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Any relaxation stemming from the fall vibe has effectively been snuffed out by my meddling-but-means-well brother.
The aroma of coffee and cinnamon drifts out of Cataloochee Mountain Coffee as I pass. The scent is enough to make my mouth water, but if I have caffeine after ten in the morning, I don’t sleep. Still, I can’t resist stopping by most mornings a week on the way to work. Few mortals could. Especially when Heather makes the best chai latte I’ve had in my life.
It’s dusk as I reach my building, my favorite time of day, especially in fall. The combination of the streetlamps and the twinkly lights bathes everything in a warm romantic glow. Well. It would be romantic if I weren’t alone. And if my brother hadn’t managed to cram multiple sore subjects into one conversation.
Speaking of romantic …
My chest constricts a little at the sight of a couple strolling hand in hand a few blocks away. They pause at Book Smart, the adorable bookstore where I’d happily spend my entire paycheck if I could. When the man holds the door open for the woman, stealing a kiss as she passes, I want to shout, “He’s a keeper!” but I hold back.
Despite what I told Brandon, there have been no Jerebrians in a long time. My dating life has tumbleweeds the size of buildings blowing through it. I tell myself it’s because I’m focused on work. Which is true. I’m busy. And, fine—I might have slight workaholic tendencies. But that’s not why my proverbial dance card stays empty.
File that under: it’s complicated. And I’m picky.
I turn down the small alley where the walkup to my apartment is, setting my bag down. I need both hands to manage the outer door, which has a nasty habit of sticking.
Maybe it’s the cooler temperatures, but today, the door isn’t just sticking, it’sstuck. I shimmy the handle, then give the door a good kick.
“Come on, door. Be a good door.”
I try cajoling first, using baby talk like I’m trying to convince a puppy to obey. But a wiggly puppy would be more responsive. The door gives me nothing.
I switch tactics, ramming my hip into it. “You have one job!” I scold. “And it’s to open! Do your job, door!”
“What’d that door do to you?” a deep voice calls.
I freeze as Logan appears beside me. This cannot be my new reality, where he just appears at will in my life. I don’t have the constitution for it.
“Oh, hi.” I step back, tucking my hair behind my ears. “Where’d you come from?”
I’m perfectly normal. Not a woman talking to an inanimate object while attacking it with my full body weight.
He glances back toward the street. “Just reacquainting myself with the town. It’s changed a lot.”
“Yep.”
I seem to have lost my conversational abilities. Whatever command and poise I had in my office earlier—even while fighting back all the Logan-inspired butterflies—it’s gone. No command. Zero poise. I’m suddenly very aware of things like my hands and feet and the angle of my head and wondering what expression my face is making right now.
I’m alsoveryaware of the huge lie hanging between us. The one where I said Logan was my date. I chew on the inside of my cheek and shift my weight from one foot to the other.
But Logan seems on edge too. He puts his hands in his pockets. Then takes them out and runs a hand through his dark hair.
Is he … nervous? Aroundme?!?
Clearing his throat, he nods toward the door. “Need help with that?”
Right. The stupid door. I grab the handle, jiggling as I try ramming my hip into it again.
“It’s just tricky,” I say through a grunt. “It takes the right combination of wiggling the handle and brute force.”
“Or maybe it just needs the right touch.” Logan is suddenly right behind me, his big hand covering mine on the doorknob and his chest pressed against my back.
Right touch, indeed.
He presses his other hand flat against the door.
“It won’t work,” I tell him, flustered as awareness prickles along my hairline at his nearness and the heat of his body behind me. “You have to know just how to—”
With no warning, the door flies open.
