by Toni Blake
There is no charm equal to tenderness of heart.
Jane Austen, from Emma
Late that afternoon, Amy sat in her apartment, trying to get Austen and Mr. Knightley to be friends. She wasn’t sure why—most of the time she left the strays down in the store—but she felt a little more attached to Austen already. And she liked the idea of Mr. Knightley having a playmate. Not that he seemed to want one. Right now he sat at one end of the couch staring down Austen, who was perched delicately at the other. And every now and then he even hissed.
“Is that how we welcome a guest into our home?” she reprimanded him. But when he just gave her a look, she answered herself. “I guess it is.”
Next, she took a deep breath and picked up the phone. She’d told Logan she would check in on him today. But it wasn’t as easy now, knowing what she knew. About her own feelings. Tessa had been even more overjoyed after Amy announced she was in love with Logan, but for her, it was a sobering realization. Now she’d been forced to add “horrified” to the growing list of emotions she was experiencing over this. Because this meant there was no going back, that things would never be the same between them. And though she could barely allow herself to think about it, deep inside she harbored a terrible fear—that she’d never be truly happy again.
In fact, the longer she’d talked with Tessa, the more even Tessa began to admit that Amy might have a problem here. And that maybe Logan wouldn’t come around and suddenly decide he was crazy about her.
And even if by some miracle he did, the truth was, as much as Amy had always loved Logan as a friend, his track record with women wasn’t great. He suffered from commitment issues—he never wanted anything serious. And Amy knew he’d hurt a lot of girls with that attitude—he was such a nice guy otherwise that each thought she’d be the one to change him only to find out, via a broken heart, that she was wrong. And Amy had, more than once, fixed him up with someone only to have to admit defeat later when it didn’t work out.
God, what was I thinking—all these years I’ve spent trying to fix him up with other girls when I should have been trying to fix him up with me!
But even as that notion struck her, the cold hard fact hit home once more. She wasn’t his type—she was too plain, too simple, too innocent. Then she rolled her eyes at her own thought. Too innocent by far. But she wasn’t going to think about that—she suddenly had enough problems here without bringing that particular zinger into the mix.
When she put together all the many reasons why Logan would never desire her, why they would never work as a couple, she was left with only one conclusion. You have to do what you told him yesterday—forget it ever happened. And if you can’t do that, at least act like you forgot.
So quit beating around the bush and call him already.
After three rings, Logan said, “Hi freckles.” And while it wasn’t the most cheerful “Hi freckles” she’d ever gotten from him, she’d take it.
“You answered.”
“Promised I would.” One more great thing about Logan—even in the depths of depression, he was the sort of man who kept his promises.
“What are you doing right now?” she asked.
“Watching TV.”
“Did you feed Cocoa today?”
“Yep. It was dumb of me when I didn’t. Sorry about that.”
“Well, you were obviously past the point of being able to make yourself do things—but now you’re not, so this is great. I’m proud of you. You should go outside.”
“It’s raining,” he pointed out.
And okay, she’d sort of forgotten that, but . . . “You should do it anyway. Just feel the rain on your skin, you know? It’ll be good for you.”
On the other end of the line, he let out a short chuckle and said, “I love ya, freckles, but that’s goofy.”
I love ya. He’d probably said that to her fifty times before, but this time she felt it in her gut. And, Lord, why did it almost hurt?
Because he means it in an entirely different way than you want him to now.
She held in the sigh she wanted to emit and suffered the pain of unrequited affection settling deep in her stomach, but just said, “Do it anyway. Amy knows best.”
This earned another little laugh—yet then he got more serious. “Thanks, freckles. For putting up with me.”
“You’re worth it,” she told him, and hoped it hadn’t come out sounding too breathy.
“About yesterday,” he began then, and she cringed. Why are we going there? “Are we good? Cool? Whole thing’s forgotten.”
Her stomach went hollow for a brief second—and then she pulled herself back together. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” she teased.
And he laughed again. And it felt good to make him laugh—but it also broke her heart, too. I suddenly want to make him happy in other ways, ways I never can, and all this feels so weird.
“I’m . . . gonna go,” she said, having the urge to escape the conversation, or maybe just the memory of where she’d been approximately twenty-four hours ago. You were under him. Under his hard male body. Being kissed as if you were the most desirable creature on the planet. What a difference a day made.
“Okay, freckles. Talk to ya soon.”
“Tomorrow,” she specified. “I’m gonna keep checking in on you every day to monitor your progress.”
“Fair enough. And thanks. You’re the best.”
Three days later, Logan sat in a lawn chair on the little dock in front of the cottage he rented, Cocoa by his side. The sun was shining, the lake was blue, and his feet were bare. He peered out over the water and tried his damnedest to think of good things. And slowly, life was beginning to get a little better.
He no longer saw Ken Knight’s face during his every waking moment now—mostly only at certain times of day, like when he was trying to fall asleep at night. More than anything, what remained was a heavy lethargy—something both physical and in his head—that made it hard to want to move very much. It was as if his arms and legs were made of lead, as if he pulled around an anvil with every step he took. And as for his emotions—in a way he was almost numb, but also . . . frozen in place. Just like that night. He couldn’t seem to move forward, or back. He was just stuck.
Still, though, at least he’d dragged his ass out here as he’d promised Amy he would. He’d sat out here for a while yesterday, too, and had to admit it had been worth the effort. It had been hard to muster the energy to come outside, but once he’d made it here after the rain had ended, he’d discovered it was a nice distraction from the grim darkness of his house.
Reaching down, he detached Cocoa’s favorite tennis ball from between her teeth and tossed it in the lake. Not far, not as far as he used to throw it, but the dog didn’t seem picky—she went merrily bounding into the water after it, clearly happy for the fun and exercise. And it made him feel good just to do this one normal thing, this little thing that his dog enjoyed.
He’d even picked up the mess around the house some, too, and this morning he’d gone so far as to call Mike—who’d been as stunned to hear from him as he’d expected.
“Hell, dude,” Mike had said, “this is a surprise. A good one. What’s up?”
“Just wanted to let you know I’m ready to take care of my best man duties, so don’t go replacing me or anything.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it. And that’s good to hear. But, uh . . . sorry I haven’t been around much the last week or so.”
Yet Logan didn’t hold it against him. “Nah, was probably the best thing you could have done for me. I’m getting tired of eating cereal and I’m about out of milk anyway, so I’m gonna have to actually put on shoes and go to the store.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear that, too. And thanks for being cool about it, man. You want some company or anything, just let me know.”
“Soon,” Logan said. “You can bring over your fishing pole and we’ll sit on the dock and pretend we might catch something.”
They ha
d a long fishing history together that had started with Logan’s dad taking them as boys, and which now was a lot more about just hanging out than catching fish.
Now, as he looked back on his conversation with Mike, he remembered something he’d perhaps forgotten for a little while: that everyone had problems, everyone had it rough. And up to now, Logan’s life had actually been pretty easy. Other than the loss of his dad to a heart attack seven years ago, he simply hadn’t known much loss. Whereas Mike, on the other hand, had experienced loss young.
His little sister, Anna, had disappeared at the age of five when they were kids. And his brother, Lucky, had run away from home as a teenager, only to return a couple of years ago. Mike had suffered for most of his life, not only from the uncertainty of that kind of tragedy but also from guilt—he’d been in charge of watching Anna on the day she vanished.
Logan had never really known much guilt before, and now that he did, he empathized with his best friend even more. Damn, no wonder the guy is so gruff. He’d always put up with Mike’s often-less-than-genial attitude because they were best friends, but now he really got where it came from, in a gut-deep way.
Ken Knight had bounced Logan on his knee when he was only a toddler. Doreen had always made him chocolate cupcakes when his family was invited over because she knew they were his favorite. Hell, she’d even made the same cupcakes—chocolate with chocolate icing, sprinkles on top—for his thirty-fifth birthday a few months ago and dropped them off at the firehouse while he was on duty. He could still see her smile, still feel the small hug she’d given him, and it was still just so damn hard to believe . . .
He didn’t finish the thought—couldn’t. Because that invisible anvil he felt like he’d been dragging around now seemed to rest on his chest, squeezing the air out. Stop. Just stop. Look at the lake. The dog. Cocoa was back at his side now, ball in mouth, waiting for it to be thrown again. How long had she been sitting there? He didn’t know, but he scratched lightly behind one of the dog’s now-wet ears, took the saturated yellow ball from her mouth, and threw it again.
You have to stop thinking, stop remembering, somehow. You have to quit seeing the fire over and over again in your head. He’d been trained to deal with this sort of thing, after all. It shouldn’t be that hard. Only . . . he’d never been trained on how to deal with a fire taking someone you knew, someone you’d known your whole life. And the truth was, the only other time someone had died in a blaze he’d been called to was a few years ago when the DFD had responded as backup to the Crestview Fire Department after a row of condos had been struck by lightning and ignited. A middle-aged man he hadn’t known had perished, and he’d never seen him while on the scene.
This was much, much worse—in so many ways. And it wasn’t that he didn’t want to tell anyone what had happened that evening at the Knight house—it was that he couldn’t. He couldn’t find the words. All he had were the horrific images in his head that wouldn’t go away. It was policy that after this kind of incident a fireman had to see a counselor and complete a psych evaluation before returning to work, but he’d never made the appointment.
Still, though, you gotta find a way to put the pieces of your life back together and press on. He didn’t know exactly how—every time he thought about returning to work as a firefighter he felt a little sick to his stomach—but he knew he had to start taking baby steps in that direction.
And he knew he had Amy to thank for pushing him. Pushing him out to this dock, pushing him to begin taking those steps. Mike was his best friend, yeah, but freckles, she was right up there, too.
When Cocoa returned, he took the wet ball and chucked it back toward the water, this time finally getting a little more distance on it. A second later, the chocolate lab was splashing her way eagerly toward it, and as Logan watched, paying closer attention now, her every energetic stride somehow made him begin to feel, deep down in his muscles, his bones, just a little bit more alive.
I need more of that, but I’m not sure where to get it.
Maybe I need something . . . new.
That was when he remembered kissing Amy on his couch the other day. He cringed at the recollection and felt like some he-man brute. Or as if he’d treated her like some girl in a bar who was looking for action.
The truth was, kissing her hadn’t been awful or anything. Maybe it had even been nice. Possibly even more than nice. But he sure as hell couldn’t do it again. Amy was his buddy, after all. And he counted himself damn lucky that she was still even speaking to him after that, let alone continuing to help him see his way through this murky depression he’d sunk into.
So whatever the new thing was that he needed . . . well, it wasn’t Amy. He treasured their friendship, and any more behavior like that could ruin it for good. If he wanted to make out with somebody, he could drag himself over to Bleachers, the sports bar in Crestview where he’d been known to find a willing woman or two over the years. Or—he looked skyward—maybe if what he really needed in his life was a woman, then God would make it easy and be kind enough to just politely drop one down for him in the middle of Destiny.
He wasn’t completely on speaking terms with God at the moment—still struggling with why two good people had died on his watch—but if God wanted to make it up to him some way, maybe that would begin to change his feelings. Logan was the sort of guy who generally believed things happened for a reason, but this one was a toughie.
Just then, he heard a car and looked over his shoulder to see none other than Amy herself pulling into his driveway across the road. He lifted his hand in a wave, aware only afterward that it didn’t require quite as much effort as he might have expected, and he knew she would be glad to see him outside soaking up some sun and playing with the dog.
“Well, look at you, Mr. Up and At ’Em,” she said a minute later as she joined him on the dock. When he glanced up at her, the sun was positioned right behind her head, giving her shoulder-length strawberry blond curls a golden glow, like she was some kind of angel sent to watch over him. “You even look . . . normal,” she went on. “Like a guy who takes care of himself.”
He rewarded her with a soft grin. “Tryin’,” he said. “Thanks to you.”
“It’s nice to see my efforts paying off,” she told him as she leaned down to pet the wet dog who now stood eagerly greeting her. “Think you owe me a piece of pie in return.”
And to his surprise, he realized that he was actually kind of glad to see her. He wasn’t sure he was going to be the best company, but . . . well, maybe being alone was overrated. “Take a load off,” he told her, and in response, she shed her sandals and sat down on the edge of the dock where she could dangle her toes in the water.
Amy was almost relieved to end up with her back facing Logan. She was thrilled to see him outside, looking and acting a lot more like his regular self even if he didn’t seem exactly . . . energetic just yet. But she knew that part would come—she felt him bouncing back, thank goodness. On the other hand, though, seeing him just amped up the whole happy-sad-horrified thing going on inside her, and she feared she’d even blushed the first time they made eye contact. She knew he hadn’t noticed, given that he wasn’t at the top of his game yet—but she noticed, and the last thing she wanted to do was act weird around him.
After that, though, they made small talk—about the new cat at the bookstore, about the gorgeous weather, and she was pleased to hear he’d actually called Mike this morning—and she began to realize she could do this. She could act normal around Logan even while being in love with him.
And that will be my cross to bear in life. To be in love with my best friend without ever letting him know. Which sounded pretty tragic now that she thought about it, but she knew she could handle it with the same grace and aplomb of any Jane Austen heroine.
“Tessa minding the store?” he asked.
In front of him, she gave a nod. And didn’t bother mentioning that Tessa had thought Amy driving out to see Logan was a fantastic idea—or why.
“That top looks nice on you,” he said then from behind her. “Is it new?”
Hmm. She dared peek over her shoulder—just briefly. “Thanks. And yeah, it is. Rachel helped me pick it out.” Rachel was Destiny’s fashion maven—she kept up with style and knew what looked good on different body types. And perhaps Amy had worn it purposely today because it was slightly formfitting and made her feel a little more feminine than most of her clothes. But the most noteworthy thing at the moment was that Logan had never noticed that sort of thing—at least not with her. In fact, she wasn’t sure he’d ever complimented something she’d worn.
“You should get more stuff like that,” he said.
And she replied, “Maybe I will.”
After a little more chatting and some time spent just sitting quietly together, Amy extracted her toes from the cool water and swiveled to face him, wrapping her arms around her bent knees. “You know, sitting on your dock with the dog is great and all, but you need to take the next step. We’re going to town.”
And when he immediately started to protest, she cut him off. “Look, it won’t kill you to take a walk around town square, maybe see a few people. And besides, I know you need some groceries, so we’ll stop at the store before we come back. We’ll kill two birds with one stone, and you’ll be glad afterward, I promise.”
When Logan finally relented, and Amy stood to slip her shoes back on, Logan glanced down and said, “You have nice feet. I never noticed that before. I like that color.”
Of toenail polish, she knew he meant. Sassy Salmon, and Tessa’s choice—she’d insisted Amy try something brighter than usual when they’d decided to do home pedicures last week.
“Um, thanks.” And she had no idea why a mere compliment to her toes made her tingle a little, or why her words almost definitely came out sounding too soft and breathy—but she decided not to overthink it. Not just yet anyway.
Don’t jump to conclusions. It’s a couple of compliments. And he’s been cut off from society for more than a month; maybe he’d notice these things on anyone, any female who crossed his path.
