In the crowded pub, he’d found himself entrenched at a table with an insurance broker, a piano teacher, and a local businessman who was deeply involved with the chamber of commerce. Although he’d made an effort at first, his mind had wandered since the startling developments on Avery’s radio show and his incident with the white furball of death. Until he saw her on the path yesterday, with her engagement ring, he hadn’t known that she was involved with anyone. Hadn’t known much about her life now at all. There was a reason for that, but—
“Tell me,” the businessman said, interrupting his thoughts. “Are you from around here?”
Logan forced himself to be polite. “I was, but I left a long time ago.”
“I’m new here myself,” the man replied confidingly. “Came on board with the chamber about two years ago, when we opened the new grocery store.” He held out his hand. “Name’s Phil. Phil Bagley.”
Logan shook his hand. “Logan Wagner.”
“Pleasure to meet you. Great little town here, great little town.” He grinned. “You here on business? Visiting family? Friends?”
Logan chose his words carefully. “Well, Phil, as you know yourself, even a trip somewhere for pleasure can bring the opportunity to do business.”
“Ah, you’re a man after my own heart,” Phil said. “I like the way you think.”
Logan had suspected as much. “Thanks.”
Then Phil turned to talk to the insurance broker, and the piano teacher leaned toward Logan. “I was surprised to see you yesterday at Owen’s funeral,” she said. “There hasn’t been a Wagner in this town for a long time.”
“Just wanted to pay my respects,” he replied, suddenly on edge.
“Is that so,” she said dryly. “Didn’t see you at the house afterward though.”
He hadn’t expected her to be so direct. Then again, a lifetime of dealing with kids forced to practice piano against their will might do that to a person. He’d never taken piano as a kid in Austen—something he was now grateful for, if this was the person who would have been teaching him.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” he said to her.
“Ellen,” she said. “Ellen Allsopp.”
“Well, Ellen,” he said, modulating the impatience out of his tone, “I wanted to pay my respects, but I didn’t want to make anything difficult for Avery. Under the circumstances. It was a very nice service though.”
He wouldn’t mention that he hadn’t stayed to speak to anyone because he didn’t know how he’d be received. Since he left, he hadn’t kept in touch with anyone in Austen. Owen and Avery hadn’t needed one last Wagner hanging around, reminding them of what his dad had done. And although he’d thought about Avery often over the years—more often than was wise—he’d always decided against looking her up on social media, or trying to find out anything about her. For his own sake as much as hers. She wouldn’t want him around, and holding onto the past would only stop him from concentrating on the now, and planning for the future. His laser-like focus hadn’t come naturally, but he’d sharpened and honed it over the years, and it was one of the major reasons for his success in business.
His personal life had been less successful. The single-minded pursuit of business at the expense of a well-rounded lifestyle wasn’t the kind of thing that women found attractive. At least not when the reality of that kind of life sank in. His previous girlfriend had told him exactly what she thought of his dedication to his business, right before she walked out the door. Since then, he’d decided it was better not to disappoint anyone else.
He glanced toward the pub’s entrance. Avery had been off air for a while now. Maybe she wouldn’t come to the Clover after all. After what had happened, he’d understand if she didn’t. Not that he was waiting for her—he could go back to the vacation rental at any time. Any time at all.
He realized Ellen was watching him. “You didn’t want to make anything difficult,” she said thoughtfully. “But you’re still here now. I wonder why that is?” She tipped her head and gave him a smile that he knew she didn’t mean.
“Patrick asked me to come,” he said. Thanks to the gregarious Irishman turning up at the door of the vacation rental—apparently news still traveled fast in Austen—and despite his misgivings, Logan had ended up seeing a whole lot of locals today. But so far Ellen was the only one who’d given him attitude.
“Of course.” She lifted one drawn-on eyebrow and sipped her wine.
“If you’ll excuse me…” he said, indicating toward the bar. She added a nod to her thin smile.
He extricated himself from the table with relief and headed for the bar. Maybe it was time to switch up his drink to something stronger. He looked at his watch. Five forty-five. Something harder wouldn’t be out of the question. Just one, and then he’d go. For some reason he’d been a complete klutz since he came back here—probably safer to quit while he was somewhat ahead.
The hum of conversation in the pub paused briefly, stopping him in his tracks. Avery was standing in the doorway, with Claudia beside her. He watched her face go pink as everyone looked in her direction, then the hum started up again. People had obviously decided to give her space. Her eyes scanned the room and found his, but she quickly looked away. Within a moment Cece and Birdie and a few other women were upon her, fussing and exclaiming, along with Patrick. From this distance he couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he could make a pretty good guess. For some reason the aunts were wearing old-fashioned dresses and gloves, topped off with bonnets tied under their chins with ribbons. He’d always remembered them being eccentric, but that seemed to be taking it up a level.
He continued to the bar, taking the long way to avoid going past the dog woman and her friends. All the same, he felt the heat of their glares as he crossed the room.
“What can I get you?” the bartender asked.
He thought for a moment. It was still tempting to go for something top shelf, but then again, he wasn’t here on vacation. “Just a beer, thanks,” he said. “Can you recommend something local?”
She thought for a moment. “There’s a nice pale ale made not far from here.”
“Perfect.” Wherever he went, he always tried to support businesses and startups in the area. Some of those local entrepreneurs could be the next national—or international—high fliers. Maybe even a business he’d want to invest in himself. Property development had taken him far, but lately he’d been thinking about dabbling in something smaller, more boutique.
“Hey.”
He turned to find Avery standing next to him. Claudia and the aunts were on her other side, all watching warily. He involuntarily stood a little straighter, and held tight to the glass the bartender passed him.
“Hi,” he said. He waved cautiously along the line of women. They looked like a row of oddly-dressed bodyguards. “Hello.” Then he returned his attention to Avery. Her blonde hair was in a loose plait, and her cheeks were still slightly pink. Was it his imagination, or did they warm even more as he looked at her? “I’m sorry about what happened on the show.”