We had both wrongly judged the book by its cover.
I rolled over, clutching my pillow. I hated my job. I hated everything to do with it—the meetings, the business executives, dealing with egos, strict timelines and schedules. It consumed my life, and I detested it.
I never had time to do anything I enjoyed. I gave it all to my father and the company he loved so much. Hoping one day, he would, in turn, love me that much. That both my parents would wake up and see me. Not the sibling who couldn’t help her brother. Not the girl who let them down. Me.
Except it would never happen.
I buried my face in the pillow and wept.
The next morning, I was listless, still exhausted and disconnected. I was grateful it was Friday. If I worked late again, I could take the weekend off. I only had to make it through one more day.
I paused as I stepped outside, the welcome cold hitting me. I inhaled slowly, smelling the snow in the air. Everywhere, it was fresh and white, thanks to the flurries that blanketed the city overnight. I pulled on my mittens, startling when a throat cleared in front of me.
I met Logan’s eyes. He looked as tired as I felt.
“What are you doing here?”
“Waiting for you.”
“I didn’t think I’d see you again.”
“I’m sorry about last night.” He stepped forward. “I’m sensitive when it comes to money. I don’t want you thinking I’m some impoverished street person you have to help.”
“I don’t.”
He arched his eyebrow, and I had the grace to look ashamed. “I’m sorry.”
“I think we need to get to know each other better.”
I smiled at him, relief tearing through my body. “I’d like that.”
“You look so tired.”
“I didn’t sleep well last night.”
“Me either. You looked so upset when you left the coffee shop that I almost buzzed up to your place.”
“What?”
“When you walked home.”
“You saw me? You stormed away. You left.”
“I did, but I was outside around the corner. Did you really think I would let you walk home alone? I stayed back and made sure you arrived safely.”
“Why didn’t you come talk to me?”
“I needed to cool off, and I thought you would be too angry with me to talk.”
“I would have. I was sorry I upset you.”
He studied me for a moment. “Lottie, I know we’re different. I know our goals and the way we achieve them are polar opposites. But I think we suit each other on so many levels. I want to explore this further—whatever we have—with you.”
I hesitated.
He held out his hand. “Come with me. Spend the day with me. Come see my world for a few hours. You can show me yours. Maybe we can figure out a way to mesh them.”
“I have to go to work.”
He wrapped his hand around mine, his warmth seeping through the wool that covered my hand. “One day. All I’m asking for is one day. Work will be there tomorrow.”
I was tempted. “Why?” I breathed out.
He hunched down, meeting my gaze. “I lost my father to the rat race of the corporate world. I’ll be damned if I don’t fight to save you from it.”
“Logan…”
His lips touched mine. Featherlight, gentle, and sweet. His touch filled me with yearning. Warmth. Desire. He drew back, and I followed, wanting to feel his touch again. He gathered me into his arms, holding me close. He kissed me harder, passion simmering with his caress.
“Please, Lottie. Come with me. All I want is a chance.”
I rested my head on his chest, feeling the way his arms encircled me so naturally. I felt cherished, and for the first time in many years, safe.
I glanced up into his warm eyes, seeing his care and worry. His rich, whiskey gaze was intense, soulful, and real. Logan looked at me. He saw me.
I wanted to see that gaze every day. I wanted to hear his voice murmur my name. I didn’t want to feel alone anymore.
I wanted to feel alive.
Logan made me feel that way.
I met his golden, anxious gaze.
“Yes.”
Chapter 5
Lottie
Logan released me from his embrace and wrapped his hand around mine, tugging me down the steps. I faltered, and he stopped with a frown.
“No, don’t change your mind, Lottie. Please.”
“I’m not.” I indicated my business clothes. “I thought I would change into something a little less formal. And I have to call the office and tell them I’m not coming in. My father will worry, and I can’t simply abandon my responsibilities.”
He shook his head. “Of course not. I wouldn’t expect you to.” He rested back against the wrought-iron railing. “I’ll wait.”
I smiled, feeling shy. “Why don’t you come up? It’s warmer inside.”
He frowned. “You shouldn’t be inviting strange men into your home, Lottie. For all you know, I’m as psycho as you thought I was last night.”
I arched an eyebrow at him. “Are you?”
His grin flashed, lighting his face. “No. But still…”
“Maybe you should be afraid of me.”
He threw back his head in amusement. His laugh was loud and boisterous, cutting through the cold air and uplifting me with its infectious sound. “I think I can take my chances,” he stated once he stopped chortling.
“Okay, then.” I held out my hand, and he took it in his much larger one.
“Show me your place.”
I was nervous as I opened my door. My condo wasn’t big or fancy, but it was mine. It took all my savings to get the down payment, but it belonged to me. It overlooked the street, and I liked to sit and watch the snow fall in the streetlights from the big chair I had placed by the window. The building was older and still had the charm of gumtree moldings and chair rails, and the floors were all hardwood and creaked everywhere you walked. There were two decent-sized bedrooms, one I currently used for an office. It had a day bed for the occasional night that Brianna would stay over. There was a small dining area, and the kitchen had been done before I bought it, so it was in good shape. I had decorated it slowly, buying pieces as they went on sale or that I found in secondhand shops or antique markets. My mother had been aghast at my decisions, but it was all mine, and I loved every piece.
Logan looked around the room with a smile on his face. “Exactly how I pictured it.”
“Yeah?”
He nodded and ran a finger over my cheek. “I knew you weren’t a big-box kind of girl, and I couldn’t see you surrounded by stuffy furniture. You have an old soul, Lottie, and this place suits you.”
My breath caught. His words described how I felt to perfection. My parents never saw that about me. My father pushed for me to be a modern businesswoman, and my mother wanted my place to be a showcase like their condo. But Logan saw underneath all of it and into the person inside.
“How?” I asked. “How do you know me so well already?”
“It’s just my observations. Your clothes, your handbag, even your briefcase. Nothing showy, no labels screaming ‘Look at me!’ You carry a book, not an e-reader. You’re not glued to your phone. You’re always elegant and classy. You’re kind to people.” He smiled ruefully. “You were certainly kind to me when you thought I was a street musician and needed to eat. I saw you give sandwiches to homeless people several times. I saw the trays of coffee you would leave.” He paused, meeting my gaze. “I saw the softness in your eyes, the caring gestures you made when you thought no one was looking. That is what tells me the type of person you are—the person I thought you to be.”
The air around us hummed. Logan stepped back with a sigh. “I think you’d better go get changed and make your call, or I might not live up to your expectations.”
“Do, ah, you need to call anyone?” I asked. Macy had told me he was a teacher. Was she wrong?
He frowned. �
��I do work, Lottie. I’m a teacher. Well, at the moment, a substitute teacher. Full time is hard to get now. I wasn’t needed today.”
I studied him. His gaze was intelligent, and he was articulate and smart. I had already figured that out. “I bet you’re a great teacher.”
He shrugged off my compliment.
“I’m waiting,” was all he said.
I hurried away, shutting my bedroom door behind me. I leaned against it, my hand on my chest.
What was I doing? I had never once taken a sick day, and now, because Logan asked, I was going to pretend to be ill and spend the day with him. And I wanted to do it. I wanted to spend today with him. For the first time since I could remember, I was choosing myself and what I wanted over what I felt I should do.
I pushed off the door and called the office. Audrey, the HR woman, sounded shocked when I explained I wouldn’t be in, and she put me on hold for a moment. I wasn’t surprised when my father came on the line.
“Charlotte? What’s going on?”
“I’m not well, so I’m not coming in today. As I told Audrey, I left all the files needed for the meeting this afternoon on my desk.”
“What do you mean not well?”
I had no idea what to say. I hadn’t planned on having to defend myself to my father.
“I, ah…” I dropped my voice. “It’s a woman’s issue, Dad. I have cramps and—”
“I get the picture,” he interrupted, as I knew he would. “Not great timing, Charlotte.”
I rolled my eyes. “A little out of my control,” I pointed out, feeling the guilt of fibbing to him.
“Do what you have to and try to make it in this afternoon.”
I made a noncommittal response and hung up. I threw off my business suit and dressed in jeans and a warm cherry-red sweater. I rushed back down the hall. Logan was sitting on the sofa, thumbing through one of my dog-eared books. He glanced up and grinned. “You look beautiful.”
He stood and came close. “You need one more thing, though.”
“Oh?”
Reaching up, he delved his hands into my hair and pulled away the clips, letting it fall down my back in long waves. He ran his fingers through the thick locks. “Now, you’re perfect.”
Once again, the air began to thicken around us. His fingers tightened in my hair, curling into fists. Slowly, giving me a chance to refuse, he lowered his head. I slid my hands around his shoulders, and with a groan, he crashed his lips to mine. His grip was firm but gentle as he held me close. His mouth moved, his tongue sliding sensuously along with mine. I whimpered as he deepened the kiss, warmth spreading through my body, running down my spine. I curled my toes as he dropped one hand to my hip, pulling me tight to his chest as he kissed me, my senses reeling from his passion.
He broke away, leaning his forehead to mine. Our chests pressed together, his hard, toned body fitting to my softer curves so well.
“God, I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he murmured. “I want to do it again. And then again.”
I shivered at his low tone. The underlying promise it held. I bent back, meeting his gaze. It was dark and hooded, filled with desire.
“Anytime,” I breathed out.
I was rewarded with another hard, fast kiss. “God, you are amazing.”
He stepped back, leaving me feeling cold without his warmth. “If I do, we won’t be leaving this condo, and I have the day planned.” He grabbed his coat. “Are you ready?”
I took my parka from the coat hook and tucked my wallet and phone into the large pocket. I grabbed my favorite mittens and paused.
“Wait.”
I turned to the closet and pulled down a basket, digging through it. I found what I was looking for and held out a pair of large gray mittens.
“For you.”
Logan took them, frowning.
“I made them,” I explained. “Look, they can be worn like mittens, or fingerless.” I demonstrated how the small flap opened and they became fingerless gloves. “They were my first attempt, so they aren’t perfect, but they’ll keep your hands warm.”
He eyed the basket. “Should I ask about your mitten fetish?”
I giggled. “I like to knit. I make them and drop them off at homeless shelters. I also knit baby booties and blankets for the hospital.” I waggled my fingers. “And I love mittens, but I lose them frequently, so I make them for me too.”
He slid them on, pulling back the flap so his fingers were exposed and bending his knuckles. “I like them.” He met my eyes, his gaze warm. “Thank you.”
I was thrilled he accepted them in the spirit they were given. No hidden agenda, no worry about his financial capability of affording some mittens, just me giving them to him since I noticed his hands were bare and we were going to be outside.
“You’re welcome.”
He held out his hand again. “Shall we?”
I tucked mine into his, grinning. They matched. I saw he noticed too, and his eyes crinkled with amusement.
“Yes.”
We walked a short distance, neither of us talking at first, but enjoying the quiet. It felt strangely right to be walking beside him, holding his hand. Logan steered us in the opposite direction of the main road and into a neighborhood I wasn’t familiar with. The streets were a little wider and quiet. Tall trees lined the road, and I gazed up in wonder at the snow-covered branches and how pretty they looked glistening in the sun.
“Is winter your favorite season?” he asked.
“Yes. It always has been. Josh and I…” I trailed off and swallowed. “Josh and I loved to play in the snow. He always helped me make the best snowmen.”
“Josh?”
I had to blink at the sudden moisture in my eyes. “My brother.”
“Do you still make snowmen together?”
“No,” I said through tight lips.
“Does he work with you at your father’s company?”
I swallowed. “He’s dead.”
Logan stopped walking, pivoted, and stared down at me. “Lottie, I’m sorry.”
“He died when I was much younger.”
“And you still miss him.” It wasn’t a question, simply a statement as if he understood.
“Every day.”
Suddenly, his arms enveloped me, pulling me close. Despite my parka and his jacket, I felt his heat, the warmth of his embrace seeping into me, relaxing me. I accepted his comfort, clinging to his waist, holding him close.
“I’m sure he misses you too, baby,” he mumbled into my hair.
His words unlocked something inside me. I was never allowed to talk about Josh. Every time I tried, my parents shut down. Right after his death, that was all I wanted to talk about, to share with someone how much I missed him. How badly I felt I failed him. But I couldn’t. It was forbidden.
“He was a great big brother,” I whispered.
He held me harder, then eased back. “You’ll have to tell me all about him.”
“Really?”
“You can talk to me about anything, Lottie. Obviously, you loved him—you still do—so of course I want to know about him.”
“I’d like that. But not today. I want today to be about us.”
He traced a finger down my cheek. “Okay. Whenever you want.”
He clasped my hand in his. “Now, I’m ready for breakfast.”
“Sounds good.”
Logan led me to another small restaurant, where he was obviously well-known. He was greeted warmly, and he led me to a booth in the corner. I sat down, unzipping my coat and inhaling the scent of coffee and sugar hanging in the air.
“Do they know you in every diner in the city?” I teased.
He chuckled. “Only about four. I sub at the school a few blocks over. I usually stop for breakfast on the days I work there. I love their waffles. Great coffee too.”
My mouth began to water. Waffles. I couldn’t recall the last time I’d had waffles. My mom used to make them when we were kids—they were Josh’s favorite
. After he died, she never made them again.
“Lottie?” Logan’s worried voice interrupted my thoughts.
I shook my head to clear it. “Waffles sound perfect.”
He ordered each of us waffles and added a plate of bacon to share. I sipped the hot coffee, enjoying the strong brew.
Logan drank his faster, emptying his mug. The waitress reappeared and set a carafe on our table, then walked away looking amused.
“They know you well.”
“I sometimes mark papers while I’m here. They know how much coffee I drink.” He winked and filled his cup and sat back. “You don’t do too bad yourself.”
“Caffeine is the only thing that gets me through some days,” I admitted.
“What do you do, exactly?”
I looked past him through the window. It was still snowing lightly, the white glittering in the sun as it drifted down to the ground. I disliked talking about my job, but I forced myself to give a quick explanation.
“I’m part of a group that works with investors on a project. We present and bring them into a new investment opportunity, and basically hold their hand until it is done. We meet with them, keep them up-to-date, calm their fears, ask them for more money at times. It varies. Sometimes it’s short—a few weeks or months, other times longer, depending on the size of the project. I spend most of my time doing research and supplying the team with the information. It’s my job to know each project inside and out. I have to be ready to answer any question the client, the investor, a team member, or my father asks.”
“Sounds like a lot of stress.”
“It is.”
“And you do it because…?” He trailed off.
“Because I have to.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “You have to?”
“It’s expected of me.”
“That’s a huge responsibility to have on your shoulders.”
I hated discussing my job. Simply thinking about it these days made me feel ill. I was grateful to see the waitress approaching, and I forced a smile to my face. “Oh, here’s breakfast.”
Logan took the hint. “Good. I’m starving.”
The waffles were amazing. Light and fluffy, yet crispy. Logan watched, bemused, as I drowned the waffle in butter and syrup and took my first bite, groaning at the delicious explosion of sweetness.
Heart Strings Page 4
