again.
Chapter Three
Avery called Ace to her, but the yellow dog just sat where he was next to Logan, happily smiling at them both. The big furry traitor.
“Hello,” she said, because she wasn’t completely without manners.
Logan nodded to Ace. “Who’s this guy?”
“This is Ace,” she said. “He was my dad’s dog.”
Logan hesitated, then said, “I’m really sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you,” she replied cautiously.
“I was glad I could be there yesterday.”
“Were you?” It came out more accusing than she’d intended, and she saw his jaw briefly tense.
“Of course. Your dad was one of the good ones.”
His words didn’t sound token. They sounded genuine. And it was only slight, but she didn’t miss the emphasis he put on your. “He was,” she said.
Even from across the church yesterday it had been obvious that Logan had grown into a striking man. But now, up close, she was extra aware of how much he’d changed. He’d always been tall, but he’d filled out. His T-shirt clung to broad shoulders and a strong chest, and as he reached out to stroke Ace’s head, the defined muscles in his arm flexed. She tore her eyes away.
“So you came back for his funeral, after all this time,” she said, focusing on his face in an attempt to distract herself. It was strange to see him as an adult, still so much like the teenage Logan but with a rugged, masculine edge. Judging by the shadow of stubble across his jaw, he hadn’t shaved yet this morning. But despite all the ways he was different, his eyes were still the same shade of golden brown, and he still looked at her in that curious way, as though he wanted to know everything about her.
“I wanted to pay my respects.” He bent over and used the hem of his shirt to wipe his forehead, revealing a brief flash of taut, tanned stomach.
She pulled herself together and reached down for Ace’s leash. Time to go. “Okay, well, have a good stay.”
“Avery…”
His voice was low, magnetic. She stood up, her heartbeat doing a jittery skippity-skip. “What?”
“About…everything.”
Oh, no. She did not want to go there, with him of all people. “I don’t think there’s anything to say. Your dad and my mom supposedly fell in love. They left us. Then you followed them out of town.”
He frowned. “I didn’t follow them. I went to live in Oakland and…never mind. The point is, there was nothing for me to stay for. You know that.”
His intonation set her on edge. “Wait, are you saying it’s my fault you left?”
“No, I’m saying…” He blew out a breath. “I’m saying it was a long time ago, and maybe we could let it go now.”
She stared at him for a moment. Her once-upon-a-time childhood sweetheart. He’d already walked away once, and now he was telling her to let it go. The finality of it, coming on the heels of her father’s death, was a hard, sharp slice of reality. She laughed, even though inside she wanted to cry. “It was a long time ago. Don’t think I’m still fretting over you, because I’m not. I’m fine—I’m getting married.” She waggled her left hand at him, the big diamond flashing in the light.
Something shuttered in his face, and she made herself be glad. She had moved on, after all, and ten years of silence proved he had too. There was nothing to hold onto anymore, nothing to let go of.
“Okay, then,” he said. “I guess I’ll…” He gestured to the path, and she nodded.
He put his ear buds back in and pushed a button on his watch, making it beep. Then he set off at a steady pace. She made herself turn around and start walking in the opposite direction. Ace whined a little, but she urged him on.
Just keep walking. Just keep walking.
As she came to the bend in the path, curiosity overcame her and she looked back over her shoulder. At that exact moment, Logan did the same, and their eyes met. She was about to look away when he suddenly jolted off course and stumbled on the path, holding his head. She couldn’t help her snort of laughter when she realized he’d jogged into an overhanging branch—the same one she’d just passed underneath without incident. Served him right.
Without meeting her eye, he gathered his dignity and continued on with a determined, nothing-to-see-here stride.
And she let him go.
Logan pushed open the door of the vacation rental he was staying at and kicked off his running shoes. His head pounded from where he’d run straight into a branch like some distracted, lovestruck kid.
Which he had been, way back when—but not anymore.
He went into the big marble-clad kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water from the extra-large French door refrigerator, noting that it had been newly restocked with food for the day. Suddenly starving, he pulled out a bowl of freshly sliced tropical fruit, some eggs, and a packet of bacon. The owner of the house, Barbara, had offered to cook for him as she usually did for guests, but he liked his privacy too much to have someone coming in and out while he was there.
His assistant Lisa always booked his accommodation when he traveled, and he trusted her to choose somewhere he’d like. But he’d been surprised to arrive and find himself somewhere so high-end. Austen had never had anything this fancy when he was a kid. Barbara had told him that tourism was growing in the area, and the visitors were providing a steadier income for many of the businesses that had been in danger of closing. Her property catered for tourists who wanted somewhere more luxurious to stay, but there was a shortage of all kinds of vacation accommodation.
He wasn’t surprised that people were finally discovering the town. It was in the perfect location—close enough to Portland for an easy weekend getaway, with stunning views of the river and the hills. Sheltered from the coastal winds, but just a short walk to the long, wild curve of beach. And the influx of tourists suited his plans perfectly.
There was hot coffee in the machine, so he poured himself a cup, dark and strong, to have while he was cooking. Then he fixed himself bacon and eggs and took his plate, and the bowl of fruit, out to the wide deck overlooking the river.
It was still early enough that there was a gentle chill in the air and the light was soft. The deck was edged with clear glass panels, so he had an unobstructed view of the slow-flowing river, wooded hills, and clear Oregon sky. Avery’s house was on the same side of the river, farther along toward town. He wondered if she was in her backyard looking at this same view, just from a slightly different perspective. A wry laugh escaped him. Their perspectives were different, that was for sure. He took another bracing mouthful of coffee, then ground plenty of salt and pepper onto his breakfast and dug in. He wouldn’t say he was fussy, but he liked his eggs just so. No one else could make them exactly the way he liked.
Okay, maybe he was fussy. But you didn’t achieve a certain level of success without being particular about things—everything from eggs, to accommodation, to investment strategies.