Chapter 9
Heather
Ifloat into the library on a cloud, my lips still tingling from Logan's goodbye kisses. Plural. The man made sure I knew he’d miss me before finally letting me leave, and I'm pretty sure I have a dopey smile plastered across my face.
“Good morning, Heather,” she says, her eyes twinkling with barely contained amusement. “You're looking particularly refreshed this morning.” There’s a teasing note in her voice, as if she knows something I don’t.
Cookie settles on a pillow in the corner as I set down my coffee and laptop. I shrug, trying to school my features into something resembling professional neutrality. “Just a good night's sleep, I guess.”
“Mmmm-hmm.” Amy's grin widens. “I bet. I’m sure it has nothing to do with a certain handsome baseball player who happens to live next door?”
My cheeks flame. “I don't know what you're talking about.”
“Of course, you don't.” She shuffles through papers, still smirking. “Completely unrelated topic: did you know that Mrs. Henderson likes to sit on her porch late at night? Something about the fresh salt air that really makes her feel youthful. Very dedicated to her beauty regimen, that woman.”
My blood turns cold. What the hell did that old bat see?
“Amy—”
“Let’s dive into the artisan market details, shall we? We’re two days out and need to get all our ‘I’s dotted and ‘T’s crossed.” Amy interrupts smoothly, all business now, but her eyes are still dancing with mischief.
I ignore the bait and pull out my checklist, shifting into work mode.
We spend the next two hours hammering out logistics for the library's booth at Saturday's market.
We'll have book donation bins, library card sign-up sheets, information about the children's library grant proposal, and a reading corner where kids can look at books while their parents browse other vendors.
“We should bring some of the newer picture books,” I suggest, making notes. “The interactive ones with the flaps and textures. Those always draw the younger kids in.”
“Great idea. And we should coordinate with Logan's team.” Amy says his name with exaggerated casualness. “Make sure our booths complement each other rather than compete for space.”
“We’re under the same tent, but they’ll still have their own space. It was my idea.” I can't suppress the pride in my voice. “You know, cross-promotion. The library supports the team, the team supports literacy.”
“How very collaborative of you.” Amy's smile is positively wicked now. “I'm sure you and Logan will have several meetings to iron out all the details. Very close, hands-on coordination.”
I narrow my eyes. “Okay, what the hell is going on?”
Amy shrugs, hands in the air. “I'm just saying, partnership requires good communication.” She pauses. “Lots and lots of communication.”
I huff, feeling like the butt of a joke that everyone knows except me. I throw a pen at her. She dodges it, laughing.
Our meeting finally wraps up and I retreat to my office to tackle email.
Cookie is splooted under my desk, dead to the world, enjoying her customary late morning nap, something she hasn't gotten much of since Violet arrived and the preschool visits picked up.
The thought brings a smile to my face. I still can't believe Logan sent me that photo of the tea party this morning.
I've looked at it approximately forty-seven times already.
I'm deep into composing a follow-up email to Sapphire Development about the grant approval timeline when my office door bangs open hard enough to rattle the framed literacy posters on my walls. Cookie huffs into her paws, annoyed at being disturbed mid-nap.
Julie stands in the doorway, Amy right behind her, both wearing identical expressions of barely restrained glee.
“Okay, spill,” Julie demands, marching in and plopping down in the chair across from my desk. Amy closes the door and leans against it, arms crossed, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.
“Don’t you have a bakery to run? What are you doing here?”
“Seaside Sweets is perfectly under control, thank you very much. Stop trying to change the subject.”
“What subject? I literally have no idea why you’re here.”
“Don't play innocent with me, missy.” Julie points an accusing finger at me. “You're not getting away without details. Why didn't you tell me you're dating Logan Maddox?”
“I—we just—it's new—” I sputter. How the hell did they find out about this? Our first official date isn't even until Saturday. Did Logan take out a billboard? Hire a skywriter? Send a town-wide newsletter?
“How new?” Amy interjects. “Because according to my sources, you two have been practically joined at the hip for weeks.”
“Your sources? What the hell, Amy?”
A mischievous gleam lights Amy's expression as she studies me, her lips pursed not in anger but in barely contained laughter, offering me nothing.
“Okay, fine.” I throw my hands up in surrender. “We've been having dinner together. As neighbors and friends only.” Even I can hear how weak that sounds. I might as well claim Cookie and Violet are just acquaintances or that the sun is just a nearby star.
Julie snorts, folding her arms across her chest. “Right. Friends. Friends who apparently can't keep their hands off each other on your front porch at close to midnight.”
My stomach drops. “What?!” Cookie jolts under my desk at my screech. She releases an indignant groan communicating her displeasure at having her beauty sleep interrupted again.
“Oh, honey.” Julie pulls out her phone with the air of someone about to deliver devastating news. “You haven't seen the photos yet, have you?”
“Photos? What photos? Would someone please tell me what the hell is going on?”
She turns her phone to me. On the screen is a group text thread labeled Pelican Point Morning Crew with at least thirty people in it. And there, in crystal-clear quality, are multiple photos of me and Logan on my porch last night.
One shows him backing me against the pillar, his hand cupping my face. Another catches us mid-kiss, my hands fisted in his shirt. A third shows us laughing, foreheads pressed together, looking at each other like we're the only two people in the world.
They're actually beautiful photos. Romantic, even. I wouldn’t mind a copy. But still—
“Mrs. Henderson took these?!” That freaking busybody…
The woman must have the hearing of a bat, the stealth of a ninja, and one hell of a camera on her phone.
Does she patrol the neighborhood with night-vision goggles?
Is this what retirement looks like, lurking in bushes at midnight with a smartphone, waiting to catch unsuspecting neighbors in compromising positions?
I'm half convinced she has motion sensors installed on every porch within a three-block radius.
“She was sitting outside when you two sashayed onto your porch and started going at it. She just happened to have her phone ready,” Amy explains, trying and failing to suppress her smile.
“She sent them to her book club group chat, which forwarded them to the church ladies, who sent them to basically everyone in town. You're trending, sweetie.”
“Oh, for the love of god. We did not sashay.” I drop my head to my desk, not bothering to dispute the ‘going at it’ part because they held the evidence in their hands. “I'm going to wring her miserable, nosey-ass neck.”
“Why?” Julie sounds genuinely confused. “Look at these, they’re hot! And Mrs. Henderson literally said you two were adorable. She said, and I quote, ‘These two young people are adorable together. About time someone put a smile on that girl's face.’”
“I smile all the time,” I object, lifting my head. “Wait… Mrs. Henderson said I'm adorable?”
“Which is basically her version of a papal blessing,” Amy adds. “I've lived here twenty years, and I've never heard her say anything nice about anyone. She once referred to the mayor as a human toadstool.”
Despite the absurdity of the situation, I laugh. Because it's ridiculous. All of it. Mrs. Henderson acting as town paparazzi, group chats dissecting my love life, the idea that half of Pelican Point has seen me making out with Logan Maddox on my front porch.
And the weird thing is, I don't actually care.
“Well, she’s not wrong about the mayor,” I comment, still laughing. “Okay, fine. Yes. Logan and I are dating. Officially. As of last night.”
Julie squeals, and Amy claps her hands together.
“Finally! She admits it.” Julie leans forward eagerly. “Okay, now give me all the deets. How serious is this?”
“We have our first official date Saturday night after the market.”
“A date-date?” Amy asks. “Or a ‘let's hang out’ situation?”
“A real date somewhere fancy. He's making reservations at someplace special and told me I had to wear something nice.”
Julie and Amy exchange matching smirks.
“That's serious,” Julie declares. “Men don't do 'wear something nice' unless they mean it.”
“What does Violet think?” Amy asks.
“We haven’t really said anything to her, but we’ve been at each other’s houses every night since they moved in.”
Both women gasp.
“Shut the front door!” Julie demands.
I explain how Cookie found Violet on our porch that first morning and how the two had been practically inseparable since. “And she calls me Aunt Heather now.”
Amy's hand goes to her heart. “Oh, that's precious.”
Julie grins. “Kudos to Cookie. I never took her for a therapy dog. And I’m glad to hear the little diva doesn’t mind sharing her human.”
I snort. “I don’t think I’m her human anymore. I’m fairly certain Cookie's in love with Violet, and vice versa. In fact, she spent the night at Logan's last night and refused to sleep anywhere except curled around Violet like a bodyguard.” I pull up the splooting photo and show them.
“And this was them at six AM. They woke Logan up having a tea party.”
“Stop it!” Julie grabs the phone. “Oh my god, that crown! I can't handle this level of cute.”