CHAPTER FOUR
“You slept with him?” This bewildered question comes from Gwen as she, Josh, and I sit around her living room during our ladies’ night. Snatching the pillow off the sofa, I cover my face with it to muffle my response.
“I know, I know.” I try to feel repentant, I truly do, but I can’t. All day, night, and into the very early morning, Logan and I enjoyed each other, and for someone who hasn’t had a sexual encounter since the Bush administration, I feel no guilt. Just thinking about that body, the sexy Celtic knot tattoo that wraps his left bicep, his abs, his chest, his shoulders . . . I had my mouth on every delicious, muscular inch of him. It’s a good thing I have the pillow to my face to block out my moan.
“He doesn’t even speak to you,” Josh says.
I lift my head. “We’re speaking now.”
This causes a bark of laughter from Josh. “I bet.”
“No, seriously. He came to tell me he couldn’t play our game anymore and I will note that he did agree to declare me the winner, since I was, after all.” It’s an important fact, me winning, that shouldn’t be excluded in the telling of the tale.
Gwen’s lips twitch. “Well, I suppose that’s something.”
Josh reaches for his glass of wine. “So have you exchanged words beyond yes, please, don’t stop, faster?”
I throw the pillow I’m holding at his head, and his catlike reflexes keep the wine from spilling on the floor.
“There wasn’t really an opportunity for a heart-to-heart.”
“But you said he didn’t leave until this morning, so what did you two do . . .” Gwen stops midthought as a smile curves her lips. “All night and this morning? The stamina. You are a naughty girl, Saffron.”
“Yes, but a very satisfied one.”
Josh chuckles. “So how did you leave it?”
I just glare at Josh. What is he? An investigative reporter for the Boston Globe? I’m not really mad at Josh. No, I don’t want to answer his question—I still don’t know quite how I feel with the way things were left. When I awoke, I found a small bouquet of flowers he had cut from my garden resting on his pillow, but no Logan. As romantic as it was, I can’t determine if the gesture is just that, romantic, or if it’s Logan’s way of laying down some unspoken ground rules. As in—this is only sex, so don’t get attached. Does he generally love a woman blind before disappearing without a trace? He probably has hundreds of broken hearts out there, hence the disguise of the beard. It’s a thoroughly depressing thought.
“So?”
“It’s new, Josh, for both of us.”
He clearly doesn’t like that answer, but he leaves it alone. “We’ve exhausted that topic. So what’s next?”
I am only partly paying attention to my friends. My thoughts are still on Logan and the uncertainty I feel at seeing him again.
I bought a new car, an old VW bug that will probably not last out the year, but it only cost me five hundred bucks. Even if it lasts only a few months, it’ll be worth the investment.
Added bonus, I get to punch my friends every time I show up in it.
After dinner with Frank on Wednesday, we retire to his room where he pulls out his chess set. He has been trying to teach me the art of chess for as long as I can remember. I’m a terrible student. Strategic thinking is not my forte.
As he does every time he takes it out, he places the pieces on the board with love, even taking a few moments to hold a few as if lost in thought.
“Do you believe it’s possible that an object can hold a piece of someone’s soul?”
To say I’m surprised by the question is an understatement. Clearly he’s remembering someone, probably the same someone he never discusses. I won’t pry, but I do wish he’d unload his burden because he has been my rock and I’d like to be that for him.
“If the object was significant in someone’s life, yes, I believe it can hold a piece of their energy. Will you consider sharing with me whoever it is you’re thinking about?”
“It isn’t that I don’t want to share, it’s just reliving it is too difficult. But I want you to promise me something.”
In his direct gaze, I see the intense young man he must have been. “Be happy. In your life, be happy, and if you aren’t, make the changes that will allow for it. If you learn nothing else from me, learn that life is short. In a blink of an eye it can be over. Find your happiness, and then hold on to it with both hands. Will you do that for me?”
My heart aches knowing that his advice is based on personal experience. “I promise, Frank.”
Nodding his head, he places the piece he’s holding on the board. “Good. Now, do you remember what I told you about the Sicilian Defense?”
Knowing Frank as well as I do, I know the subject of his past is over. And as much as I’d like to push the topic, I respect him too much to do that. So following his lead, I switch gears to chess and answer his question. “Only that the Sicilian Defense has nothing to do with pizza.”
Logan is in hiding. I try not to take it personally during the first few days after our sleepover. I just assume the man is busy. He does have a life, a secret life that no one seems to know anything about, like what he does for a living, where he came from. Key things like that. However, when it grows closer to a week with still no sighting, not even at Tucker’s, which catches Tommy’s notice, Logan’s disappearing act definitely feels personal.
I don’t regret our night together—hell, I’ll probably never forget it—but there isn’t going to be any repeat performance. I am mad, but more at myself than him. For Logan to be so callous and obvious about his intentions, or lack thereof, means that the man I thought he was—the man that I wanted to sleep with—really doesn’t exist. It’s never pleasant to realize that you’ve been played.
Lesson learned, but now that I have truly exhausted every available man in Harrington, I find myself back at square one.
Firing up my laptop, I check my profile; there are two requests to meet pending. What’s the worst that can happen? I respond to both men, shut down my laptop, and get ready for work.
“That is so not true. That would never happen,” I tell Tommy.
“Saffron, you don’t see it because you are in denial, but I am telling you that an Alien will defeat a Predator every time.”
“That is such bull, Tommy. Predators are complex beings that are born to hunt and Aliens are just extremely large cockroaches.”
“I’m afraid we will have to agree to disagree.”
Yanking the band from my wrist, I pull back my hair. This is an argument Tommy and I have often. The man is clearly mental, and deluded, but making him see reason is above my pay grade.
“I’m with Saffron, no contest.” Doug Smithers is a lobsterman who stays pretty much to himself, but Tommy and I have discovered that he too has a love for a good science-fiction movie.
“Ha!” I point to Doug and grin. “Common sense from someone.”
Tommy rolls his eyes at us. “Moving on. Who would win in a battle between Luke Skywalker and Dumbledore?”
Doug and I both groan, but Doug also says what I am thinking: “Not a fair question. They would never fight one another.”
“Pretend they would,” Tommy counters.
In the process of making a face behind Tommy’s back, I see the door open. In steps a beautiful woman. With long pale-blond hair and big blue eyes, she’s wearing Prada and Jimmy Choos and her bag is a Dolce & Gabbana. I may not be able to afford the latest fashions, but I sure as hell know what they are.
I am still admiring the cut of her coat when her lunch date steps up beside her. All the air leaves my lungs when my gaze collides with Logan’s. I don’t realize my hand has curled around the neck of a bottle of Cabernet until Tommy comes up beside me and covers my hand with his own.
“No bloodshed, Saffron,” he whispers. Tommy knows about Logan, so he understands a bit how this move of Logan’s is affecting me.
Logan actually has the nerve to smile before walking his lady friend to a table.
“Maybe that’s his sister?” Tommy says weakly.
“I don’t know much about biology, but I’m pretty damn sure it’s close to impossible for those two to be related.”
Tommy’s arm comes around my shoulders. “You want to take a break?”
I’m really surprised by how strongly seeing Logan with another woman is affecting me. I barely know the man, so what’s up with the stabbing pain centered in my chest? “I do, but I won’t. I might as well get it over with.”
When I start around the bar, Tommy stops me. “I’ll wait on them.”
I see the worry on his face, but I don’t miss his anger. “I appreciate that, but I’m good.”
He looks skeptical, but he doesn’t say anything further. I check on a few other tables on my way to Logan and his lover, because I don’t want to look too eager to be their server, but before long I am standing before them.
She has on a lovely fragrance. It’s the kind that sort of only hints, so you want to get closer to get a better whiff. The visual of me burying my face in her neck makes me snort, which is met by a raised eyebrow from the lady and a small, endearing grin from Logan. Stop, he isn’t endearing; he’s a bastard of the first order.
“What can I get you?”
“Saffron, how are you?” Logan asks and he sounds genuinely interested. How am I? Small talk, right.
I rest my hip on the table and give my back to Logan as I look down at his date. “Would you think it odd for a man to come to a small town and proceed to not speak to you for six months?”
Her perfect lips form a grin. “Everyone or just me specifically?”
“You, specifically.”
Her eyes light with humor. “Yes, that is odd.”
“Odder still for that man to then take you to bed and blow your mind with sex for almost twenty-four hours before ditching you and then staying off the radar for a week?”
The humor has left her gaze now, but she answers anyway. “Indeed.”
“So what would you think when that same man shows up at your place of employment with a beautiful woman and attempts to engage you in small talk?”
Her eyes leave mine for Logan’s, but I don’t miss the emotion in her gaze. She’s mad.
“Exactly.” I turn and give Logan my full attention. “So how am I, Logan?” I pull out the chair next to him and sit down. “I could pretend to be a cool, sophisticated woman and lie to you and say I’m fabulous, but that just isn’t me. What I am is hurt and more than a little pissed, so the idea of making small talk with you is repugnant to me, unless that talk is centered on what I’d like to do to you. For example, I’d love to reach for that dull butter knife and stick it in your eye, giving it a hard turn just for good measure. The idea of strapping you to a man-size lobster trap and throwing you into the ocean holds a great deal of appeal, as does the thought of running your ass over with my car, repeatedly. I could sit here all day making small talk about that, or you could just shut up and order some goddamn lunch.”
He isn’t hiding his anger now. “Are you finished?”
“Oh yes, Logan, we are definitely finished. I’ll send Tommy over to take your order.”
I start to rise, but he stops me by grabbing my arm. He’s gentle, but he applies enough force to keep me from moving.
“You’ll hear me out, especially since you’ve already aired most of our dirty laundry to half of Harrington.”
He has a point. At lunch hour, Tucker’s is packed. I’m not about to agree with him, but I do sit down and attempt to give him my best belligerent glare.
“The morning I left I had an early flight to New York and I tried to wake you, but you sleep like a dead person. When I got to the airport, I realized I didn’t have your phone number, so I called Tucker’s for it. The young woman I spoke with gave me your cell number.”
It could be a web of lies, but I know deep down that it isn’t. My never-charged cell phone is a bone of contention with my friends. If he called my cell phone, I wouldn’t have gotten the message.
“I left you three messages, Saffron. One that day, one when I landed in New York City, and one today with information on when I was returning to Harrington. As soon as we landed, we went to your house and when you weren’t there, we came here. This is Maria St. John, my agent.”
I feel about the size of an ant. If only the ground would open and swallow me. To add to the ridiculousness, the only question I can form after all of this is “Agent?”
“I’m an artist and had a showing at a gallery in Manhattan. Maria came back with me to see some of my new work. I wanted her to meet you.”
At that moment, I feel like Ralphie from A Christmas Story after he dropped the f-bomb. There is just no way to pull that back. If I ever felt more ridiculous in my life, I can’t recall it. Trying to navigate the minefield of my thoughts is impossible, so instead I rise and somehow manage to maintain eye contact with Logan even though I want to crawl into a very dark hole.
“Hope all went well in Manhattan.” I turn to Maria. “Welcome to Harrington. I hope you enjoy your stay.” And then I walk out of Tucker’s and keep on walking until I end up on Josh’s doorstep.