Crushing It (Emerald Bay #2)

1. Is This It?

CHAPTER ONE

is this it?

LOGAN

EMERALD BAY, WASHINGTON

PRESENT DAY

I think I’ve been stood up.

No, I know I’ve been stood up, but saying I think makes me feel a little better. It gives me a dash of hope, you know? Hope that maybe I haven’t wasted an entire night buying flowers, ordering champagne, and lying to the server that my date is just ‘stuck in traffic.’

But it’s been 45 minutes and there’s no sign of Theresa.

I tried calling and texting, but she hasn’t responded. She’s a lawyer, so maybe she’s busy? But we confirmed everything this evening.

Should I text her again?

No, that seems desperate.

It was pouring rain when Theresa and I met on campus. She was having trouble with her umbrella, I helped her fix it, and before I knew it she’d given me her number. We’ve been texting all week so I thought we hit it off. She’s even been laughing at my shitty jokes.

Okay, so maybe she just responded with some laughing emojis, but that’s still something, right?

I take another look around, hoping to see her walk through the door but only finding my server shooting furtive glances over at the table, her eyes bouncing between me and a new couple at the front of the restaurant.

This place is packed, and I managed to snag a spot at the last second, but only under the explicit condition that we’d be out in an hour.

I guess my time is almost up.

“Fuck it.”

ME

Hey! Are you on your way?

I hope I don’t sound too clingy.

Just as I hit send, I feel someone looming over me and glance up to see an apologetic look on my server’s face.

“Hi,” she says softly. “I’m really sorry, but the people at the front have this table booked for 9:00pm.”

My stomach sinks.

“Sure, I’ll just pay for my stuff.”

I move to grab my wallet. I’ve been humiliated enough for one night.

“Oh, no. It’s– it’s fine. It’s on the house.”

Great. She feels sorry for me. That’s fucking awesome .

“That’s… kind of you. Thanks.”

“No problem.” She tucks a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “I’ve been there before. It sucks. I’m really sorry.”

Oh god, the shame spiral is starting, I need to leave immediately. I pick up the flowers, thank her again, and scurry out of the restaurant as quickly as I can with my metaphorical tail between my legs. Of course the moment I step outside the sky opens up, drenching me within seconds.

It’s about a 15 minute walk back to my place and I left my AirPods at home, primarily because I thought I’d be going on a date with a hot lawyer.

I didn’t even bring a jacket.

“Gotta love the PNW,” I grumble.

I’ve been on a lot of first dates in the last three years, never making it past a few weeks before things fall apart. One of us always loses interest, or we realize we’re both forcing a connection that wasn’t really there to begin with; I’m 36 and I’ve never once been in a serious relationship.

I’ve either been too focused on my career or my family, and bounced around from partner to partner, always looking for that thing . That spark. That hook that tells me ‘this is the person I want to spend the rest of my life with.’

Frankie says I should just enjoy the ride, but that guy is going to be a bachelor until he’s 85. He had one big heartbreak and never looked at love the same way again.

I don’t want to be like that. I still believe in people, and I still believe in love even after getting let down so many times. I want someone to wake up next to, someone I can brush my teeth with in the morning, someone who sees the ugliest parts of me and loves them anyway. So I guess it’s back to the dating apps to try again. Statistically, I’m bound to meet someone .

That’s math, and you can’t argue with math.

Growing up, it was clear my parents were head over heels for each other. Every morning, my dad would leave mom a little note at the bottom of the stairs with his agenda for the day, all the way down to what time he’d be home, and when he might call to check in. My sister and I sat on the floor after he passed, going through his things, and reading all those little notes:

Picking up your dry cleaning on the way home from work .

How do you feel about tacos tonight?

We bawled our fucking eyes out.

They were the smallest fragments of love but my mom held on to all of them.

Rain pours down my face as I find myself glancing down the street toward Abi’s apartment. There’s a light on in her unit, which hopefully means she’s home, and I can’t think of anything more pathetic than sitting in my living room alone waiting for a text from Theresa. I need the distraction.

Normally I’d ask before showing up at someone’s door on a random Thursday, but Abi and I have the kind of friendship where this is par for the course. I know the second I buzz her apartment, she’ll greet me with open arms because she’s always had my back, and I’ve always had hers.

It’ll be nice to be able to vent a little, after all I can tell Abi anything?—

Correction.

I can tell Abi almost anything.

Nobody will ever hold a candle to her, but dating just wasn’t in the cards for us, and I have… thoughts about that.

Still, we’re co-workers. We’re friends.

That ship has sailed.

I find myself at her doorstep, my finger hovering over the buzzer as I stare at the little faded bat sticker next to it. It makes me smile like it always does, but just as I move to buzz her apartment, the front door swings wide open.

“Oh my gosh, Logan, you’re soaked to the bone!”

Mrs. Russell, Abi’s building manager. I’m pretty sure she thinks I’m Abi’s boyfriend, even though we’ve told her a thousand times that we’re just friends. She’s in a rain jacket, with a chihuahua barely the size of a football tucked underneath her arm.

And he’s… also wearing a raincoat.

“Forgot my umbrella, and I figured I could borrow one from Abi!” I laugh. “Are you taking Todd for a walk?”

I move my hand to pet the dog, as slowly as I can, trying my absolute best to not terrify the most neurotic creature I’ve ever met.

“Oh, yes. He loves the rain, don’t you, Toddie?” She ushers me inside as the little beast trembles like a leaf, every single sight and sound adding to his mounting anxiety. “Come in, come in!”

I slip inside, trying to shake off some of the water before realizing how futile it is. My clothes cling to my skin, raindrops splattering against the floor. I have to resist the urge to gag as I suddenly become aware of the water sloshing around in my socks. I can’t stand wet socks. It’s in the top five on my list of worst sensations.

“For Abi?” Mrs. Russell asks.

I look down at the flowers still clutched in my hand. They’re pink and white lilies. I thought they were pretty, sitting all by themselves outside the flower shop this afternoon.

“I guess— yeah. Yeah, they are.”

Mrs. Russell winks at me.

“You’re a good man, Logan.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Russell. Have a nice walk, and try to stay dry!”