“Never mind.” Logan pulled his phone out of his pocket and scrolled through his contacts.
“Who are you calling?” The bravado that had filled Drew’s voice earlier was completely gone.
“Your mom.”
“Oh, man.” Drew sank into the couch. “Do you have to?”
“Yes. I do.” He didn’t have a choice.
His heart started beating faster as his finger touched the numbers on the screen. After the first ring, he stepped towards the open window, his back now facing the kid. The last thing he needed was an audience to witness the effect this phone call would undoubtedly have on him since he was about to hear the voice of the woman who had starred in his dreams; the co-star in his forbidden fantasies for the past four years.
The wife of his best friend. The one woman in this world who was completely off-limits, and the one woman in this world Logan couldn’t get out of his head.
Chapter 2
‡
Emma Locke ran her hands down her form-fitting, pinstriped blazer. She turned from side to side, taking in her reflection in the full-length mirror. Her black pencil skirt and white silk button up shirt were complemented by red “F-me” high heels. Long, blonde hair fell loose around her shoulders, and her smoky-eyed makeup highlighted her blue eyes. Biting her lower lip, she tried to assess her appearance objectively.
All the pieces were there, but something she couldn’t quite put her finger on was missing. She looked…okay. Not spectacular.
Today of all days, she needed to look fireworks-on-the-Fourth-of-July spectacular.
Emma pivoted back to the bathroom sink, picked her lipstick up, and puckered her lips. Then, after applying another coat of mascara and a little bronzer, she ran the straight iron over a particularly stubborn piece of hair she was determined to bend to her will.
Not that what she looked like mattered. It didn’t. This meeting wasn’t going to go well. She had no illusions of looking so good, so put together, that she’d wow her publisher and agent into giving her more time or keeping her as a client. And that was okay.
For the last six years, she tried to adopt the Serenity prayer that was a staple of AA and other twelve step programs as her daily mantra. Did she have a substance abuse problem? Nope. But the prayer had definitely seen her through some dark times.
God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
The courage to change the things I can,
And the wisdom to know the difference.
In this situation, she needed all of the above. She had the wisdom to know that her only hope of coming out the other side of this thing was to at least look her very best as her career went down in flames. Most likely, it was the Southern woman coming out in her. You could take the girl out of the South, but you couldn’t take the South out of the girl. She could practically hear her mother’s voice saying, “Your house might be on fire, but that’s no excuse to leave it with wet hair. That’s just low rent.”
So yes, she wanted to look her absolute best as she got axed from her publisher and most likely let go by her agent. Her goal was to walk out of that office with even the tiniest shred of dignity, her head held high, and not a hair out of place. She felt like she was going into battle today and this suit, this makeup, this Chanel No. 5—those were her armor, her only defense against humiliation. If that made her shallow, she could live with that.
Deep breath. In through her nose, out through her mouth. Looking in the mirror at her reflection, she whispered the other mantra she’d adopted. This one she’d penned herself.
“You can do this. No matter what happens, you will be fine.”
Unfortunately, her pep talk fell on deaf ears, because Emma was a realist. A romantic realist, but a realist all the same. And the truth was she wasn’t sure she would be fine. This meeting held her and Drew’s future in its hands. If her publisher decided not to give her more time to finish the last two books they’d optioned in her series, she was screwed. Her finances were shaky at best.
Her late husband, Andrew, had been their sole means of support. He had had big plans for their future, and part of that had been purchasing a home they could barely afford. Once he’d passed, Emma hadn’t wanted to move Drew out of the only home he’d ever known. The DIC, death gratuity, and pension helped, but they weren’t enough to live on while raising and establishing a college fund for Drew. Logan sent money every month to help out, but she never wanted to depend on that.
If she lost her publishing deal, she wasn’t sure what she was going to do.
Writers block had prevented her from completing the eight book series for the last couple of years. It’s not that she hadn’t written anything—she had. She was a very disciplined writer. But nothing she’d written was any good. It was flat, boring, and uninspired.
As she finally tamed her wayward hair, she took one more look in the mirror and knew that it might not be great, but it was as good as she was going to get.
After she’d become a widowed single mom six years ago at the age of twenty, Emma had thrown herself into two things: her work and being the best parent she could be. Since she had been a little girl, she’d loved writing, and after having lost her husband, her partner, her best friend, and the father of her son, she’d finished the books she’d always put on the back burner and published six books in three years.
Sadly, all of that forward momentum had come to a screeching halt a few years ago. The older Drew got, the more activities—both in school and extracurricular—he was in. He was a natural athlete just like his dad. Her active son was signed up in Little League baseball, soccer, and pee wee football. And being a good student and creative person like his mom, he also competed in spelling bees, science fairs, and math decathlons. It seemed like, overnight, her entire life had been completely consumed with practices, games, meetings, and carpools. Not to mention she was the homeroom mom and president of the PTA.
Some might say that she was overcompensating because she was both mom and dad—and “some” might have a point. She didn’t regret the time and energy she’d dedicated to Drew, his school, and his extracurricular activities. But she was starting to realize she’d lost herself somewhere in the midst of it. And, as a romance writer, she’d lost her voice. It was like she was suffering from a serious case of romance laryngitis, and unfortunately, she had no idea what the cure was.
Well, that wasn’t completely true. She had a pretty good idea of what would help. She’d been in a dry spell that would rival the Sahara Desert. Sadly, the only person she’d been remotely thirsty for was the only person she absolutely couldn’t use to quench her thirst.
He was an undercover police officer who lived right there in New York. He also happened to be her son’s godfather and her deceased husband’s best friend. Which made it complicated that… Well, let’s just say if she were Stella, he was the one man who could give her her groove back.
Still, the thought of stopping by his place to say hi and hope he offered her a glass of water was tempting. Wrong and absolutely off the table, but tempting nonetheless.
Since losing Andrew, Emma had ruled out the possibility of dating. The last thing she wanted was a parade of men in and out of Drew’s life. He’d had it hard enough, having lost his father at such a young age. She wanted to build a life, a home with stability and love, which, when it was just her, was totally in her control. Bringing someone else into that mix meant losing that control. Plus, she hadn’t met one man—other than the aforementioned officer!—who had tempted her to rethink her plan.
So she’d remained single. And celibate. The no-nookie portion of her lifestyle had more to do with her not being the kind of girl who could have one-night stands, even in the name of research. She’d tried a few times over the past year and a half, but those attempts had been disastrous. Like, Guinness Book of World Records Disaster Dates.
Her phone buzzed, and her eyes shot to the clock as panic rose up inside her at the thought that she might be late. W
hen she saw that it was only seven forty-five a.m., a full hour and fifteen minutes before she was due at her meeting, she breathed a sigh of relief. When she picked her phone up and saw whose number was on the screen, her breath of relief quickly morphed into nervous pants.
What the…? Why was he calling? Was it fate? Did he somehow know she was in the city he lived in and in desperate need of water?
The phone buzzed again. With shaky hands, she pressed the green circle to accept the call and then brought the device to her ear.
“Hello?” Her voice was shakier than Jell-O on a washing machine, and her cheeks were hotter than asphalt on a one-hundred-degree summer day. There was nothing she could do about him hearing her unsteady tone, but she was counting her blessings that he hadn’t FaceTimed her. At least her strawberry impression wasn’t obvious over the phone line.
“Emma, this is Logan Dorsey.” His deep voice washed over her like a wave crashing onto the shore.
Goosebumps broke out all over her skin. “Hey, Logan.” She was striving for casual but feared she might’ve come off as breathy as Marilyn Monroe singing “Happy Birthday” to the president.
Every single cell in her body was alive with tingles, shivers, and all kinds of feelings she hadn’t experienced since…since she’d seen Logan four years ago. All she could think about was if she felt this inspired from simply hearing his voice, how much more inspired would she feel if she saw him and…
“I have Drew here.”
His words sliced through her lust fog with samurai-sword precision. Still, her brain couldn’t quite process what he’d said.
“You have what?” Her voice was no longer breathy. Nope. It was back in full force.
“Drew. He just showed up on my doorst—”
“Drew’s here!? In New York!?” Her voice rose several decibels, to a level some might even describe as yelling.
“No, he’s in California. In Hope Falls. I’m staying here for…a while. He got my address off of the birthday card I sent him.”
Her mind tried to compartmentalize the information it’d just been given.
Drew wasn’t at camp in Lake Tahoe.
He was in Hope Falls.
With Logan.
Who was in California.
Not New York.
She tried to temper her voice. “Let me talk to Drew.”
Her son’s voice came over the line. “Hi, Mom.”
Calm. She needed to remain calm. She was three thousand miles away, and even though she wanted to lose it, that wouldn’t help anything.
“Hey, Drew. Why aren’t you at Camp Pine?”
“I wanted to see Logan.”
Yeah. Join the club, buddy. “Okay, but you can’t just leave camp. What did you do? How did you get to Hope Falls?”
She remembered Logan mentioning that his brother, Levi, had moved there several years ago. If memory served, it was about forty-five miles from Tahoe. Where her son was supposed to be.
“I snuck out after lights out and took a bus.”
“A bus!” she screamed before trying to regain her composure.
Deep breath. In through her nose, out through her mouth. Her son was alive and safe. That was what really mattered.
“Why did you do that?” she managed to ask calmly, albeit through clenched teeth.
“Because…” Drew paused, not finishing his explanation.
“Because why?” Emma prompted.
“Because I want to know about my dad.”
And just like that, at her son’s words, Emma’s heart didn’t just break—it was crushed with a sledgehammer. She’d talked about Andrew as much as possible. It had seemed to be enough when Drew was younger, but over the last couple of years, he’d started saying things like he wished that his dad had had brothers and sisters or his grandparents were still alive.
Andrew’s father had passed away when he was seven, and his mother had passed the year after they’d lost Andrew. Emma was pretty sure she died of a broken heart from having lost her only child.
Logan Dorsey had been like the brother Andrew never had. Which made her body’s response to hearing his voice all kinds of wrong. She pushed that thought down to deal with the bigger issues.
“Mom, are you mad?” Drew timidly asked.
“We’ll talk about it later. Put Logan back on the phone.”
“Okay.” Her son sounded simultaneously relieved and a little scared.
Good, she thought. He should be scared.
Clearing her throat, she rolled her shoulders back and tried to mentally prepare herself for the sound of Logan’s voice once again.
“Hey.” Logan said just one word, but the timbre suffused through her like butter melting in a hot frying pan. It spread and sizzled all the way from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.
Apparently, she should’ve prepared herself physically, not mentally. Live and learn.
Emma shook her head, trying to pull herself together. “I’m so sorry about this. I’m going to catch the first flight out of JFK. I’ll be there as soon as I can. If you can just keep an eye on him unti—”
“We’re fine here. Don’t rush. Take care of whatever you have to. There’s no need to change your plans,” Logan said.
Then her phone beeped.
Pulling it from her ear, she saw that it was the camp calling. Apparently, Drew’s great escape had finally been discovered, which begged the question: how had her ten-year-old son been able to sneak away in the first place and then not have it noticed for hours?
“I’m sorry. Can you hold on one sec? The camp’s calling.”
Before he could respond, Emma clicked over.
“Hello.”
“Mrs. Locke, this is Molly from Camp Pine. We have a situation–”
“I just spoke to my son. He left the camp last night to go visit a family friend.”
“Oh, thank God!” Molly exclaimed. “His bunkmate woke up to use the bathroom and noticed that he wasn’t there. Chuck then woke up their counselor. We checked everywhere, but there was no sign of him or his belongings.”
“I’m sorry about that,” Emma apologized.
“Will he be returning to camp?” Molly asked.
Emma could practically hear the woman crossing her fingers and toes and holding her breath.
Drew could be difficult. He was smart. Too smart for his own good.
“I’m not sure. I’ll get back to you shortly.” She disconnected the call as Molly was telling her something about not getting a refund.
A refund? Yeah, her son had run away under their watch and they thought she cared about a refund.
Clicking back over, she apologized again. “Sorry about that. They just realized they had a runner.”
Logan chuckled, and the sound made Emma’s heart skip. No, she reprimanded herself. There will be no skipping of heartbeats. Not caused by Logan Dorsey, anyway.
Trying to get back on track, she cleared her throat. “Listen, I appreciate the offer, but really, I can’t impose. I’m going to cancel my meeting and will be there as soon as I can get a fligh—”
“It’s not an imposition. I’m taking some time off work and I’m here in Hope Falls for some R&R. Drew can hang out, and we’ll see you when we see you,” Logan explained with authority, as if it weren’t up for debate.
Which apparently worked, because Emma heard herself saying, “Okay.”
“Good luck with your meeting.” Logan’s tone grew deeper, and Emma wished that it were liquid so she could bathe in it.
“Thanks.” Annnnd just like that, Miss Breathy was back.
“Bye, Emma.” The way he’d said her name made her knees go weak.
“Bye, Logan.”
As she disconnected the call, she glanced up in the mirror. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips were puffy, and she looked like someone who’d done a lot more than just had a phone conversation. Pulling her blazer down, she tried to focus on her upcoming meeting and not on the fact that her son had run away and, in the nex
t twenty-four hours, she would be face-to-face with Logan Dorsey.
One thing was certain: she was definitely not lacking in the inspiration category anymore.
Chapter 3
‡
After pulling on a pair of cargo shorts, Logan grabbed a white T-shirt from the closet. He’d left Drew playing video games in the living room while he had taken a shower. When the kid had noticed that he had a PlayStation 4, his eyes almost popped out of their sockets. Then, when he’d found out that Logan had Halo, Batman: Arkham Night, and Minecraft, his little head had practically exploded.
Logan had always used video games to unwind before he’d started working on bikes, and he still did. It was mindless yet challenging. When he turned thirty, he’d thought about hanging up his controller and giving away his console and games to the Boys and Girls Club, but now, he was glad he hadn’t since they were entertaining his unexpected houseguest.
Stepping out of his room, Logan heard laughter and unfamiliar voices. Unfamiliar female voices. As he rounded the corner of the hallway, he saw Drew standing with the front door open, talking and laughing with two women Logan had seen around town a few times. Kelly, a blonde who had waited on him at the café, and the redhead he’d seen at the coffee shop, were both wearing cut-off jean shorts and bright bikini tops they filled out well.
When the redhead noticed Logan walking up, her face lit up and she lifted her hand. “Hey, Logan!”
The blonde also purred a greeting. “Hey, handsome.”
It took every bit of self-control Logan had not to roll his eyes. “Hi.” Then he stepped beside Drew, who looked like he was more than enjoying the fact that two half-naked women were standing a foot in front of him.
“Kelly and I just stopped by to see if you”—the redhead smiled brightly and directed it towards the kid—“and Drew wanted to go rafting with us.”
“Can we?” Drew looked up at him, his blue eyes wide with hope.
“Um…” Logan didn’t want to disappoint the kid, but this was a bad idea.
Indecision wasn’t something he was used to experiencing. He never waffled. In his line of work, it could be the difference between life and death.
Magic Kiss (Hope Falls Book 11) Page 2
