Chapter 7
Heather
Idrop a bag of dog toys into Logan’s backyard and close the gate behind me, careful of the pie in my other hand.
I’ve always loved this yard and thought it was ideal for kids and dogs with its wide fenced-in expanse.
The tree line in the back is perfect for privacy, and Logan had installed an impressive swing set and jungle gym right after they moved in.
Violet is playing on a tire swing, and Cookie has taken the opportunity to sploot beneath a nearby tree to catch some zzzzzzs. She has to be exhausted from entertaining kids all afternoon, and she didn’t get her usual nap.
Violet skips over and picks up the bag. “These are for Cookie?”
“Yep.” I eye my poor pooch who’s about to have a rude awakening. “Just so you know, she loves to play fetch.”
“Yay!” Violet reaches in the bag and pulls out a large ball. “Cookie!”
I chuckle as Cookie’s body levitates off the ground for a moment, but impressively, she lands on her feet. She’s obviously not quite awake, but her eyes sharpen the moment she spots the ball in Violet’s hand. Then it’s game on, as if she hadn’t been dead to the world just ten seconds ago.
I’m not quite sure what it is about Violet that Cookie tolerates. Because if I had done the same thing, I would have received attitude galore in the form of eye rolls and a disproportionate amount of judgmental side-eyes for the rest of the night.
Maybe Cookie instinctively knows that Violet needs her right now. Or hell, maybe those two are soulmates. Who knows? I’m just happy it puts a smile on that little girl’s face, bringing her some measure of peace, and she keeps Cookie busy.
Logan has the grill going full blast on the patio, and I can’t hold back the laugh at his apron. It reads ‘Mr. good looking is cooking’ and it couldn’t have been more accurate.
The apron only emphasizes his tall, muscular physique, and his normally immaculate brown hair stands up in places.
I even spot some cobwebs in there. Dark grease stains mar his arms and face, but they only highlight his blue eyes that are twinkling, and there’s a hint of mirth teasing around his mouth.
He looks so yummy, he could be on a magazine cover. I gotta admit, grilling really suits him.
I lift the pie as I approach. “I grabbed this for you, along with that half-gallon of ice cream we promised.”
His eyes widen. “Is that what I think it is?”
“You mean a cherry pie?” Oh, I definitely remember how much he loves cherry pie, especially my mother’s. She’d loved baking for him every time he came over to study. “Absolutely.”
“Gimme!” He drops the tongs and reaches for it. Yanking off the plastic cover, he inhales a deep breath and sighs it out. “Ahhhhhh! That smells amazing!”
“Yeah. I picked it up at Seaside Sweets before we got the ice cream. It’s not my mom’s recipe, but Julie’s might be a little better.” I shove a finger in his face. “Don’t you dare tell my mom I said that.”
“I won’t, I swear.” He laughs, holding up a hand. “How are your parents?”
“Good. They moved up to St. Augustine about five years ago and absolutely love it. Their house is just off Old Town and it’s super cute. It’s a great place to visit if you and Violet ever decide to do a road trip. They’re only two hours north of here.”
“It sounds fun.” His mouth stretches in a huge grin. “You can be our tour guide when we go.”
I frown, unsure of his meaning. The last thing I want to do is speculate on whether he wants me to go on vacation with him and Violet.
He nudges me. “I’m only teasing, Grill Sergeant .”
I gasp, a hand to my chest. I haven’t heard that horrible nickname since we were kids. “Logan Maddox! No, you did not!”
He cocks a hip, smirking. “You think I’d forget the best nickname of all time?”
“The hell it was!”
“Are you kidding? You made your braces a fashion show every day, remember? It was your own personal middle finger to all the idiots who teased you.” His deep chuckle rumbles through my body.
“I personally thought it was brilliant. I’ve never seen so many colors on a person’s teeth in my life.
You started a trend that first time you strutted into class and flashed those purple and hot pink choppers at us, daring us to make a comment. ”
“I. Did. Not. Strut!”
“Oh, yes, you did.” His grin turns into a leer as he edges closer. “And you made sure we all saw you, too.”
“Don’t make me throw that pie in the trash.” I swat his chest. “How’s the dinner coming along? Any chance we get to eat before bedtime?”
“These potatoes are nearly done, and I’m about to put the steaks on now.” He points over his shoulder toward the kitchen. “I just need to put the salad together and we’ll be set. Would you like some wine?”
“Oh yeah. I can handle the salad while I grab a glass. Can I get you a beer?”
“Sure.” He points the tongs toward Violet who’s still throwing for Cookie. “I’ll keep an eye on the troublemakers.”
I snort. “You got the tougher job. Be back in a minute.”
The salad comes together quickly. Logan has everything washed and arranged across the expansive granite island.
I've always admired this kitchen, the way it flows seamlessly into the other first-floor rooms. The renovations Logan completed before moving in elevated it even further with new flooring, this beautiful island, upgraded appliances, and striking fixtures.
It's a chef's paradise, really, and practically light-years beyond my cramped little kitchen.
Within minutes, I step back outside, his beer in one hand, a glass of Riesling in the other.
“The salad’s ready. How’s everything else?”
“Steaks will be done in five minutes or so.” He lifts his chin toward Violet and Cookie, who are chasing each other around the yard. “And those two are up to no good.”
I grin as Cookie nudges Violet’s leg and takes off running with Violet right behind her. It’s an obvious game of tag, and both giggle as they play. It completely warms my heart.
“Can I ask you something?” The question's been sitting with me, but I finally give in to curiosity.
“Sure,” Logan replies, lifting his beer for a drink.
“You mentioned therapy helping before. Violet seems okay most of the time, but have you looked into finding someone for her here?”
“We both went through therapy in Denver. It helped a lot. And yeah, I need to find someone here. It's on my to-do list.”
“That's good.” I hesitate, then continue. “I was reading about how children process grief, and everything I found said it comes in waves. It's not linear.”
“That's exactly right.” Logan turns to look at me directly. “Some days she's herself, happy and energetic. Other days she wakes up sobbing for her mom.”
My heart clenches. “Does that still happen often?”
“Only once recently, on our first night here. She’s been great since.” He nods toward where Violet and Cookie are playing. “Pretty sure your spoiled corgi deserves the credit for that.”
“I was literally just thinking that. I'll never forget how determined Cookie was that morning to get outside to Violet. It was like she instinctively knew the little girl on our front porch needed her, and I had no clue Violet was even out there.” I shake my head at the memory.
“The way Cookie wraps herself around Violet, it's almost protective.
Comforting. Sometimes animals just know things on a level we can't explain.”
“I guess they do.” He bumps my hip with his. “Did you ever picture Cookie as a therapy dog?”
“Not even a little bit. But a rotten diva with her own talk show? Absolutely.”
His deep chuckle sends chills through my body, and I resolve to make him laugh more.
“Does your team have everything ready for this Saturday? It’ll be here before we know it.”
He scratches his chin. “I think so. I already told you about the harebrained idea they came up with today. There’s no telling what they have for me tomorrow. They can be pretty creative.”
“Well, now. I don’t think it’s harebrained. I would have put at least twenty bucks down on trying to dunk you.”
His fierce scowl only makes him more attractive. “Maybe I'll have them put it back on the schedule and volunteer you instead.”
“You'd have to physically carry me there. I'd cling to you like a barnacle.”
His brows shoot up. “Deal, Grill Sergeant! I'll personally escort you.”
“Logan, I swear to god. Stop calling me that,” I growl through clenched teeth.
“Nope.” His eyes twinkle as he takes another swig of beer, as if he’s daring me into action.
We stare at each other for a prolonged moment, and he edges closer, his gaze shifting to an intensity I’ve never seen before.
My lips part and my chin tilts up, hoping beyond hope for another kiss.
His head drops until his mouth hovers just above mine.
His breath brushes my cheeks, and I close my eyes in anticipation.
“I’m hungry.”
Violet’s announcement yanks us from our little world and we jump apart.
“Dinner’s almost ready, sweetpea,” Logan replies, his voice strangled.
Cookie eyes me with her judgy doggy squint. I’ve seen it a million times, and yet, this time its making me squirm. The ungrateful turd.
Logan clears his throat and turns to the grill, flipping the steaks with more force than necessary. “Yeah, we better get this food on the table.”
I take a large gulp of wine, hoping it will calm my racing heart. Every time Logan gets close to me, I feel like a hormonal teenager again, all flustered and breathless. It's ridiculous.
In minutes, we’re all seated around the large wooden table. The steaks are perfectly cooked, the potatoes are crispy on the outside and fluffy inside, and everything tastes amazing. But I keep stealing glances at Logan seated across from me.
“Uncle Logan,” Violet says as she chews a mouthful of potato, “can Cookie sleep over tonight?”
Logan pauses mid-chew and looks at me. “I don't think—”
“Please?” Violet's eyes go wide and pleading. “She's my best friend.”