Page 52 of The Library of Second Chances
Taylor reached a hand toward her, opening and closing it to indicate she wanted to hold Lucy’s hand.
“Hey, don’t get upset. We’re talking hypotheticals here. We haven’t gone ring shopping or anything. And who knows when it would even happen. He’s still in the middle of the renovation here. And even if I did move, we’ve got texting, emails, phone calls, even airplanes to take us back and forth to see each other. You’ll always be my best friend, no matter my address.”
Lucy half-heartedly squeezed Taylor’s hand. She couldn’t help feeling that, eventually, everyone left her. A part of her was glad now that Gatsby’s Ghost hadn’t shown up. One less person who could leave.
After children’s story time, the bookstore quietened down for the morning. Lucy fished her notebook from her purse, opening it on the counter next to the computer so she could begin typing the synopsis of her new novel to send Leona. As she read through her outline, however, she felt something was missing. Sure, the two main characters were falling in love via the notes they were leaving in the Little Free Library, but there was no conflict. No real stakes.
She flipped to a blank page and let herself do a brain dump. Maybe she finds out he came to town to open a competing bookstore? No. She didn’t want it to be just likeYou’ve Got Mail. He could be a developer though. They were always coming in to ruin small towns, a fact she knew all too well. She wrote down a few more ideas, crossing out each one as she tested it against her current storyline.
After staring at her messy brainstorm for a few minutes, she ripped the page from the notebook and crumpled it before tossing it in the waste basket. She couldn’t send this to Leona. It wasn’t good enough.
She looked around the store, and Debra Brannon’sHydrangeas on Hill Streetcaught her eye. She walked across the creaking floorboards and grabbed a copy of the book. When she returned to the counter, she propped it up next to her for motivation. Debra was right. Lucy had been standing in her own way.
Authors often mined their lives for ideas, so she thought about the people she’d dated over the years and why they hadn’t worked out. There’d been a smattering of dates here and there with a few boys in high school, but nothing memorable. In college, she’d dated two different guys for about a year each, and although she’d said “I love you” to both of them, the relationships hadn’t been exceptional or unique, and she wasn’tsure she’d really known what love was. They’d been “safe,” as Taylor had called them.
There’d been dates in Ocala when she worked in the library there, but no one who stuck around for more than a few dinners. Then she moved back to Heron Isle and met Carter. She’d thought he was the great love story of her life. He’d made her feel beautiful and interesting, but in the end he’d loved his career more than her.
There had been no one since then. The original idea for the story had come from her relationship—or whatever it was—she’d been forming with Gatsby’s Ghost. Except she didn’t want her book to end with the heroine getting stood up.
She was still brainstorming when she heard the front door open and looked up to see Logan entering. His now familiar scent wafted in with him and when he smiled she couldn’t help but smile back. Although her smile was more from embarrassment as she remembered the night before. Hopefully he wasn’t there to check on her, as if she were some wounded animal in need of tending.
He nodded. “Afternoon.”
“Afternoon to you too.” She put her pen down on the counter.
“Working on your business plan?” He pointed to the notebook.
Flustered, she closed it. “Oh, no. Just a little personal project.”
He raised an eyebrow but didn’t pry. “I was just on my way down to the coffee shop and thought I’d stop in. I know we’ve had our differences lately, but I’d still like to help you, if you’ll let me.”
She shifted from one foot to the other, avoiding his eyes. After taking a deep breath, she said the words she’d been dreading but knew she had to say to him. “I’m sorry aboutthe whole Marty and Mildred thing and for misjudging your intentions. That wasn’t fair of me.”
Lucy expected him to gloat, but he shrugged. “I understand. Water under the bridge. Now, let’s get down to business. I found some good charts on my phone earlier for creating a maintenance timeline for a building like this. May I?” He pointed at the computer on the desk.
“Sure. Go for it. You said you were headed to the coffee shop. Want some? I don’t have anything fancy. Just plain old coffee.”
“Caffeine is caffeine. I’ll take it.”
He moved to the end of the counter and waited for her to step out. Their arms brushed as he stepped to go behind the counter a beat too soon, and she felt the same electric shock she’d felt when they’d first touched travel through her body. The tingling stayed in her chest all the way into the back room. It really had been too long since she’d been on a date if Logan was making her insides stir.
His professional ambitions aside, though, there was no denying he was heartbreakingly handsome. If a woman was into chiseled jawlines and dazzling green eyes, of course. Taking deep breaths, she busied herself with getting the coffee started, then poured the cats more water and reorganized a shelf while the coffee maker did its work—anything to keep her hormones from overtaking her brain. Logan Lancaster was off limits.
As she walked back to the front counter with two steaming mugs, Logan turned to look at her with a slight smile playing on his lips, his eyes squinting ever so slightly as if he was trying to figure something out.
“What? You’re amazed I have the technology to make a cup of coffee?”
Logan pointed at the screen. “Are you writing a book?”
She was so surprised she nearly dropped the coffees as she tripped on the toe of her shoe. She’d completely forgotten she’dleft her email to Leona on the screen. First, he’d been witness to her being stood up. Now he was going to discover her previous failures as an author. She tried to recover as she set both mugs on the counter.
“No, it’s nothing. I thought you were finding me a business plan or something.”
“I was, but this was up on the screen. Just natural curiosity. Are you working on your first book or have you been writing—what is it my sister calls them—bodice-rippers under a pen name no one knows about?” He was grinning ear-to-ear like a Cheshire cat.
“This would be my first.” It was the truth. It could be her first to actually be published. No need to tell him she’d already written two that had tanked.
She reached across him to grab the mouse so she could close the email. He made no effort to move, and as her arm bumped up against him she could feel his strong chest, immediately starting to picture him with his shirt off.
