Chapter 17
Bellini
At nine, the bar was hopping. Logan’s group had finished dinner and were playing pool and dancing.
Logan was not dancing. I had arrived at noon to work on organizing the burlesque show.
There were people to call, tables and chairs to rent, decorations to locate, lighting and tech people to find.
I had another three hours here, at least, but I had to rest for a few minutes, especially after that ooh-la-la moment with Logan.
He was so strong. He’d moved fast to catch me, like human lightning, as I was tipping straight off that bar.
He was protective and romantic and being in his arms felt right. It felt safe.
I took a break and leaned back in the chair behind my mother’s desk in her peaceful office, completely distracted by the utter sexiness of that man. I heard a knock, and it surprised me so much I almost toppled over. “Come on in!” I called out, trying to right myself. I couldn’t. The chair won.
“Hello, amiga,” Javier said. “Logan wants to talk to you. Okay if I send him back?”
“Yes. Sure. Okay. Fine. Yes.” The thought of Logan being in my mom’s office had me imagining all sorts of carnal activities, especially on her long and wide desk.
“Hi, Bellini.”
Wham. I slammed my mother’s chair back down with a thud as soon as I heard that deep voice. It practically gave me whiplash.
“Hi, Logan.” I scrambled to my feet. I moved too fast and hooked a foot under the chair. The chair wobbled. I caught it. I wobbled, too. That chair and I were not getting along. “Thanks so much again for catching me.” I yanked my leg away. I am such a klutz.
“No problem.”
Be still my heart.
“Working hard as always.” He nodded at the lists on my mother’s desk.
“Yes, the Christmas burlesque show, the books, ordering food and alcohol, the usual.”
“It’s nine o’clock.”
“I know.”
“Tired? Hungry?”
“Yes. Both.” I could get rid of my tiredness if I slept with you. I don’t think I’ve slept right since we broke up. Thank heavens I didn’t say that.
“Can I take you to dinner?”
“What?” He looked tall and sexy. I could hardly think.
“Can I take you to dinner?”
I had so much work to do. Books to balance.
Beer to buy. Burgers to bring in. A burlesque show to launch.
But Logan was right here. In my mom’s yellow office.
I had missed him so much. Every day. For years.
I knew going to dinner would be a risk. I knew it would make leaving him worse.
I knew it could hurt him again, give him the wrong impression, and that was the last thing I wanted to do. I should stay away from him. Far away.
“Yes. I’d love that. Thank you.” Yes?
He grinned. I grinned back and held my breath, feeling slightly overwhelmed, my heart thudding like a fool. Dinner with Logan!
“Let’s go.” He grabbed my red coat and held it open for me to slide into, then handed me my Mrs. Santa scarf and my red mittens.
“We’ll have to sneak around and out,” I said.
“I like sneaking around with you.”
“I do, too. With you. Sneaking with you. Around. You and me.” I shook my head. Why can’t I talk right? “Let’s go.”
We settled into a booth at Scotty’s. Scotty’s is the fanciest restaurant we have in Kalulell. White tablecloths, glass candleholders, quiet, excellent service, and the food is delicious but expensive. Logan had insisted we go there.
“My treat. It’s not every day I get to have dinner with you, Bellini, so we’re going.”
“You may have to roll me out of there.”
“It would be my pleasure. Lie down on the floor, put your hands above your head, and I’ll push you like a human sausage.”
“Ah, that’s a vision.”
“I’d do anything for you, Bellini,” he said, and we laughed.
We rode there in his black truck, which looked pretty new, and in five minutes, we were in a leather booth, the lights down low, with three towering Christmas trees covered in shining lights and an overabundance of ornaments and ribbon in different corners.
The waiter, my cousin Mackie O’Donnell, who was home for the holidays, came over and greeted us, then took our order.
Mackie’s majoring in mathematics and physics in college.
He’s a brainiac. He gave us meticulous information about each special, including all ingredients and spices, and shared his detailed opinion about other dinner options. He was thorough in all things.
Logan and I chitchatted about light topics after Mackie left, which was helpful so I could calm my thudding heart and my flaming libido.
“So, Bellini,” Logan said after our delicious dinners arrived, “tell me about college and tell me about what you did after college.”
“That’s a lot.” I swirled my pasta primavera around my fork. We’d both had salads, too. Logan had ordered onion rings because he knows I love them and would eat them all day if I could.
“I want to hear about it, if you’d like to talk about it.” He cut up his steak.
What could I say? I was so heartbroken from losing Logan my first year, I could hardly speak.
My sophomore year wasn’t much better. Christmas became a lonely disaster.
I took tons of writing and art classes and wrote story after story and ran everywhere—in town, around the track at college, up and down the hills, and on the trails—as much as I could to get Logan and that loss out of my head. Running helped me calm down.
And, oh yes, should I share about my marriage? How awful it was and how the divorce was a relief but still awful? What about the miscarriage? That, too? How much, Logan? How much do you need or want to know?
“How about if you tell me about your college experience?” I countered.
He looked away, out the window. The town was beautiful with the lit-up Christmas tree and Christmas lights outlining the windows of local businesses.
“It was…hard,” he said. “I missed you. I didn’t understand why you broke up with me.” He smiled, but it was sad. “I still don’t quite get it, Bellini, but we don’t have to talk about it.”
He rolled his shoulders back as if to get rid of stress.
“I decided the best way to deal with everything was to be busy. I took an extra class each term, and went to summer school a couple of times, so I graduated in five years with two majors—architecture and business. I played intramural sports. I ran, like you and I used to do together, and that seemed to help. I made new friends. I didn’t come home much because of my father and because…
of you. I knew it would be hard to see you if you were also back. ”
I wanted to cry into my onion rings.
“I had a scholarship, as you know. Plus, I had half-time jobs during school. I was a waiter, and when everyone else went home for the summer, I worked full time, took more classes, and saved my money. Travel helped.” He stopped.
“Why did travel help?” I had always wanted to travel. I still do.
“I was in a new place. New experiences. New people.”
I nodded. My hands were shaking, so I put them under the table. I wondered if he’d had girlfriends. It wasn’t my business to ask or to know.
“I stayed in Boston for five years total, working as an architect, then I went to London to work.”
“How did you like living in Boston and London?”
He told me about both cities, but not in detail. I had the impression he didn’t think it was that important.
“I came back to Kalulell because I missed the town. I like cities, but I don’t want to live in one.
I wanted to live here, in the Rocky Mountains, in a small town, with plenty of activities to do outside.
My dad has also had health problems, ongoing.
I knew they would worsen, and I felt obligated to help him and to maintain my mom’s land. ”
Drake was a mean snake. I don’t know if I would have come back to help him if I were his daughter, but then, that’s Logan. He’s loyal.
“I had saved money, and I rented the second floor.”
“Your business seems to be going well.”
“It is. Luckily.” He sat back. “We have a lot of work. As you know, I like to design and build.”
“That started in kindergarten.”
“I remember we made some cool structures with blocks.”
“And we made cool structures outside with sticks and stones and wood, remember?”
“Yes. How could I forget my first buildings? I remember being on your property by the stream and getting branches and making forts. Creative building, I would say. But honestly, Bellini, that is where my love of designing and building started.”
“We made that two-level house in fourth grade out of cardboard with a secret room and a secret staircase.”
“And in sixth grade, we designed that house on wheels.”
“And in seventh grade, we designed a school with a pool and a long library and a kids’ hang-out zone.”
“And in ninth grade, we built a space city.”
“And in tenth grade, we designed a space house.”
“And my senior project was a modern farm within a city.”
“It was incredible. You did an amazing job.”
“Because you worked with me.”
“It was ninety percent you.”
“It was fifty-fifty. And I remember your senior project. Writing and illustrating stories for kids, and you ended up writing and illustrating stories for kids. Funny how what we both loved to do as kids ended up being our careers as adults. Your drawings in your Roxy Belle books are clever, and cute, and happy. It’s all very impressive, Bellini.
You’ve become who you wanted to become.”
I wished I believed that. I became someone who had made a terrible decision in marrying my first husband, which made me lose myself entirely.
Then I became a hermit, who was isolated too much and wrote one story after another about a nine-year-old named Roxy Belle.
I loved Roxy Belle and her family and her farm, but mostly I liked to disappear into her world so I wouldn’t have to live in my own world because of how lonely it always was without Logan.
“Your turn, Bellini. You tried to avoid answering, but now you get to tell me. How was college?”