by Melissa Tagg
“Ting-miss-ar-toq. It means ‘one who flies like a bird.’ It’s the plane Charles and Anne Morrow Lindbergh flew together. It had pontoon floats so it could land in water.”
“Is your brain a flytrap for Lindbergh trivia?” He dragged Charlie with his foot, stepping closer to Amelia. “But seriously, go ahead and stay. Charlie will be fine. She’ll behave.” He looked down. “Won’t you, kiddo?”
“Maybe.”
Amelia grinned. “She’s honest. I’ll give her that. But no, we’ll go back with you. We can come back another time.”
Her breath caught on those last words, the realization of what she’d said—we—and all the hope huddled in those two little letters she hadn’t let herself fully acknowledge until right now.
She was falling for Logan Walker.
So very hard and so very completely.
But if he’d heard the assumption in her comment, he let it slide and instead swung Charlie into his arms once more. “Let’s get a picture before we leave.”
He tapped a nearby tourist, made the request, and handed over his phone, then moved to scrunch in closer to Amelia.
“I’m going to look ridiculous in this photo. You in that suit and me in airplane clothes.”
Charlie perched on one side of him, he draped his other arm around her shoulder. “You look perfect.”
The tourist snapped the photo. “Safety shot,” he called out, then snapped a second. “Good-looking family,” he said as he returned Logan’s phone.
And oh, if she didn’t foolishly love the fact that Logan didn’t correct him.
The wonder of the museum stayed with her as they exited, hailed a cab just outside the National Mall, squeezed into the backseat, and traveled the cramped streets of D.C.
She’d said we.
He pushed into the Hyatt Regency Hotel, just across the street from the Marriott where he’d left Amelia and Charlie, Amelia’s words still echoing through him even as he summoned the focus for what might be the most important meeting of his career.
We can come back another time.
“Walker!”
He heard Theo’s voice before the hotel’s revolving door had even spilled him into the lobby. He hurried forward, no reservation in the hug that followed, the sound of rolling suitcase wheels and the ding of an elevator accompanying Theo’s slap on his back.
He stepped back, taking in his friend’s surfer hair, now gelled into cooperation, and a dark suit that contrasted with his own.
“You look good,” Theo said.
“You look tan.”
“I forced myself to take a Saturday off last week. Jill and I went to the beach.”
“I think I hate you. We got a blizzard on the first day of May.”
Theo reached for the Starbucks carrier on a marbled ledge behind him. “Here, your usual afternoon decaf chai.”
He accepted the warm cup. “Believe it or not, I’ve given in to all-day coffee.”
“You? What happened to ‘I can’t drink caffeine after one o’clock ’cause it’ll keep me up all night’?” Theo’s voice pitched to a whine as he mimicked Logan.
He swallowed a hot sip, the sweetness of the chai a shock after getting so accustomed to Dad’s daily muddy brew. “I’ve changed.”
He said it with off-hand nonchalance, but Theo regarded him with a serious glint in his eyes. “You have changed.”
“Don’t look so baffled. I welcomed caffeine into the afternoon portion of my day. Didn’t shave my head or pierce my eyebrow. Oh man, you should’ve seen my parents’ reaction the day Raegan came home with a pierced eyebrow.”
Theo shook his head, still peering at Logan over the rim of his cup. “It’s not that. You’re . . . I don’t know, calm or something. Less frazzled. No circles under your eyes.”
“Well, I’ve always slept best at Dad’s.”
Theo took another drink, then lowered his cup, studying gaze still in place. “So you brought Charlie and who again? One of your sisters?”
“Amelia. I’ve mentioned her.”
“In one of the four or five oh-so-wordy emails you’ve sent in the past month? Sure. She’s the editor, right? Interesting choice for a babysitter.”
Yeah, well, babysitter had been a convenient excuse, hadn’t it? Not that he would’ve considered leaving Charlie in Maple Valley, not after Rick and Helen’s pushy request. But he could’ve asked Kate or Raegan to come along. Even Dad. They could’ve made a trip of it—gone to see Beckett in Boston afterward.
But no. He’d wanted Amelia.
And Theo saw the truth written all over his face, didn’t he? His partner peered at him over his Starbucks cup. “Poor Alena’s going to be disappointed.”
“Shut up, Theo.” And shoot, he hadn’t checked in with their intern in days. She probably wondered if he still existed—if she still had a job. “So where’s this meeting actually happening?”
Theo checked his watch. “Room 1316. Apparently they want to keep it on the down-low—no dining room or lobby meetings.”
Which made sense. The senator hadn’t formally announced her campaign, hadn’t even made a statement about forming an exploratory committee. But if she was seen meeting with potential staffers, speculation would run rampant.
They passed a sign for the pool as they moved toward the elevator. Amelia would remember to bring those floaty arm things along when she took Charlie to the hotel pool, wouldn’t she?
Inside the elevator, Theo punched the button for the thirteenth floor. “Back to the editor—”
“Not going there.”
“Jill’s been asking me if you’re ready to, like, you know . . . date or whatever. She’s got a couple friends. I’ve been saying I didn’t think you were there yet, but . . .” He drew out the last word.
“We’re about to meet with a presidential candidate. I’m not having a discussion about my love life right now.”
“But there is, in fact, a love life to be discussed?”
The elevator dinged. Saved. He practically barreled from its moving doors.
“Fine, avoid the conversation. But you know Jill’s going to pummel the truth out of you at dinner tonight.”
He stopped in front of the corridor’s brass-framed mirror opposite the elevator, straightened his tie. Right, dinner tonight. He’d forgotten he’d told Theo they’d join him and Jill tonight. Sorta wished he hadn’t.
Sorta wanted Charlie—and fine, yes, Amelia—to himself tonight.
Theo eyed him in the mirror. “Ready?”
“Let’s do it.”
They covered the distance to the hotel room in seconds, stopped outside the door. Theo looked to him. He knocked.
And Senator Roberta S. Hadley herself answered.
“Right on time, gentlemen.”
She looked much the same in person as she did on C-SPAN: auburn hair twisted into a light updo, reserved blue suit—about the same color as the furniture in the room behind her—and tall. He’d heard she’d played basketball back in college. He could believe it.
“Come on in.”
Lofty windows magnified the space of the suite and offered a gaping view of the D.C. skyline. Logan had expected a full room, but only one other person waited in the seating area that circled around a glass coffee table. He stood as they approached.
“This is Gaius Jefferson. He’ll be my campaign manager once I technically have a campaign.”
They shook hands and exchanged greetings, then sat. And the next fifteen minutes passed in a pattern of light chitchat as they established rapport. The senator asked about Theo’s wife, Logan’s daughter. They took turns inquiring about her family, recent Senate activities, her home state.
Finally, she steered the conversation to the campaign. “I plan to announce by the end of June. I need a deputy for Gaius”—she eyed Theo—“and a communications coordinator.” And now Logan. “I’ve been watching the two of you for a while. I like your style. And I love the fact that you’re not Washington insiders. Just so you kno
w, we’ve vetted you up one side and down the other in the past few weeks. And I’d like to get to know you more in these next few hours. But first, I’m correct in understanding this would be your first presidential campaign, yes?”
Did Theo’s nod feel as weighty as his own?
At a glance from the senator, Gaius leaned forward. “Then we need to make sure you understand the realities of what you’d be asked—expected—to commit to. I’ve done four presidential campaigns. It’s why I’m bald now and wrinkled as a prune. From the minute Senator Hadley announces her candidacy, this race becomes a 24/7 job for her, for me . . . and for our team. Campaign work can be grueling—I’m sure you know that from your past experience. But anything you’ve put in before will be nothing compared to this. Our headquarters will be in the senator’s hometown—Allentown, Pennsylvania—but you’ll be on the road more than you’ll be there. Logan, you’re a single dad. Have you considered what life on the road means for your daughter?”
He wouldn’t be here if he hadn’t considered it. He’d need to find a nanny willing to travel. Find a way to continue Charlie’s speech therapy. He’d told himself it’d work.
But here, now, sitting across from the woman he’d researched and come to respect, a woman who could end up being one of the most powerful people in the world, reality rose like a heavy fog. This was everything he’d worked and hoped for.
But Charlie . . .
What would it mean for her? Life on a campaign bus?
Or worse, staying behind with a nanny, only seeing her daddy in the snatches of time he could finagle away from work.
His gaze went to the window, the shape of the Capitol Building just visible in the distance.
It’s one thing to sacrifice a year of your own life. But your daughter’s?
Theo shifted on the couch next to him, probably an effort at stirring some kind of answer from him. But he didn’t even remember the question anymore. “I’m sorry, I—”
“Oh, and the other thing,” the senator cut in. “We’d need you in Allentown in three weeks.”
Three weeks. The remaining air seeped from Logan’s lungs.
Amelia had never felt so very Midwestern as she did now, sitting across from Jillian Tompkins in the hotel restaurant’s booth, hair still damp from an afternoon of swimming with Charlie, her coral top and favorite jeans a sorry contrast to Jillian’s black sundress and turquoise jewelry. Next to Jillian’s sun-kissed skin, she wanted to slither out of her own—pasty, with the clingy smell of chlorine.
Why hadn’t Logan told her to bring clothes for dinner out?
But maybe this was exactly what she needed. A wakeup call. A reality check. Hadn’t she decided this afternoon she had to do something about the feelings spinning inside her like yarn on a loom, weaving together a tapestry destined to go unfinished?
He’s got a new life in front of him. Your life is in Maple Valley.
Amelia poked at the grilled asparagus that’d come with her salmon. She didn’t even know why she’d ordered the entrée. Seafood was not her thing. But after Jillian had ordered the prosciutto-wrapped cod, she’d panicked and ditched her previous pick of a burger and fries.
“I’m serious, though—there’s basically no point in throwing a dinner party anymore if Logan’s not there.” Jill held her fork in the air, a cooked baby carrot on the end. “We tried to play Speeches on our own the other night and just ended up boring each other.”
The soft, moody notes of a jazz piece flitted in, along with clinking dishes and the hum of conversation at nearby tables. At least Jill and Theo were nice—funny, too. Turned out Jill was a genealogist, called herself a nerd, and declared she could be happy living in a dungeon as long as she had a computer with Internet access. Logan had already made her promise to help Amelia find Harry Wheeler’s family.
The Tompkinses both clearly adored Charlie, too—and she, them. She’d insisted on sitting by Jill.
And Amelia had swallowed something that tasted a little too close to jealousy.
Which is silly. She lifted her water glass. It’s not like she’s . . . yours.
And of course, then Jeremy’s voice crowded in. “She was never ours, Amelia. You should’ve never thought of her as ours. You got way too far ahead of yourself.”
A chip of ice lodged in her throat, and she sputtered, coughing until Logan patted her back and the ice scraped the rest of the way down.
“You all right?” Logan still wore his suit, though he’d long since lost the tie and loosened his collar. In the dusky light of the restaurant, his eyes looked almost black . . . exotic.
Like this whole town. New and captivating and exciting. An enthralling mix of history and energy. And for snippets of time today, she’d let herself imagine living here. A part of Logan’s world-to-be.
“Way too far ahead of yourself.”
“I’m fine,” she rasped. Took another drink. Grasped for composure. “Um, what’s Speeches?” And why was Logan looking at her like he’d heard every scattered thought knocking around her brain?
“Oh, it’s this game we made up just for Logan.” Jillian finished her last bite of fish. “Theo was joking once that Logie can write a speech about literally anything.”
“Logie?”
“Another thing she made up just for me.” Logan rolled his eyes, then moved a handful of his fries onto Amelia’s plate while Jill kept talking. He leaned in. “You’ve been eyeing them for twenty minutes.”
God bless him.
“ . . . and I said, ‘Okay, Logie, make up a speech right now about that ugly vase my great-aunt gave us for our wedding.’ And just like that, he starts waxing eloquent.”
Theo put his arm around his wife. “So now it’s a thing. Anytime we’re out for dinner or at a party with friends, we inevitably end up playing and making Logan give a speech about a light fixture or a doorknob or whatever random object we spot.”
“Emma was the best at it. She made him give a speech once about her overbite.”
The mention of Logan’s wife invited a hush over the table. Nothing heavy. Logan didn’t even stiffen. But still, it was there . . . a shared quiet.
“She was good at it,” Logan finally said. And then he slipped his last fry onto Amelia’s plate.
Thirty minutes later, they stood in the lobby once more. Amelia held Charlie now, her little arms and legs draped over her, her breathing heavy. Amelia shouldn’t have felt such a spark of victory—almost maternal pride—when Logan’s daughter had reached for her as they’d left the restaurant. She’d even whispered a shortened version of Amelia’s name—Lia. She felt perfect in her arms now, head tucked into the pocket of Amelia’s neck.
“Well, we’ve got a crazy-early flight tomorrow,” Theo said. A valet rattled past with a luggage cart. “We better hit the hay. Logan, let’s touch base on Monday.”
“And Amelia, I’ll start investigating this Harry Wheeler guy as soon as I’m home.” Jill leaned in for a light side hug. “If he’s got descendants, I’ll find them.”
“My wife, the Sherlock of family trees.” Theo patted Logan’s back and then moved away with Jill.
Logan glanced down at Amelia. “Arms numb yet?”
“Not enough that I’m willing to hand her over. If you haven’t noticed, I’ve gotten a bit attached to your kid.”
They trekked through the lobby and into a waiting elevator, its closing doors too much of a metaphor for this long, luscious day. Iowa seemed a million miles away, but in less than ten hours, she’d be on a plane, landing in Des Moines. And tomorrow she’d work in the office and then help set up for the Maple Valley Market.
The walk to their adjoining rooms was hushed, the hallway lights low. Logan stuck his key in the door, pushed it open, and turned. “Do you mind carrying her to the bed?”
She shook her head, trailing through the room to the bed closest to the window. The D.C. skyline glittered in a puzzle of lights and stars. Logan pulled the covers back, and she bent over to lay Charlie in the quee
n bed. Charlie barely stirred, sinking into a pillow, her hair fanning around her face. Logan tipped off her shoes before covering her with the sheet.
“No pj’s for her tonight,” he whispered, then bent to kiss his daughter’s cheek.
And something in Amelia’s tattered heart pieced itself back together.
In too deep. Pull back.
Logan straightened.
“Hey.” His voice was a whisper. “Thanks for coming.”
“Thanks for asking me. It was . . . kind of the best day.” But also devastating. Because here, away from the pull of Maple Valley and the cares of running the newspaper, she hadn’t been able to hide from the truth any longer.
I’m in love with you, Logan Walker.
Not like she used to be back when he’d been a faceless name whose words and awards she pored over.
She was in love with the real thing. The man whose love for his adopted daughter was written into his every move and thought and decision. The man who’d kissed her in a janitor’s closet and held her in her loft window. Who helped his dad and supported his sisters and clearly worried about his brother.
Whose past, even with its hurts and regrets, had only deepened his character. He was real, genuine. The whole package.
I really think I love you.
What if she just said it?
After all, his languid gaze hadn’t moved from her face in a minute. Maybe she wasn’t the only one whose heart was turning inside out.
“I have to be back in three weeks.”
Her rambling emotion froze. “What?”
“If I take the job with the campaign, they want me in Allentown in three weeks.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “Theo’s going to say yes, of course. Jill’s all for it. I just keep thinking about Charlie.”
“You want to do it, though, don’t you?”
“Yes.” No hesitation. “The more we talked today, the more I could feel the energy. The buzz. It’d be such an incredible thing to be a part of.”
“Being a part of something . . . it’s important.” Until it’s taken away. For once, it wasn’t Jeremy’s image filling her mind at the thought.
