Chapter 3
Heather
Two paws smack the floor, which is Cookie's dramatic way of voicing disapproval. But I am not in the mood this morning. We're already late.
“Cookie, there's no time for the early walk today. You'll have to wait until we get home tonight.” I butter two slices of toast and glance at the front door. She glares at me like I've just canceled Christmas. “Go pick your toy for the day.”
With an exaggerated huff, she jumps through the doggie door.
I'd had it installed recently, which turned out to be a huge mistake.
Now Cookie thinks she's got free run of the neighborhood, wandering off whenever the mood strikes.
She usually avoids trouble, and the street is quiet, so my biggest worry is someone scooping her up.
Not that it’d last. Anyone who grabs her spoiled, stubborn butt would return her within the hour, probably with an apology note and a bill for therapy.
I sigh, taking a bite of toast, and finish packing my lunch. Grabbing my bags, I head out the door. “Cookie, let's get going.”
I stumble to a halt.
A little girl is perched on my porch swing with my dog wrapped around her like a blanket.
Her blonde hair is mussed, as if she just woke up, and blue eyes that look too big for her face are a little bleary.
She's stroking a hand lovingly down Cookie's head and sucking her thumb as she stares back at me.
“Hi.” I don't know what else to say. This is the last possible thing I expected to find on my way to work. I’d have been less surprised to have found a gator on my porch, even though gators haven’t been spotted in town in at least a decade.
“Are you okay?” I ask, approaching her slowly.
She nods, hugging Cookie.
“What's your name, honey?” I squat down to her level and notice she's dressed in a nightgown with nothing on her feet. Luckily it doesn't get too chilly in the mornings yet, but that will change in a month or two.
She pops her thumb out of her mouth. “Violet.” Her little hand smooths lovingly down Cookie again and my dog looks absolutely blissed out. It's definitely love at first sight. “Your puppy is pretty.”
I grin. “Yeah, she is and she's really smart, too. Her name is Cookie.”
Her cute button nose wrinkles. “Like a chocolate chip cookie?”
I nod my head. “Sometimes Cookie even makes chocolate chips of her own.”
Violet's brow furrows, and I can tell she's trying to process my joke.
“That means she poops,” I add. “And they look like chocolate chips.”
“Eww.” Violet pulls her hand away, but Cookie's having none of it. She presses her head against the tiny hand, demanding pets.
“I'm just teasing, Violet.” I touch her arm to see how cold she is. “Are you lost?”
She shakes her head slowly.
“Do you know where you live?”
Her head bobs.
“Where?” I ask.
Violet points over her shoulder.
“Ah! That makes sense.” She must have snuck out. “You moved in yesterday,” I offer, and get another nod. “Let's get you back home. Your parents will be worried sick.”
“VIOLET!”
The bellow from next door makes all three of us jump. I glance up to find my new neighbor standing in his driveway, his head whipping back and forth, panicked tension in his frame.
“She's here,” I call out, standing and waving when his gaze turns my way. He runs over, clad only in shorts.
Well… Good morning to me.
“Thank god.” He rushes onto the porch and kneels in front of the little girl. “Violet, you can't leave the house like that. You nearly gave me a heart attack, sweetpea.”
There's something so annoyingly familiar about this guy, and I can't quite figure it out. I eye the pads of muscle on his chest and shoulders, which are very impressive, and notice the series of scars on his right shoulder. Some still look fresh and painful.
“Cookie and I found her sitting here as we were leaving for work. I was about to bring her back over,” I add.
An odd gurgling sound emerges from Violet, and she buries her face in Cookie's fur. My corgi gives an answering whine and wraps herself even tighter around the little girl.
I snicker. “I'm afraid it'll be tough separating these two.” I hold my hand out. “I'm Heather Winslow, your neighbor.”
His head tilts my way and he stands, taking my hand. “I know who you are, Heather.” The curve of his mouth has an amused lift to it. “But I'm guessing you don't remember me.”
I narrow my gaze as I stare into his heavily-lashed dark eyes. This guy is extremely attractive up close, with wavy brown hair that's still wet from a shower, a square jaw that any sculptor would die to recreate, and a tall, muscular build that makes my five-eight, curvy frame feel feminine.
There’s no way I’d forget this guy. And yet, I just can't place him. I'd swear on a stack of bibles that I'd never met him.
He tugs on my hand, laughing softly. “Logan Maddox. You were my math, English, and history tutor, Heather. And the only reason I graduated.”
“Oh my god!” My jaw hits the floor as the realization sinks in.
My high school crush—the guy I'd idolized in my teen years before he disappeared—is back in town and lives next door, and instead of the boy I once adored, here stood a man.
A very virile, well-built, half-naked man who apparently decided shirts were optional for morning child-retrieval missions.
Not that I'm complaining. The man's torso could've been a sculptor's study in muscle definition. I force my gaze to stay on his face, though my eyes really want to drift lower across the defined planes of his chest and stomach.
“Logan. Of course, I remember you.” I tug on the hand he hasn't released yet, and his grip tightens, holding me in place.
“It was a pleasant surprise to find you living next door to my grandfather's old house.” He leans in slightly. “This whole area used to be a jungle when I was a kid.”
“Yeah, they cleared it out after your grandfather sold the land to the town. Turned it into a nice little neighborhood.” I point beyond his house. “They made part of it into a park, too. I'm sure Violet will like the playground. It's one of Cookie's favorite places to walk.”
I tug on my hand again, and he finally releases it with a grin.
“We'll check it out, thanks.”
We stare at each other for a long moment, and I can finally see that tall, lanky kid that I loved so long ago. Before he left town and became a superstar baseball pitcher, that is. The scars make sense now.
I lift my chin toward his shoulder. “I was sorry to hear about your injury. That really sucks.” I hadn't followed his baseball career, but everyone around town had been talking about how the torn rotator cuff had taken out the town's golden boy.
Logan grunts, rubbing the joint. “Yeah. But it was time for me to check out. It was tough keeping up with all the young kids coming in.”
“I bet.” If I remember correctly, he’s a year older than me, which makes him thirty-two. Still in great shape, though. Clearly the shoulder injury hasn’t affected his ability to do whatever workout routine is responsible for that mesmerizing chest.
He keeps staring at me, and I clear my throat awkwardly. “So, um… Cookie and I need to get to work.” I gesture over my shoulder toward town. “We run the library. You should bring Violet by. I've been building the children's section and it's pretty cool, if I do say so myself.”
His grin widens, and those two dimples I used to daydream about pop out. “Cookie runs the library, too?” He glances at the dog, who is still plastered against Violet. “I can believe that.”
“You should.” I snort. “Sometimes it's tough to remember who the boss is. Hint: it's not me.” I flap my arms. “Well, anyway. It's good to see you, Logan. And you, too, Violet. Next time you want to visit, just ring my doorbell, okay? I don't want you sitting out here by yourself.”
Violet gives me a serious nod. “Can I come over and play with Cookie?”
“You sure can. Just as long as we're home, okay?” I pat my leg. “Come on, Cookie. We need to go.”
She delivers a licking kiss to Violet's cheek, then hops off the swing and sashays to the car. Logan and Violet watch us as we pull out of the driveway, and I wave, wondering why it feels like my life has somehow changed.