One
LOGAN
“Sorry, cuz, you need to move out,” Jagger said, entering the pub like a bearded bull in a china shop. “Need both rooms.”
He slowed his roll a little and came behind the bar, leaning in next to my ear so only I would hear him. “Raina and Marco are going to come stay for a bit. Until we know they’re safe.”
Fuck, right.
Jagger was kind of seeing his former enemy, Raina Aaronson who co-owned the vineyard on the island, and her son was nearly kidnapped by some estranged uncle or something.
Okay, fine. My ire dissipated almost all the way now that I knew why he needed the room.
And it wasn’t even ire, really. More … shock.
I was just getting comfy in Jagger’s spare room.
The guy had a killer home gym, great snacks, a massive flat screen television, and since his room had an en suite, I had my own bathroom.
It was a great set-up for a vagabond like me who had nowhere else to go.
So, of course, I wasn’t super keen on moving, but I understood why. I was living there rent-free and working in the family-owned bar; they were doing me a serious solid.
“Clint said you can stay with him in his spare room,” he said, still whispering.
I’d only been on San Camanez Island for six weeks, but I already knew that news traveled fast. It was like that childhood game telephone, but on steroids. The message got twisted, warped, inflated, and sometimes so badly botched it was barely recognizable by the end.
Usually, the culprit of that gossip monstrosity was one Mrs. Jolene Dandy, who currently sat with her Sewing Circle ladies at their favorite booth. I had half a mind to spit in her Rob Roy, but obviously I wasn’t going to.
I nodded at Jagger. “I’ll get Renée to cover for me and run up and move my stuff.”
Jagger slapped me on the back. “Appreciate it, Logan. I don’t like putting you out like this. I’ve actually enjoyed having you there. But …”
“I get it,” I said quickly. “Raina and Marco are lucky to have you looking out for them.” I gave him a quick smile, then reached for the next drink ticket that had just come up.
“Thanks,” Jagger said before disappearing through the swinging door that led to the kitchen.
Renée, the ice-blonde goddess I was currently in love with, but she didn’t know it, sidled up to the bar with a big smile on her beautiful, round face.
“You look glum, chum. What’s eating your butt?
” She was a server at the restaurant, but also sometimes filled in behind the bar.
For me, it was basically love at first sight; for her—friendship.
Which I was grateful for. I moved to the West Coast from back east, not knowing anybody but my cousins, so I could certainly use some friends.
“Jagger needs me to move out,” I said, mixing a rum and coke. “I’m going to stay with Clint now.”
She frowned, somehow managing to make that look sexy, too. “Oh man. That sucks. But also, that’s cool. Clint, Brooke and Talia are great.”
I nodded. “Yeah, I mean. It’s still rent free and on the same property I work. I’m not complaining.”
“I know you’re not. You’re also allowed to be a little bummed.” She flashed me another big smile before disappearing to go check on her tables.
The corners of my mouth dipped down as I pulled the tap for the house lager and filled the pint. Even though Clint’s daughter Talia was sweet as pie, it was going to take some getting used to having to share a bathroom with an eight-year-old.
“Order up,” Wyatt said from the kitchen window.
It was mid-afternoon, between the lunch and dinner rush, so we weren’t too busy. I grabbed the food from the window—a pesto and sundried tomato panini with chicken—and carried it out to the table, along with Jolene’s Rob Roy.
“Afternoon, ladies,” I said, greeting the Sewing Circle.
Though, today, they weren’t sewing. They were crocheting.
Apparently, they didn’t always sew in this circle.
I learned that on my first day. Just because they called it the Sewing Circle, didn’t mean they were confined to the restraints of only sewing.
I set the sandwich in front of Sunflower Patrick. “Your sandwich, m’lady.”
She giggled and beamed up at me. “You’re a charmer, Logan Conroy.”
I shot her a wink. “It’s easy when the one I’m trying to charm is so beautiful.”
Giggling some more, she swatted my arm.
“And one Rob Roy,” I said, setting Jolene’s drink in front of her.
Renée came up beside me. “Hope this schmuck isn’t bothering you gals too much,” she said, refilling their waters.
“Not bothering us at all,” Sakura Reilly replied, setting down her crochet hook to take a sip of her tea. “Could I bother you for some more hot water, sweetheart?”
Renée reached across the table and grabbed the handmade teapot. “Not at all. Be right back.” Then she playfully hip checked me lightly, before practically skipping to servers’ station.
“You two should date,” Jolene said, sipping her Rob Roy, then humming in delight. “You’d make a very cute couple.”
“And adorable babies,” Sakura added. “Blond, blue-eyed. Like beautiful little Vikings.”
Even though I’d had similar thoughts myself, because I was a serial monogamist, and would love to get married and have kids, I merely cleared my throat.
But my cheeks were on fire, and all the women staring at me could probably see it.
I blushed so easily. More often than not, I had red stains on my cheeks, even if I wasn’t embarrassed, exhausted from working out, or angry.
My face just went the color of a tomato whenever it wanted to.
“Oh, did we make you blush?” Jolene teased.
“Why’s he blushing?” Renée asked, joining us again with the pot of hot water. “Are you hitting on him again, Sunflower?”
Sunflower swatted her hand in Renée’s direction. “Oh you!”
“We’re just commenting on how cute a couple you two would make,” Jolene said, not bothering to take in my stop sign red of a face as an indication to change the subject. “And the babies you’d have.”
“What happened to that boy you were dating in the summer?” Sakura asked her.
“Oh, Craig?” Renée made a dismissive face and accompanied it with a one shoulder shrug.
“It wasn’t serious. He was also not a serious person.
Like ever. Turned everything into a joke.
And while I like to laugh, and love a guy with a sense of humor, sometimes you need to also have real conversations. And Craig was incapable.”
All the women around the table nodded or made some noise in agreement.
“You know how to have a serious conversation when it’s necessary, right, Logan?” Jolene asked.
I cupped my ear and turned toward the bar. “Oh, that’s the ticket machine. Sounds like there’s a drink that needs fixing.”
“I didn’t hear anything,” Jolene said.
“Need to get your ears checked,” I said, before booking it back behind the bar where it was safe.
Wyatt chuckled from the kitchen, and I turned to face him in the food window. “What possessed you to go over there?” he asked. “I figured by now you knew better than to engage the Sewing Circle in conversation. One-on-one, they’re fine. As a group …” He shook his head and chuckled again.
Renée made her way back over to the bar, a pretty grin on her face. “Ignore them. They love trying to play matchmakers.”
Swallowing, I managed an awkward and shaky, close-mouthed smile that probably had Renée wondering if I was constipated. I was not.
“Do you uh … do you mind watching the bar for like thirty minutes for me?” I asked. “I told Jagger I’d run up to the house and move my stuff over to Clint’s.”
Her brows lifted on her forehead. “Oh right. Shit. Yeah, for sure.” She glanced around the pub, then back at me. “My tables are all fine. I can handle things for a bit.”
Penny, the other server working the afternoon shift, came over and grabbed her water bottle. “What’s with the faces? You look like you two have a big secret.” She took a sip and cast us both a curious look as she sucked on her straw.
“I just have to move into Clint’s, so Renée is going to watch the bar for me.”
Nodding, Penny set down her water bottle. “I’ll keep an eye on your tables if it gets busy.”
“Thanks,” I said, ducking out from behind the bar. “See you in a bit.” Then I ran out of the bar and up the hill toward Jagger’s house, grateful for the chilly January temperature and the way it soothed my burning cheeks.
Since I arrived on San Camanez with not more than the backpack on my back, it took all of fifteen minutes for me to pack up my stuff. I had laundry in the dryer I needed to grab, as well as some of my own protein powder and creatine, but other than that, I had very little to my name.
Jagger met me on his doorstep just as I was leaving. “I appreciate you doing this, man,” he said, giving my shoulder a squeeze. A few raindrops clung to the round frames of his wire-rimmed glasses. “I know it’s not ideal.”
“It is what it is,” I said casually, though inside, I was actually really sad.
He headed inside, and I made my way across the gravel driveway, past Dom’s house, Wyatt’s house, and Bennett’s house, to Clint’s, which was at the front and closest to the security gate.
All five McEvoy brothers lived in identical houses, side-by-side.
The only difference to them was the color.
While Jagger’s was light gray with white trim, Clint’s was a dark blue.
Otherwise, the layouts inside were identical.
I lifted my fist to knock on the door, but it opened before I could even begin.
Clint’s partner, and Hollywood starlet Brooke Barker, stood in the foyer.
She was all long blonde waves, green eyes, and bombshell curves.
She also happened to be one of the nicest people on the planet.
“Hey roomie,” she greeted, stepping aside and welcoming me in.
I huffed a laugh and stepped in, ditching my shoes and setting them next to a tiny pair of sparkly purple ones that obviously belonged to Talia. “I’m really sorry to be putting you guys out like this.” I offered her an apologetic smile.