Chapter 15 Gwendolyn
Gwendolyn
The high I feel coursing through my veins is like a people pleaser’s dream as I follow Logan down the hall and out the front door of Town Hall.
The air is turning cooler every day. The leaves are changing into a multitude of rich colors around town.
I never realized until just now how perfect the view is from the top steps as Main Street ends in front of it.
The stoplight sends you in the direction of the interstate or in the direction of the residential area.
Maybe it’s the giddiness that’s practically vibrating my bones after that meeting.
Maybe I do have a praise kink?
A choking sound comes from the man beside me. I whirl on Logan with wide eyes.
“Did I just say that out loud?”
With one last slap to his chest, he wheezes out, “Yup” popping the p for emphasis.
“Please, just delete that from your memory.”
He shakes his head, coming back to normal as he takes a couple more breaths. His tongue slowly traces his lower lip. “Not a chance in hell, Gwendolyn.”
“In that case,” I move toward the stairs, my momentary distraction of my beautiful town over. “I’m just going to go.”
“Wait a damn minute, Gwen.”
I don’t plan on turning around, fully intent on hightailing back to the cafe and hiding forever. But his large hand on my forearm has me spinning back. The momentum sends me directly into him, my hands landing flat on his chest.
I need to call Kennedy and tell her I’m sorry for all the times I laughed at her descriptions of her female main character thinking she ran into a wall, but it was really just the love interest. Because holy shit, this man might be a wall with how firm his muscles sit under my touch.
How wide his shoulders look just barely in my line of sight—even in heeled booties.
His hand slides from its current place on my forearm up to my shoulder, landing on the junction of where it curves into my neck. His touch is so soft that it sends goosebumps skittering across my skin. I feel a need to shiver, but don’t dare make a move that could potentially break our connection.
Using the tip of his finger, Logan softly pushes my chin up, so I have no choice but to look up at him. First, I catalogue the panty-melting half-smirk that feels like the natural resting place for his lip.
As if time slows down for this moment, I unhurriedly track up the slope of his nose, with a detour to his cheekbones that are simply unfair for any man to have.
I finally reach his hazel eyes. Our gazes connect, and the feeling of a lock clicking into place detonates in my chest. Those colorful orbs shift toward the gold color I love so much, with the mid-morning sun shining brightly overhead.
The breeze sends a tendril of hair over his eyebrow, but I resist the urge to reach up and brush it back. Unwilling to even breathe too deeply, afraid to lose this moment in time with him.
His thumb brushes my pulse point on my neck, and this time I can’t hold in the shiver. The curve on his lips deepens, allowing his perfect teeth to peek through.
“You were incredible in there.”
The blush I know is overtaking my cheeks makes me warm. I try to duck my head in embarrassment, but his forefinger and thumb keep me in place. Just enough pressure to feel secure in his hold, but also that if I actually wanted to, I could deftly remove myself. Keyword being if.
“Thank you,” I mutter. I’m unsure how to respond, seeing how he just found out a very personal tidbit about myself that sits perfectly in this moment.
The warmth from my face slithers its way down my body before finding its home deep in my core. Now is not the time to squirm, I remind myself.
“I mean it,” he insists. “You are going to absolutely crush this festival.”
I raise an eyebrow playfully. “You mean we are. We are a team, right?”
A small shrug of his shoulder. “If you say so, but this is all you, Gwen.”
“Thank you,” I repeat. My own lips tipping up to mirror his as we stare at each other, captivated in our own little bubble.
I sense the shift before I see it. The air in our imaginary bubble is getting warmer, thicker almost. It’s when his eyes tip down, snagging on my lips where I seem to be nibbling on them.
His thumb reaches up and softly tugs it free.
The touch he traces is almost nonexistent with how gentle he is, but I can feel it throughout my entire being as it ignites my core even more.
“Logan,” I whisper. Either in warning or with encouragement, I’m not completely sure. His eyes darken slightly as we lean toward each other, and I think to myself, this is it. This is the moment we keep skirting around.
This is the situation you promised yourself you wouldn’t allow, a gremlin in the back of my mind reminds me. And I hate how right it is.
At the last second, I raise my hands from where they had found a new home on his person, and quickly wrap my arms around his neck. I bury my face into the crook of his neck and try not to inhale too deeply at risk of mauling him, simply due to the delicious spice of his cologne.
My body presses against his. I can almost hear it sigh in contentment at how good it feels when his arms slide around my midsection and squeezes. Once. Twice. Then one more time, lingering a little longer on the last one.
We both hold on until we hear the double doors of Town Hall’s entrance swing open.
“Logan,” a deep voice reverberates. Clearly agitated by the tone it carries.
I feel every tensing muscle within him as he registers the sound before slowly releasing his hold on me.
His hands slide along my back, landing on my hips.
One last miniscule squeeze I read as the signal telling me to let go.
I drop my own arms from around his neck while his hands softly push my waist, forcing a small step from both of us.
The distance it creates makes my heart heavy.
And so does the defeated look on Logan’s face I take in briefly until he turns toward the person who interrupted us.
“Father,” he responds in his own clipped tone. His hands slide into his trouser pockets.
“Ms. Prescott,” his dad pulls my attention toward him and away from Logan, who looks like he might crack his jaw with how hard he is clenching his teeth together. “I trust you had a good meeting with my wife this morning?”
My face twitches; the need to pinch my eyebrows together in confusion weighs on me. “Yes, sir.”
He nods, clapping his hands together in front of him. “Wonderful. I have a good feeling about what you will do with our beloved festival this year.”
My eyes dart over to Logan quickly, noting his steel gaze is locked on his father, who has his locked on me. “I hope I can deliver.”
The smile he flashes feels slimy. “If you don’t mind, I need to steal my son for some business.
Have a good day, Ms. Prescott.” The moment his eyes slide away from me, going darker than before as they take in his son, I loosen a breath I had not realized was stuck in my lungs since we were interrupted.
I could practically feel the dismissal in my bones.
“Ha-have a good day, sir,” I stumble out as I step away, my right foot almost teleporting to the first step down.
I’m fully prepared to skedaddle away like a child reprimanded for being where they aren’t supposed to be, when Logan’s gentle touch lands on the back of my hand.
I stall, my left foot on the step below ready to take me away. Looking up at his hazel eyes, I note an apology begging to be let out. I nod in understanding.
“I’ll reach out later so we can set up some time to continue planning, okay?”
I don’t want to naively read into his words, but there’s an underlying tone that feels like he’s begging for me to let him know I’m okay after this weird interaction.
One moment we were ready to lock lips right in front of Town Hall, and the next his father was booting me down the steps with just words.
The whiplash of the morning was giving me a headache.
“Okay,” I reply quietly before pulling my hand from his and marching down the steps. My head is held high in an attempt to not look back at the father-son stare down I can feel happening at my back.