Page 47 of The Library of Second Chances
“Cute,” she said. “But sitting at home alone reading a book wasn’t what I had in mind. I’m talking about making personal connections.”
He cleared his throat, suddenly feeling embarrassed about the increasingly personal connection he was forming with Island Girl.
“Well, I have sort of connected with someone. We’ve been leaving books for each other.” He wiped the sweat from his brow, the sun suddenly feeling like one of those interrogation lamps they shine on criminals on TV shows.
“Now we’re talking! What’s she like? Is she cute?”
He knew it was dangerous telling her. She watched way too many Hallmark movies, and he didn’t want her getting any romantic ideas.
“I haven’t actually met her. People sign the notes with monikers. We’re more like pen pals.” Logan proceeded to tell his sister everything about Island Girl and the books and notes they’d left for each other.
“Omigosh, I wish I was there now!” He hadn’t heard his sister this excited since she’d called the last time she was pregnant to tell him it was a girl. “It’s likeYou’ve Got Mail. Wait! The bookstore owner! What if it’s her?” She was practically shrieking in his ear.
“No. It’s not Lucy. I’ve seen what she reads, and she recommended a completely different kind of book than what Island Girl has been leaving me. Besides, they don’t really seem much alike to me, and I think Island Girl is married.”
“Well, I’ll be there soon, and you can show me all the letters and we’ll figure out who she is.” Carly sounded as excited as a kid counting down the days to Christmas. “Ooh, I can’t wait! This is going to be so much fun!”
Logan had to admit her enthusiasm was rubbing off. Maybe he would try to figure out who Island Girl was, just to thank her for all the book suggestions and for helping him pass the time on Heron Isle outside of work. After all, corresponding with her was the only thing he hadn’t screwed up since arriving.
After a productive afternoon, Logan decided to call it a day earlier than usual and make up the morning run he’d missed. Running always cleared his head, and he needed to wipe Lucy’s disappointed look out of his mind if he was going to make any progress at the next community meeting. He just couldn’t stop seeing the hurt in her brown eyes when she’d insinuated that he’d only been using her to accomplish his goals. He thought they’d moved past that, but it seemed he still hadn’t managed to outrun the San Diego nightmare.
The beach was much quieter here than it had been in California on his daily runs, especially later in the day. It was that time between afternoon and evening when families returned to their houses and condos to clean up and get ready for dinner. He could count on one hand the number of people he’d passed since he left his cottage, the seagulls circling overhead far outnumbering the humans. The waves crashing on the shore were punctuated here and there by the cry of a gull, but the only other sound was the pounding of his feet on the sandand his steady, even breaths. Whoever said you couldn’t outrun your problems had clearly never tried actually running.
As Logan ran around a sandcastle long since abandoned by its maker, he thought about how much he was looking forward to seeing Carly and the kids. Some familiar, smiling faces were just what he needed. Carly had been right about his lack of human connection these days. Maybe it was this lack that was hindering his progress here. Although he’d thought he’d made inroads with Lucy, only to have her so easily turn on him again.
Lucy. Why couldn’t he stop thinking about Lucy? Carly was right; Lucy wasn’t the sole deciding vote in this town. Heck, she didn’t have a vote at all, only the commissioners did. Why did he care so much about what she thought?
Frustrated that work had crept into his thoughts again, he decided to turn around at the marina, which he was nearing. A few charter-boat captains were unloading their gear, their customers having already left for the day. People walked along the sidewalk licking ice-cream cones and stopping to take selfies with the beach as their backdrop.
And then he saw her. Lucy was sitting on a bench in a white summer dress, its edges lifting lightly on the breeze. Her face was covered by large sunglasses, but her head was moving as if she was scanning the people on the sidewalk watching for someone.
Logan slowed to a jog, studying her as he grew closer. She seemed on edge, her posture unnaturally straight, her foot bouncing on the ground. If he didn’t know better, he’d say she was an anxious secret agent waiting for a hand off.
Then she turned to look in his direction and froze, her foot no longer tapping. An awkward moment passed, and he didn’t know what to do but wave, raising his hand in acknowledgment that he’d seen her too.
Instead of waving back, she turned to look in the other direction as if she hadn’t seen him. Now she was just being childish. She couldn’t even acknowledge his existence and be cordial? He was tired of being cast as the villain. He hadn’t had time to properly defend himself last night, but he had all the time in the world right now.
“Lucy. Fancy meeting you here,” he said as he approached.
She shoved a book in her bag like she might pack up and flee. She looked at him and frowned, then glanced over her shoulder as if someone might swoop in and save her at any moment.
“Hello, Logan.”
He pointed to the green box sitting beside her, the same kind he’d seen people carrying all over town and had learned was the signature box from Nana’s Bakery, a local institution.
“Let me guess. You seem like a lemon square kind of gal. Or maybe vanilla cupcakes with sprinkles? I’m a chocolate chip cookie guy myself.” He’d been to the bakery twice in the past week for Nana Theresa’s homemade chocolate chip cookies, which was why he couldn’t skip his daily run.
She scooted the box closer to her as if protecting it before answering in a voice so low he could barely hear it over the soundtrack of the ocean and seagulls behind him.
“Chocolate chip cookies.”
“See, wecanagree on something!” He flashed her his best smile.
The sour look on her face remained unchanged. “What do you want?” She crossed her arms, looking back down the sidewalk.
“If you didn’t constantly jump to conclusions about me and my intentions, you might find we have a lot in common.” He started counting things off on his fingers. “We both grew up in small towns. We both love historic buildings. And apparently neither of us can resist Nana Theresa’s chocolate chip cookies.”
“Yes, well, apparently the similarities end there. I don’t try to pit husbands and wives against each other or tear up other people’s towns and then leave them to deal with the consequences.”
