Page 49 of Under the Mistletoe
She stepped into the kitchen, but Logan’s back was to her. He wore black joggers with a gray hoodie and a pink apron over that, his hair still damp from his shower.
There was something so domestic, so right about this moment. She walked over and rested her back on the counter next to him. “I didn’t take you for a Bob Seger fan. What happened to the Christmas carols?”
Cal hurried over to her and buried his nose in her thigh. She reached down in greeting but kept her eyes on Logan.
“Christmas songs were my mom’s. I have an eclectic taste.” He dropped the whisk into the bowl, a smile stretching across his face as he took in the sweatshirt. “Looks good on you.”
“I think so.”
His face shifted into something more somber as he shuffled his weight from one foot to the other. “I know emotions were running high last night.”
Oh, maybe this was not going to go the way she thought.
He scooped out the batter and added it to the skillet. “I want you to know there are no expectations.”
Expectations from her or him? Was he trying to backtrack out of this or give her an out?
When he glanced at her, his face pinched. “I think I’m saying this all wrong.”
He eyed the cooking pancakes a moment before looking back at her. “There are things—well mainly one thing—about me you should know before?—”
A car honked from the driveway, sending Cal into a barking frenzy as he ran toward the door. Logan flipped the pancakes, then shrugged. “Maybe we should talk about this later.”
“Okay.” Timing didn’t seem to be on her side lately. “Maybe after the stocking party.”
His shoulders relaxed at that.
I’m not so good with the talking.She wouldn’t push him. She would wait until he was ready. But she’d love it if he gave a clue if he was leaning for or against what happened—oralmosthappened last night. After all,something she should knowsounded very ominous.
BecauseYou should know I like cats and I know you’re allergicwas very different thanYou should know I’m a secret agent and have a whole other life you don’t know about.
But that was crazy. Then again, the way he’d frantically hidden his laptop and papers that were in the guestroom yesterday had been a bit odd. Logan was no spy, but he had almost gone pale when she’d hinted he might be Victor Holt’s editor. No doubt he was supposed to keep parts of his job confidential, but that reaction had seemed less professional and more personal. Something about it didn’t add up.
The unknown of it all twisted Devin’s insides, and suddenly she wasn’t so hungry. “I think I’ll go get that shower now.”
She hurried back to the bedroom, shutting herself in as the front door opened. She needed to stay calm, not let her imagination run away with itself.
Maybe a shower would clear her head. She walked to closet and opened it—only there were no towels to be seen. She started to shut it when a familiar purple cover grabbed her attention. It was just sitting on a stack of large boxes. She picked up the book.The Defender.
They hadanothercopy? She blinked and examined the boxes. Each was labeled with a black Sharpie. Two were labeledThe Defender. Another box was labeledThe Keeper.And the last two were labeledThe Fighter. He didn’t have just one other copy. He had at least a hundred—of all three books.
A half dozen separate past conversations merged together, a laughable idea becoming very much a real possibility as the pieces clicked into place.
Editors weren’t given this many copies…but authors were.
Her breath halted. She set the book back on the stack, shut the door, and leaned against it.
Logan Kingsley was Victor Holt.
She closed her eyes and contemplated that morning’s chapter. The reason it felt completely reminiscent of the night before was because it wasthem. He’d written them into a story. He always said he wasn’t good with words, but nothing could be further from the truth. He was a master craftsman with words. Just notspokenones.
But when had he written it? Moments of it matched their encounter so clearly that he had to have written it after she’d gone to bed.
If you need help, I can help…
Do you have time?
Hehadn’thad time. He’d had a chapter to write, and yet he’d given up his whole evening for her. He hadn’t even acted rushed or inconvenienced. The contrast between that and the fact her parents couldn’t even take a few hours for dinner wasn’t lost on her.
