by Kendall Ryan
“Good morning,” I say, noticing that Logan is seated in the formal dining room with his grandfather.
I’m introduced to Austen—who seems quiet and observant, and Matt—who looks most similar to Logan, though he offers me a warm smile. Graham quietly focuses on his breakfast, a big plate of fried eggs and several strips of bacon.
Graham is even more stoic than he was last night. He’s taller than the others by maybe an inch or so. But all four of the Tate brothers share a lot of the same features. They’re broad and muscular with dark hair and darker stubble. Bright blue eyes framed by thick eyelashes and big, rugged hands.
“I’m making another pot of coffee. Give me two minutes,” Jillian says, dumping coffee beans into a countertop grinder.
I nod. “Anything I can do?”
Jillian presses the button on the grinder, and it whirs to life. She shakes her head in response to my offer for help.
My gaze roams the kitchen. The breakfast table has been turned into a pastry station. It’s covered in flour, and a large lump of dough and a rolling pin are sitting there waiting for Jillian’s return.
I make myself useful and begin drying dishes so that I don’t do something incredibly stupid like ogle all four brothers. It’s already embarrassing enough how much Logan’s presence seems to affect me. My stomach tingles with nerves, and my hands feel clammy every time I’m around him.
In the adjoining dining room, the breakfast conversation is loud.
With wide eyes, I take in the scene before me. There’s arguing, and laughing, and bacon being stolen from a plate, and one brother slapping another upside the head . . . it’s a lot different from what I’m used to as an only child. My life is quiet, and so to be thrust into the middle of this is a little disorienting.
“Austen, grab the lady a chair, would you,” Grandpa Al says from the other end of the table.
Austen hops up, momentarily abandoning his own plate of eggs to fetch me a chair from the breakfast table, and carries it over to the larger dining table. He sets it down next to Logan, who still hasn’t acknowledged my presence. Okay, that’s awkward.
Standing uncomfortably in the doorway, I’m not sure how to feel, but I shoot Grandpa Al a grateful look. He stabs a sausage link with his fork and goes right back to his breakfast.
Jillian steers me by the shoulders toward the breakfast table. “Sit. Eat something.” She places a mug of coffee in front of me.
I open my mouth to protest, but she shakes her head with a firm look. “You’ve done enough already. Besides, we can’t spoil these boys too much, or they’ll never leave my house and go off and find themselves wives.”
At this, Matt, who’s seated beside me, chuckles. “I’m not in the market for a wife, Mom.”
“And how could you be when they all leave your bed after one night?” Austen says with an eye roll.
Matt grins and lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “Plenty of satisfied customers, though.”
“For goodness’ sake, behave, boys,” Jillian says, handing me a clean plate.
I fill it with two strips of bacon and a blueberry scone.
“A truly satisfied customer would be a repeat customer,” Grandpa Al says from one end of the table.
When it dawns on me that he’s teasing his grandson about basically being a hit-it-and-quit-it player, inappropriate laughter bursts from my lips.
Jillian pats my shoulder. “Don’t encourage him, dear.”
I press my lips together.
Finished with his breakfast, Graham pushes his empty plate away and leans his elbows on the table. “If you morons are done arguing, we have things to discuss. There’s lots on the agenda today.”
“Yes, boss,” Matt says with a groan.
I nibble on my scone and listen to the day’s plans.
“The Polaris needs spark plugs, and the shed needs re-roofing before the snow flies. Plus, I need help with the beer-brewing process today.”
“The beer’s not ready,” Matt says. “So, what do you need help with?”
“Someone’s got to babysit the fermentation process, and I can’t be in two places at once,” Graham says gruffly.
Logan looks up from his plate. “I’ll help out. Wherever you need me.”
I venture a look in his direction. I know I don’t belong here, but I won’t do well with being ignored all day either. “Can I speak to you after breakfast?”
He meets my eyes for the first time today, and a shock of awareness buzzes through me. “Sure. Once I help Austen in the garage.”
“Okay,” I say with a nod.
After a few minutes sorting out who will be working where today, the guys rise from the table, clearing plates and pausing to lean over to give their mom a quick peek on the cheek, thanking her for breakfast. Even Graham.
“Thanks for feeding us, Mom,” he says, stacking his plate with the others by the sink.
“You need more coffee?” she asks.
“I’d better not.”
Once they’ve left out the back door, the house goes quiet. Grandpa Al retires to the living room and settles into his recliner with a newspaper.
I busy myself by rinsing dishes and loading them into the dishwasher while Jillian cleans her cast iron skillet. Now that we’re alone, I recognize that this is my opportunity.
“Jillian?”
“Hmm?” She wipes the skillet dry and places it in a cabinet.
“I know we just met and all, but I just wanted to say how sorry I was to hear about the passing of your husband last summer.”
She gives me a warm look. “Thank you, honey. Thirty-two years, we were married. I loved him with my whole heart,” she says with a faraway look in her eyes that pinches my heart.
“That must have been hard on all of you.”
“It was. Hardest damn time in my life. Some of the boys took it harder than others.”
“Like Logan?” I ask, rinsing a mixing bowl.
Jillian’s about to respond when footsteps draw our attention.
Logan is standing in the kitchen doorway, wearing a look of fury.
He overheard everything.
Shit.
And he does not look happy.
5
* * *
LOGAN
Forget. This.
Furious, I storm out the back door with Summer hot on my trail.
“Logan, wait!” she calls out after me.
But I don’t wait. I don’t even slow down.
Summer’s been here for less than twenty-four fucking hours, and she’s already talking about me with my mother. If that’s not an invasion of privacy, I don’t know what the hell is. I should have kicked her out on her ass yesterday because she has no right to be here.
And now she’s pretending like she cares about me and the family, and bringing up my father? Fuck that. She doesn’t care about me or this family, despite what she wants my mom to believe. This is her job.
“Please, let me explain,” Summer calls out. “I’m sorry I brought things up with your mom.”
Scowling, I turn and face her, waiting for her to catch up. “This isn’t going to work. You need to pack up your shit and go back to Boston. You don’t belong here.”
“Logan, please. I was serious when I said I wanted to help you.”
“Yeah?” I scoff. “I don’t see how it’s going to help me to have some psychologist dredging up the past and talking to my family about me.”
She chews on her lip and looks down at the ground for a moment before meeting my eyes again. “I know what it’s like to lose someone, so I have some kind of idea of how you might be feeling.”
It’s not what I expected her to say, and for a moment, I’m speechless. “Who?”
“My mom,” she says quietly. “She was my best friend. Her death devastated me and still does.”
My stomach tightens, and I swallow the sour taste of regret. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
Summer nods. “It’s not something I announce wh
en I meet new people.”
“How long ago?” My tone has softened significantly, and when Summer looks up, she gives me a small, sad smile.
“Two years.” She swallows and takes a breath. “But sometimes it feels like so much longer. I can barely remember her laugh, and I hate that. It kills me.”
A pang of emotion wells inside me. “What about your dad?” I ask, suddenly more interested than I wish I were. She’s supposed to be packing and leaving, but instead I’m asking about her family. And I have no idea why.
“I never knew him.”
“Siblings?”
She shakes her head. “I’m an only child. It was only ever me and Mom.”
“Shit. I’m sorry.”
It’s in this moment that I realize I’ve been acting like an asshole. Just because I’m mad about, well, everything, it doesn’t make it okay to take it out on her.
But Summer is an easy target. A stranger. Someone I plan on never seeing again. But even though I may not know her, I can’t help hating the thought that she’s alone in this world without any family.
“So, breakfast must have been a whole new experience for you then.” I smile, nodding back toward the house where my loud-ass family probably frightened her.
“It was very eye-opening,” she says with a chuckle. “But in a good way. I’ve never experienced that. Never had a big family. And now it’s just me.”
Even if I’ve felt lost and out of control lately, her words remind me that I’m a lot more fortunate than most. I have a family, people I can count on and who’ll support me through the shitstorm currently facing us. Still, that doesn’t mean everything is magically going to be okay, and that’s what I’m struggling with.
How’s life ever supposed to be “normal” again?
“They love you, you know,” Summer says softly. “They just want you to be okay.”
I nod. “I know.” When the wind picks up and Summer wraps her arms around herself, I say, “Come on. I’ll walk you back to your cabin.”
It’s about a hundred yards from the house, and we’re quiet most of the way. When we get there, Summer opens the door and pauses in the entryway.
“So, after you help Austen in the garage . . .”
I peer around her, realizing the woodburning stove is empty and the place feels cold. “Did you start a fire last night?”
She looks over her shoulder at the stove. “No. I don’t know how. City-girl problems.” She shrugs.
Shit. “You must have been freezing last night.”
She gives me a sheepish look. “Yeah. I slept in my coat and scarf. I figured you guys were crazy living out here like this.”
“Well, we might be crazy, but we don’t have to sleep in our coats.” I gesture to the woodstove. “May I?”
“Oh my goodness, please do.” She steps aside and ushers me in with a wave of her hand.
I came here to force her to leave after I cussed her out.
Now I’m offering to make her comfortable and warm.
6
* * *
SUMMER
“I have an idea,” I say after following Logan into the small cabin. “What if we just be honest with each other?”
He stops and glances over his shoulder at me. “What’s that supposed to mean? You think I’m going to lie to you?”
“No. Definitely not. But I do think that as humans, we have a tendency to gloss over the tough subjects to avoid showing our true emotions.”
His brows lift. “Gloss?” Disdain drips off the word—like he’s suddenly assessing me and wondering if I’m some new-age, voodoo-loving therapist.
I chuckle, shaking my head. “Gloss. To give off a superficially attractive appearance or impression.”
“Right.” Logan scratches at the stubble on his chin, and then nods. “I guess that’s true.”
“So, all I’m saying is, what if we don’t do that with each other?”
“What are you proposing? Total honesty?” He scoffs, although his gaze doesn’t leave mine. As if he’s considering my proposal.
I nod. “Total honesty. Both ways. You be totally honest with me, and I’ll be totally honest with you.”
He turns toward a bin and inspects the wood situation. Without a word, he walks past me and disappears outside.
I suck in a deep breath, silently cursing myself. Have I pushed him too far, too soon?
I’m about to follow him outside, when he reappears carrying a stack of firewood. After dropping the wood into the bin, he turns toward me.
“If honesty’s what you want, I can try. But I can’t promise anything. I’m not a share your feelings kinda guy, and I doubt I ever will be.”
He’s still watching me. Having Logan’s full attention is almost dizzying. He’s intense and electrifying, all rolled into one. He’s also huge and muscular and gorgeous…
“I’ll, uh, go first,” I stammer, trying to be a professional instead of a woman who’s noticing how very attractive this man is.
Get it together, Summer.
I need to show Logan that he can trust me, and one way of showing him that is by sharing my deepest thoughts and secrets. But then I hesitate, because I’m suddenly a little self-conscious about the truth-bomb I’m about to drop on him. It’s been a constant thought I’ve had since I got here. Maybe part of me is desperate to admit this out loud to another human being.
After swallowing hard, I begin. “I’m alone a lot, and it scares me how much I’ve gotten used to that. Seeing your family here and being around them, seeing how much they all rely on one another and generally need one another . . . I’m scared I’ll never have that. And it petrifies me that I’m going to be alone forever with no one or no family to call my own.”
When Logan doesn’t say anything for several heartbeats, I grow self-conscious and focus on the floor. “Too much total honesty for you?”
He shakes his head. “No. Not at all. You . . . live alone?”
“Yes. I have a studio apartment. Four hundred fifty square feet, all to myself.”
He curses under his breath, looking surprised. “I’ve stayed in bigger hotel rooms.”
Sighing, I nod. “So have I.”
I don’t need to tell him it’s all I can afford. I’m sure he’s aware that his salary and mine are miles apart, and that Boston is an extremely expensive city to live in.
Chewing on my lip, I hesitate briefly before asking, “What about you?”
“You want total honesty?” His voice carries a touch of uncertainty.
I nod, wondering if I’m eager for his answer because I’m a therapist, or because I’m a human looking for connection with a stranger.
Like me, he hesitates, and I wonder if he’s going to tell me something at all. Or maybe he’ll decide against the whole honesty thing. If he refuses, I’m not sure what comes next.
“I’m glad I wasn’t here,” he says softly, like he’s letting me in on a secret. “When my father died. I’m glad I wasn’t here.”
I glance over at him, disbelief surely written across my features.
“I know that sounds fucking awful, because if I’d been here, I could have spent time with him. Could have had one last visit with him before he was gone. But on the other hand, if I’d been here, I don’t think I would have handled it very well. Watching my mother and brothers fall apart . . . watching him be whisked away in an ambulance without being able to do anything to help him. Is it crazy if I say I’m happy that those aren’t my last memories of my dad?”
I find my voice. “It’s not crazy. And part of me understands that completely.”
He gives me a quick glance to check my reaction. Surely, he can see that I’m sincere. I don’t judge him at all for this admission.
“Your turn.”
“Total honesty?” I ask.
I guess this is our new thing—this little catchphrase before we say something we wouldn’t otherwise admit to a total stranger. Why does this feel so much harder than I thought it would? My heart i
s beating fast, and my hands feel shaky.
Logan nods to encourage me, giving me a reassuring look, but I’m still uncertain if I should really share what’s lingering on the tip of my tongue. He’s probably going to think I’m a monster.
I take a deep breath, then give him my truth. “I paid someone to deliver my mother’s eulogy.”
“What? Why?” The words leave his lips in a rush, and he stands up straight, forgetting about starting the fire and concentrating entirely on me.
I smile gently. “Because I knew I wouldn’t be able to deliver it myself. I was a mess, barely able to function, so I knew there was no way I could stand in front of people and speak. And my mom’s best friend felt the same. There was no one else but us, and I couldn’t stomach the idea that no one would stand up for Mom and talk about the amazing woman she was, about the incredible and selfless life she’d lived.”
Swallowing hard, I gather my composure. It was such a difficult and dark time. I give myself a moment to draw a few steadying breaths as flashbacks slam into me.
“I found this website where you can hire someone for a small fee, and I paid seventy-five dollars to a woman who was well-versed in public speaking.”
Logan lays a hand on my shoulder and gives it a light squeeze. It’s the first time he’s touched me. I’m sure he doesn’t mean it to be anything more than a comforting gesture, but a sudden flash of heat passes between us at his touch.
Can he feel it too?
Warmth rushes from my shoulder and settles in my chest. Unexpected emotion wells inside me. It’s been so long since anyone has touched me. I’m sure that’s the only reason why his touch affects me so much. It can’t be anything else.
When he removes his hand a second later, I pull in a breath, urging myself to continue. “And as I sat there listening to her read the words I’d written, I felt ashamed.”
“Why?” Logan asks, looking genuinely perplexed.
I shrug. “I don’t know. Just like I had lied or something.”
He meets my eyes, and there’s a newfound understanding between us. “It wasn’t a lie, Summer. I think it was really nice what you did.”