CHAPTER TWELVE
I’m sitting on a bench in town watching the activity from across the street, though what exactly is going on over there, I haven’t figured out yet. A crowd, which in this town is about ten people, has formed a semicircle on the sidewalk. Two men with a truck that has a hoist are parked half on and half off the curb and there’s a cloth-covered something on a dolly. I’m assuming whatever is under the cloth will be hoisted up and placed where the people have gathered. What, I wonder, is under that cloth? Sheriff Dwight is guiding traffic around the truck. Reaper sniffs around me as I sip my coffee. Moments later a shadow moves over me and I look up to see Josh. He takes the seat next to me and reaches for my coffee to share a sip, but his attention is also across the street.
“What the hell is going on over there?” Reaper sidles over for a scratch behind the ears, and Josh complies.
“I haven’t a clue. I’ve been watching now for the better part of an hour and I still haven’t figured it out.”
Josh hands me back my cup. “Anything new with Logan?”
“Nothing, absolutely nothing. I think he realized that he was smoking crack and has moved on to greener pastures. It’s just as well. Being involved with a famous person is just too much work.”
“Yeah, and if you keep telling yourself that you may actually believe it one of these days.”
“I know. I’m pathetic, but at least I have my hair.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“I’m trying to bolster myself up. That’s the best I can do.”
“Well, hell, Saffron, that’s just sad.”
“I know.” I shift to face him. “So, what’s up with you and Derek? You seem to be like peanut butter and jelly.”
He gets the look, the major one, that warms my heart. My friend is in love. “He’s pretty damn terrific. I mean, like Gwen said, it isn’t all rainbows and flowers, but I love him. He’s the one.”
“And he feels the same. I can see it when you two are together.”
“Yeah, he does. We’re talking about moving in together.”
“I think that’s fabulous,” I say.
“Me too.”
At a loud crash we both turn in the direction of the activity across the street. “What the hell?” I jump to my feet. Something seems to be taking shape over there.
“What’s that thing under the tarp?”
“I’ve no idea.” I squint, as if that’s going to clarify what I’m currently looking at, just as Chastity appears among the people across the street. With her is none other than Logan.
“It looks like some kind of ceremony, but I didn’t read about it in the paper,” Josh says just before Gwen appears.
“Did you hear?”
We both turn to her. “Hear what?”
“Logan’s donating a sculpture to the town. He didn’t want to make a big deal about it—wanted it on the down low, so they’re doing a small unveiling.”
“Down low, Gwen?”
“I know, aren’t I cool?”
We all turn back to the scene across the street. I ask, “What do you think it is?”
“I hope it’s a self-portrait, a nude one.” Josh sighs.
Gwen and I eye him, but he has that faraway dreamy look about him. Clearly he’s envisioning Logan naked. I lean over and whisper, “Whatever you’re thinking, it’s better.”
His eyes narrow at me. “You are a hateful woman.”
Grinning like the Cheshire Cat, I turn back in time to see Chastity doing her thing, talking to the people gathered, while waving her arms as she has a tendency to do. Without much pomp and circumstance, the sheet is removed. At first I’m momentarily frozen at the sight and then I roar with laughter.
“Is that what I think it is?” Gwen asks.
“I don’t understand,” Josh says.
But I’m still staring across the street, staring at Logan, who is looking right back at me with a sexy little grin. Logan’s sculpture, the one he’s donating to the town, is a life-size swordfish.
“You hate swordfish, Saffron,” Josh says, clearly confused.
“I do, but I love that one.”
“Have you seen the papers today?” Josh asks as soon as I open my door to him a few days after the unveiling of Logan’s gift to the town.
“Hi to you too.”
He steps into my house and holds one of the gossip magazines up to my face, and staring back at me is me.
“Holy shit, that’s me.”
“You’re famous.”
The picture is of me behind the bar at Tucker’s. There’s another picture, this one of Logan, but he’s younger, minus the Bigfoot disguise. The caption reads:
Is the art world’s famous playboy finally settling down?
There’s nothing of substance in the article, merely speculation, but there’s definitely a negative spin. As in: Why is someone like David slumming with the likes of me? As much as I want to, I can’t argue with the question. Why indeed.
“You look sick. Why do you look sick?”
“Logan is Logan to me. The idea that there’s this whole other part of him, the famous part, is unnerving.”
“Why?”
“I guess I just never really put it all together that being with Logan, or David, means that my life falls under scrutiny too.”
“The curse of being famous.”
Logan said it. David has quite the following. He works really hard at keeping Logan and David separate; those who come here are coming to see David. David is the one people are interested in, David is the one people want to see. And now David is the one who I am being linked to.
“Why, Josh? Why would Logan be interested in me when he comes from a world so far removed from our little part in it?”
“Don’t sell yourself short.”
“It’s not that. It’s just that there are countless women out there who come from the same background that he does. Why would he settle for me?”
“He’s not settling with you, but to answer your question, maybe it’s just as simple as he likes the peace of our small world better.” He starts toward the kitchen. “Do you have any of those brownies left?”
I follow after him but I don’t think I agree with him.
Later in the week my mom calls. Even as I’m reaching for the receiver, I know whatever is about to be said will not be good. I have a sixth sense for this.
“Mom, how are you?”
“Saffron. I’ve just been visiting some friends and they informed me that my daughter is dating some millionaire playboy. Is that true?”
Wow, so efficient, the gossip mill. Too bad we can’t use that efficiency in more productive pursuits like solving world hunger and finding world peace. The image of me on stage accepting my Miss America trophy pops into my head. We must think of the children.
“Saffron!”
Right . . . “Well, yes, I am dating a very nice man who happens to be semifamous.”
“I don’t understand. You drag your feet about dating a steady guy and now you’re dating someone who is anything but. What are you thinking?”
Oh, I have so many problems with that statement. How does she know anything about Logan except for the crap she reads in the rag mags? And a steady guy? Yeah, that’s exactly how I want to describe any man I date. Steady and sturdy, like a tree. If I weren’t so annoyed, I’d laugh. “He likes me. I like him. We’re giving it a whirl.”
“He likes you because he thinks you’re easy.”
I am easy, well, I am with him. He can mold me like clay anytime he wants. Despite the fact that I’m trying to find humor in this, she’s stirring my temper. “Why do you say that?”
“You work at a bar.”
“So everyone who works at a bar is easy? That’s an awfully narrow-minded and, I have to say, stupid generalization.”
“Do not speak to me that way.”
“But you can call me a slut because of my choice of profession?”
“Tending bar is hardly a profession.”
“And drinking and playing bridge is?” Ah, did I just say that out loud? I close my eyes and wait for it. Three, two . . .
“How dare you! This is what I’m talking about! You are out of control and now you’re throwing yourself at some man who is so far above you. Do you really think his interest in you will lead to a white wedding? You’ve nothing to offer him that he can’t find on any corner in any city in the world.”
“Are you comparing me to a prostitute?”
“What? I was talking about bars. Women working in bars.”
My pulse pounds in my throat. For a minute there I thought I was going to have to catch a plane just so I could punch my own mother in the face.
“He’s going to hurt you.”
And she’s not?
“Whatever it is you think is going on, I assure you it isn’t,” she continues. “Be smarter than that, Saffron. Think about what I’ve said. I’ve got to run.”
And then she clicks off. Is it any wonder why I have such self-doubt? And as much as I want to dismiss everything she said, I can’t. Laced through her bullshit rhetoric, she actually voiced some of my own concerns.
Founder’s Day. This is another day I simply don’t get. Like a smaller-scale Civil War reenactment, it confuses everyone, because the town wasn’t really founded, it was stumbled upon. This does not deter Chastity, and in fact she has taken the liberty of rewriting history to make the day more eventful. How, you wonder? Well, for one the costumes are not historically accurate. Most are far too fancy to be anything the early residents could have owned. And there’s a ball. Where they would have held a ball in the middle of nowhere, I can’t say, but Chastity thinks it’s good for the town that we all believe there was a ball.
Let’s face it, hundreds of years later and we still can’t claim a thousand residents. When the town began, there would have only been a handful of people, most of them related to each other. I doubt they would have thought, “Oh, let’s have a ball.”
So here I am wearing a period gown, probably more accurate for Victorian-era London, watching in the mirror as Josh twists my hair up and thinking of Frank. This is one festival that I shared annually with him. We sat in the background like Statler and Waldorf from The Muppets. With him gone, it just isn’t going to be the same. And like the smell of swordfish that never seems to fade away, I have got to make a decision on what to do with his money.
My thoughts have detoured back to that article and my phone conversation with my mom far more often in the past few days than I would like. I wonder if Logan saw the article. Has the reality of seeing us in black and white finally knocked some sense into him? He can do better than me and that’s not me being pathetic or agreeing with my mother. It is just a simple truth.
It is entirely possible that Josh is right. Logan finds the quiet life of Harrington appealing, for now, and I’m part of his life here. Logan has said it himself, the undercurrents of the art world are suffocating. But he’s an artist and, good or bad, there’s a part of him that loves that world or he wouldn’t still be part of it. And he is. Every other week he’s in Manhattan, he’s David. So it’s not too hard to believe that he will eventually return to the world that is so enamored of him, especially if his hideaway is overrun by the press, destroying that quiet life. And if he does go, he’ll be leaving some wreckage behind, namely my heart.
And as I sit there, seeing my ridiculous reflection in the mirror, wondering if the man I’m in love with really feels the same or is only smitten with the idea of me, I realize the last place I want to be right now is at some stupid event that’s not even historically accurate.
“Let’s blow off Founder’s Day and get drunk.”
“Seriously?” Josh stops working on my hair. A poker player he is not, because he clearly likes the idea.
“Yeah. You in, Gwen?”
“Hell yeah. I couldn’t drink a beer in this corset.”
So we do get drunk and it doesn’t take long, since we’re just pounding them back.
“I’m hungry,” Gwen says.
“Yeah, me too, and there is all that catered food at Town Hall,” Josh adds.
“You want to crash the party?” I ask.
“We’ll be like shadows, no one will know we’re there.” Josh holds an elbow out to each of us.
Gwen and I don’t have to be asked twice. “Okay.”
The ball portion of the night has begun by the time we arrive and the dance floor is packed with swaying couples. Logan is easy to spot, since he stands so much taller than the others in the room. He has his head lowered slightly as he talks to Broderick. He looks good—sexy is a better word. And because I’m drunk, I have fully convinced myself that he’ll be leaving me, breaking my heart in the process. In this moment, I wish I had laser beams for eyes and giggle at the visual of Logan disintegrating before me, turning into a smoldering pile of black ash. Mean and completely uncalled for, but oddly comforting. Josh disrupts me from my fantasy.
“Look, a whole plate of shrimp.”
“Grab it; I’ll get the cocktail sauce,” I say.
Gwen comes up behind us carrying a tray loaded with lunchmeats. “I nicked this.”
Slang coming from Gwen is so uncharacteristic that I can’t help laughing.
“What?” she says.
“You, what’s up with the slang lately?”
“Sons of Anarchy.”
“You’re watching it?”
“Yep. You’re right, it’s awesome and I love Jax.”
“Already called him. Wait, the slang, you trying to be an old lady?”
“I could pull it off.”
Taking in her pink cashmere sweater set, I bust out laughing. “I don’t think so.”
She flips me off. On second thought . . .
“We should get wine,” Josh says as he tries to balance the plate of shrimp and another of olives. We’re so busy raiding the food table that we don’t notice anyone’s approached until Tommy speaks up from behind us. Josh almost drops our goodies.
Feeling a bit like an old lady myself, I channel Jax’s mom, Gemma, and get all up in Tommy’s face. “Didn’t anyone teach you not to sneak up on people?”
“Didn’t anyone teach you not to steal?”
“Steal? We’re not stealing, we’re eating,” I say in outrage.
“That food is for everyone,” he insists.
At that moment, I just snap. I poke Tommy in the chest with my finger.
“Everyone, really? Where was everyone during the Swordfish Festival cleanup? And during the God of the Sea Festival where I drowned?”
He looks sullen now, but my vision is less than perfect at the moment, so I don’t notice. What else I don’t notice is how loud I’m getting as I poke Tommy in the chest with each of my points.
“I deserve this shrimp. Born to people who clearly shouldn’t have reproduced, I date my best friend and turn him gay, date another man who doesn’t know he’s gay, almost have dinner with a third man who’s more interested in his reflection than me, and land on a yeti who turns out to be a millionaire playboy.
“I lost the man I thought of as a father, had my thirtieth birthday party minus any family, and now I’m being dissed in the gossip rags. I am only human and I can take no more, so, yes, I have consumed my body weight in wine and I plan on eating this whole goddamn plate of shrimp.”
It’s then that I realize every eye in the room is on me, but I’m drunk enough that I just don’t care. “Does anyone have a problem with that?”
Silence meets that question. I turn to Gwen and Josh, who are doubled over with laughter. “Shall we?” I look back over my shoulder at Tommy. “Grab a bottle of wine and join us.”
Winking, I walk from the room with my head held high. “You are so going to hell,” Tommy says as he steers me down the steps of Town Hall ahead of our friends.
“I’ve been living there for quite a while now.”
He stops and Gwen and Josh continue to stagger forward. Instead of anger, I see love and understanding in his gaze. “Did that feel good?”
I sigh. “You have no idea.”
“Come on, I’m hungry,” Josh hollers. Tommy reaches for my hand again as we follow the others.
While I’m working the following evening, many people have approached me to talk: people I haven’t chatted with in years. I guess everyone’s allowed a meltdown, even as big a one as I had. Maybe we all deserved the shrimp, after all. The door opens and Logan walks in. When he’s close enough, he asks, “Can we talk?”
I should talk to him, but I’m feeling a bit cowardly. “I’m working.”
“It won’t take long.”
That doesn’t sound good. Suddenly my stomach is doing that weird thing it does when I’m watching a particularly suspenseful movie. “Okay. Tommy, I’m taking a break.”
I follow Logan outside, and we walk beyond the parking lot to where it’s more private.
“What was that last night?” he asks without preamble.
“I was drunk.”
“Don’t bullshit me, Saffron. You were drunk for a reason. What’s that reason?”
“Frank and I loved Founder’s Day, so I wasn’t exactly dealing well.” It’s part of the truth.
A softness enters his expression. “Understandable, but I think there’s more to it. Did you see the article about us?”
The urge to lower my head is strong. Here it comes—his wake-up call that he isn’t where he wants to be or with the person he wants. “Yes.”
“I can’t control the gossip. David has always been a popular subject for the paparazzi.”
“I know, but how do you stand it?”
“It’s not easy having your every move observed and commented on, your relationships held under a microscope to be picked apart by people who know nothing about you. It’s one of the reasons I have never allowed myself to get serious about anyone. Putting dates through that is unfair. I never meant to fall in love with you, Saffron. My intention in moving here was to get out of the rat race, to get my life back. Walking into Tucker’s and seeing you behind the bar, listening to you laugh and joke with your customers, you mesmerized me. When you started your game, seeming to understand that I needed space and yet still offering a hand, you had me. That article is wrong. You are far above me. I’m the one who should be counting my lucky stars that a woman like you—with your smile and the way your eyes twinkle with genuine interest and affection for those around you—would even look twice at a man like me. As much as I would like for it to be different, David will always be in the mix and that means the public will always want a piece of him.”
He moves closer to take my hands into his. “Tell me you can live with that. Tell me I have a chance with you, even knowing that your life will be different if you agree.”
My words won’t come. Every one of the fears I’ve been stewing over for weeks has been obliterated with one very well-done speech. I am an idiot. Lifting his hands, I press a kiss in his palm, a tear slipping from under my lid to drip in the place I just kissed.
“Saffron?”
“My real fear, the one that had me running away, was that you would realize you were making a mistake. I was waiting for you to come to your senses, and the thought of you walking away from me was too hard to deal with.”
“I’m not walking.”
“I want a life with you, and that includes everything that makes up you.”
“Will you have dinner with me tomorrow night?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll come for you at seven.”
“Okay.”
He doesn’t kiss me, doesn’t pull me close, just lifts our joined hands and mirrors my act of kissing my palm. And then he walks away.
Watching him go, I place a hand over my rapidly beating heart. I am an idiot, but a blissfully happy one.
Exactly at seven the next evening, Logan knocks at the door. I open it, but before either of us speaks a word, Reaper comes barreling into the room. Seeing Logan, he attempts to stop and fails to, instead falling on his butt, sliding along the floor with all four paws out in front of him.
“He’s adorable.” Logan shifts his eyes from Reaper to me. “He can come.”
“Really?”
Humor twinkles in his eyes. “Yes.”
“Okay.” I grab the leash from the table and clip it onto Reaper’s collar. Moments later Logan settles Reaper on my lap in the car, closing the door before climbing in himself. When we arrive at the lighthouse, I’m a bit confused to see several familiar cars in the drive.
Logan parks and shuts off the engine. “I invited a few people over. I hope that’s okay with you.”
“Why did you?”
“Because I’m asking you to take all of me and I want all of you. Your friends are part of you.”
God, he’s amazing. As much as I would like to have him all to myself, I can’t deny that I like the idea of him getting to know my friends better. “Good answer.”
We step inside and are greeted by the sound of voices, my friends’ and his brothers’, coming from down the hall. When we reach the kitchen, all eyes turn to us.
“Finally. I’m getting hungry.” No surprise it’s Dante whining about food.
“Saffron, come on over here and help me peel these shrimp, considering how much you like them,” Tommy calls, which sets off laughter.
Logan comes up behind me, his hand at the small of my back, and he offers me a glass of wine. Reaching for his own, he leads me out back to where the grill is set up.
“We’re having swordfish,” he says, cleaning the grill grates. He looks at me from over his shoulder and winks.
“Funny.”
“Did you like my tribute to the town?”
“I did, but why a swordfish?”
“The day you pelted me in the face with a swordfish funnel cake, and by the way—what the fuck—was when my admiration for you turned into something more.”
“You can’t be serious.”
He takes a sip from his wine, eying me from over the rim. “Oh, I am.”
“Why?”
“Because that was the day you were jealous over my dalliance with Chastity.”
I’ve just taken a sip of my own wine, and I almost choke on it. Once I’m able to breathe again, I ask, “Are you kidding me?”
He says nothing, just stares at me.
“Are you feeling all right, Logan?” I nod at the grill just behind him. “Are you sure there isn’t a gas leak?”
A smile slowly spreads over his face. He reaches for my hand and guides me closer to the water. “Never better.”
Under the moon, he wraps me in his arms and slowly sways with me to a tune only he can hear. Being up against his hard, warm body is like a fix to a junkie and I settle myself more snugly into his embrace.
His lips are near my temple and I can feel his soft breath on my skin when he speaks. “You took a terrible festival and made it fun. You saved George from taking a bath by buying up half of his stock and making it so others would buy the rest and, in the process, made the day enjoyable. Even now people still talk about it as one of the best festivals ever. I fell in love with you that day.”
I pull back, convinced I am going to have to smack him for teasing me again, but I see the truth in his eyes.
“That sculpture is more for me than the town. Every time I pass it, I think of you.”
I kiss him then. I couldn’t stop myself even if I wanted to. Logan doesn’t hesitate to wrap his hands around my face so he can take the kiss deeper. His lips are possessive as they touch, taste, and reclaim and, with the coaxing of his seductive mouth, he’s making me feel it all again—the profound emotion that only he is able to stir in me. How could I have ever doubted this? I’m lost in my raging need for him, but somehow he finds the strength to pull away.
His lips brush lightly over mine. “I have missed you. But now I need to get the steaks and maybe climb into the freezer for a minute.”
I fan myself before replying, “You and me both.”
He winks before he disappears back into the house.
Tilting my head back, I sigh. It’s beautiful tonight with the stars dotting the twilight sky and the soothing sound of the water lapping against the beach. But the real reason for my sigh is that I’m not waiting for the other shoe to drop. Finally. It’s not all going to be smooth sailing, but Logan and I are in it together and that is beautiful. Voices carry out into the night and my friends come outside, Logan in the rear with a huge tray of marinated steaks. He looks so handsome in the moment. More so because he looks so natural. All those magazines that see him as the millionaire playboy wouldn’t believe it’s the same person laughing with his brothers and Mitch while flipping steaks.
Josh walks over to join me. “How are you doing?”
“I am doing just fine.”
“I was surprised and pleased when he called the other day and invited us for a barbecue.”
“When did he call you?”
“Two days ago.”
“So before the ball and my lovely performance.” That makes me smile. “Let’s see if we can help with dinner.”
Broderick is just setting the table when we join him inside. “Can we help?”
“Could you get the silverware? It’s on the counter in the kitchen.”
“Sure thing. I’ll get it.” I’m sidetracked in the living room by a painting that I don’t recognize. As I approach, I recognize Tucker’s. In the picture, I’m building a Guinness and talking to George. My face is in profile and I’m laughing. The detail is so exquisite it’s hard to believe that it isn’t a photo. I don’t hear Logan until he’s standing right next to me.
“When did you do this?”
“While I was in Scotland.”
My gaze shifts to him but he’s still fixed on the portrait. “Like I said, I missed you like hell.” He kisses my cheek. “Dinner’s ready.”
After his brother’s strip steaks, baked potatoes, and grilled vegetables, Broderick whipped up a chocolate mousse cake that was so good Mitch asked for the recipe. I’m sitting in a chair near the fire that Logan has lit, with Reaper in my lap. The warmth from the fire and Reaper’s snuggly body, combined with the food and wine, sends me into a dozy state.
“Would you like me to take you home?” Logan hunches down next to me.
I don’t really want to go, but I know I’m not going to be awake much longer. “Okay.”
We say our good-byes and before long I’m settled in Logan’s very comfortable car. We barely make it down the street before I fall asleep. Minutes later, Logan is brushing his fingers over my cheek. “You’re home, Saffron.”
My eyes flutter open and I stifle a yawn just as he lifts me and Reaper into his arms and carries us to the door. He takes my keys and somehow manages to unlock the door while still carrying me. Lust stirs to life as Logan carries me to my room. It’s so powerful that when he lowers me onto the bed, I almost pull him down on top of me. Reaper defuses the sexually charged moment when he jumps from the bed and runs around before darting out of the bedroom.
“Good night, Saffron.”
“Thank you for tonight, it was perfect.”
He starts from the room, but I call him back. “Stay, Logan, I miss sleeping next to you.”
He has just reached the door when he turns his face to me. I know that I’m not the only one fighting the need to make love. “As much as I would love to stay with you, I can’t. I broke your trust. I need to earn it again.”
He isn’t wrong and the fact that he knows this makes my heart thump almost painfully in my chest.
A few minutes later, I hear the door close quietly in his retreat.