Page 20 of The Fall Classic

To stop without a farmhouse near

Between the woods and frozen lake

The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake

To ask if there is some mistake.

The only other sound’s the sweep

Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,

But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep.

Logan’s take is … interesting.

“So are you saying you think he’s an unreliable narrator?” I ask.

“No, I’m saying maybe his promises aren’t the point we think they are. Maybe they’re misdirection, a way to distract us from his obvious trespassing.”

I normally try to respect people’s opinions—Logan’s, especially—but he’s taking this a weird direction. “Huh. I hadn’t thought of that. I guess he is admitting that he’s somewhere he isn’t supposed to be.”

“Exactly! He’s admitting that the darkness calls to him, and while I do think it’s about death, not in the way people typically interpret it. Think about it. What’s he doing in these woods, anyway?”

“You don’t think he’s going for a ride⁠—?”

“Wet work.”

I stop completely. Like, totally still. I really thought I was getting to know Logan, and now he … he …

“I’m sorry, I’m not sure I understand,” I say apologetically. Also warily. “When you say wet work, are you … do you think he’s … an assassin?”

Logan shrugs, but there’s something in his eyes⁠—

“You’re messing with me!” I sink down into the seat, covering my face and laughing into my hands. “You had me so freaked out!”

Logan is laughing. “How did you sit there and listen to me? I would have faked a stomach bug and been out of here so fast.”

“I was about to get up and ask Alma for a refill. Does that count?”

“I don’t believe you.”

I screw up my nose. “You’re right. I would have been too afraid to even move if you actually thought Robert Frost wrote ‘Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening’ about an assassin who took a wrong turn.”

Logan is laughing wickedly as he leans back in the booth and looks out the window. I give myself a single moment to notice how handsome he is, and I’m not only talking about his strong jaw, intense blue eyes, or wavy blond hair. He has such a soulful look that whatever he turns his gaze to seems more important, more interesting.

“What do you think it’s really about?” I ask. “‘The woods are lovely, dark and deep, but I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep⁠—’”

“‘And miles to go before I sleep,’” Logan finishes. He looks back at me. “I think he’s lived a life of duty and has guilted himself out of even the smallest rest.”

He looks serious. Most people seem to think it’s about death, but the duty versus desire argument is compelling.