by Kendall Ryan
She meets my eyes. “Because it’s true.”
Suddenly, my throat feels like it’s closing up, like I’m having an allergic reaction to the thought of her leaving. ”Tomorrow?” It comes out more as a croak than a question.
“Yeah. Les has another client lined up for me. One of the team’s personal trainers.” She smacks a hand over her mouth, her wide brown eyes like two full moons. “Forget that I said that,” she mumbles through her fingers. “That should be confidential.”
“I won’t say a thing.”
At my promise, her worried expression fades into a soft smile. It’s the only relief I can get right now.
“Thank you,” she murmurs, but I can’t just leave it at that. I can’t let her slip away without giving her every reason to stay.
“Under one condition.”
The tiniest crease forms between her eyebrows. “What’s that?”
“Stay with me tonight.” The words fly out of my mouth before I can stop them.
She fidgets a little, scooting a half inch away from me, and I miss her touch the second it’s gone. “You know I can’t do that, Logan.”
Her lips form a small, sad smile, her eyes brimming with pity. I don’t know if it’s for me or for herself. Maybe a little bit of both. And if I stare into those eyes too much longer, I’ll fall right in.
“Well then. At least let me walk you back to your cabin.”
I shove up to my feet, offering her a hand. She places her palm in mine, and it’s not lost on me that this is the last time I’ll get to do this.
Better make it count.
After saying a quick good-night to my brothers, we slip back into our coats and out into the biting night air. Poor Summer starts shivering instantly, but it doesn’t stop her from blabbering on about how fantastic Graham’s operation is.
“That shandy really is spectacular,” she says enthusiastically, squeezing my hand as we walk past the infamous chicken coop and toward the cabins. “And the whole barn is so beautiful. Can’t you just imagine people coming in from the city? You know, stay at the cabins, go to the brewery. People would love it.”
“People like you?” I ask.
She blushes again, toying with a loose strand of caramel-colored hair that’s blowing around her face. “I’ve certainly enjoyed my stay here, if that’s what you mean.”
What I mean is will you come back and never, ever leave? But that seems a little aggressive. So I say instead, “We’ll be ready whenever you decide to come back.”
“We?” She pauses, assessing me with dark, inquisitive eyes. “Aren’t you headed back to Boston too?”
“Yeah, soon,” I say, because I’m not ready to discuss the idea that I might want to stick around here more permanently. “For now, I think I’m going to be splitting my time when I can. Fly out here during the off season and holidays and all that.” I pause, kicking the gravel with the side of my boot before adding, “Maybe you could join me.”
“We’re not all hockey players,” she reminds me. “Owning my own business means my paid time off is nonexistent. And last I checked, there aren’t a whole lot of athletes that need counseling in Lost Haven.”
I raise the hand that’s not laced with hers. “There’s at least one.”
She laughs, and it warms me up quicker than a beer around a bonfire.
Two weeks ago, this girl was a total stranger. An unwelcome guest in my family home. And here we are, our fingers laced so tightly together that you’d think we’d never let go. And maybe we’re not supposed to. Maybe whatever we have will transfer back to Boston.
A guy can dream, right?
“Well, this is my stop,” she says, pulling me from my daydream.
We’re already back at her cabin. But I don’t want the night to be over, especially not if she was serious about leaving tomorrow.
“I guess it is,” I grumble, cursing myself for not walking slower.
I don’t want her to go. Not into her cabin, and not back to Boston. But I have no right asking her to stay.
Heaving out a sigh, I run my thumb along her soft, sensitive palm one last time. “Have a good night, Summer. I’ll see you in the morning before you go?”
But several heartbeats later, neither of us has moved. We’re frozen in this moment, and with every passing second, I’m slipping deeper into her chocolate-colored eyes.
Should I say something? Do something? Beg her again to come back to my cabin and to never leave my side?
God, even in my head I sound so desperate.
Before I can get a word in edgewise, Summer grips my jacket pulls me into her, knocking all the doubt right out of me. She presses up onto her toes and, without even looking around to see if anyone is watching, seals her lips to mine in a kiss so hot, it could set the cabin behind us aflame.
I push my fingers into her soft hair, sweeping my tongue over her bottom lip. It’s freezing out here, but the heat sparking between each kiss warms me from the inside out. I hardly notice the cold. It’s just me and her, kissing until we’re breathless.
When she pulls away, I bring my hand to her cheek, tracing the flush that’s creeping across her face and down her chest. I want to kiss every square inch of her sweet pink skin.
”Maybe you could come in for just a minute. You know, to warm up,” she says in a small voice, as though it’s just a casual offer.
But we both know better. If I step through her door, every potential version of this evening will end the same—with me tangled up with her until morning.
“Are you sure?”
But she doesn’t respond. Instead, she hauls me close again, sealing her warm mouth to mine. That’s all the yes a man could ever need.
Inside the cabin, we’re out of our coats in record time, tumbling back onto her bed like we’ve done this dozens of times. And in my head, we have. I’ve played out this moment so often while lying awake in bed at night. Usually with my hand inside my boxers.
But this is real. I’m really here, in Summer’s bed, fully mesmerized as she peels out of her heather-gray sweater and shimmies off her skintight black jeans.
She’s a vision in the flickering firelight, which casts shadows that dance along her pale stomach and the curve of her hips. It’s not the first time I’ve seen her in next to nothing. The hot springs did me that favor, back when I was dead set on looking but not touching.
But not tonight. This is the last night I have her here, and I’m tossing every rule into the fire. Tonight, we’re diving headfirst into the flames.
Her eager mouth finds mine right away. Even though her hand rubbing against the front of my jeans is more than a little distracting, I want tonight to be all about her. If this is all we get, just one night together, all I want in the world is to make her feel good.
“Logan.” Her voice is a breathy whimper.
I smile against her skin.
Not to worry, sweetheart. I’m going to give you everything you need.
Gently, I ease the soft cotton of her panties down, my mouth instantly watering at the sight of all the slick, hot velvet beneath. With a shift of my weight, I’m between her thighs, teasing her with kisses on my way to her most sensitive spot. She responds with a quiver, and the sting of her fingernails sinking into my shoulders is more bliss than pain. She has her grip on me, and fuck, do I like it that way.
I test a few strokes of my tongue, savoring my name on her lips, first in low, breathy exhales, and eventually on long, sultry moans. I could get addicted to that sound if she gave me the chance. I hum my approval into her heat, memorizing her taste just in case I never get to enjoy it again.
“Logan, please,” she begs on a ragged breath.
I can barely hear her over the sound of the blood pounding in my ears. Then her spine arches off the bed, saying more than words ever could. She’s so sexy, so responsive to every touch of my tongue to her skin.
As her breath gets more rhythmic, so do I, finding just the right pace to stroke her as I suck her sweet fl
esh. With a gasp and a final shudder, I usher her right over the edge.
Watching her come is the most beautiful sight in the world. Which is why watching her leave is going to shatter me.
• • •
“Is she really going to go? Even in all this snow?” My mother eyes me from behind her coffee mug, utterly failing to hide her disappointment.
I didn’t want to be the one to break the news of Summer’s departure plans, but when she never showed up for breakfast this morning, someone had to say something. And that someone is obviously me.
“She’s packing now,” I mutter into my coffee, letting the bitter black liquid chase away the bitter feelings I’m having this morning. “So, once the weather clears, yes. One of us will have to drive her to the airport.”
Just saying it out loud feels like a punishment. Leaving Summer’s bed this morning was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. I can only imagine watching her leave the state will be a million times harder.
“All the way to the airport? In this?” Mom sweeps a hand through the air, gesturing out the window.
Last night’s rogue snowflakes quickly became the first full-blown snowstorm of the season, leaving all of Lost Haven tucked beneath a thick blanket of white. I’m not sure if it’s a sign of a fresh start or an ominous good-bye to the woman who changed everything by stumbling, not only into my life, but into my family.
“And you don’t want her to go, do you?” The way Mom says it makes it sound so simple, as though just wanting something is enough to make it true.
It doesn’t matter what I want.
“Her life is in Boston.”
Even I’m annoyed by how flat and lifeless my voice is, but I’m sticking to the facts this morning. No feelings, no wants. Just the truth. And the truth is that before the sun sets tonight, all that will be left of Summer is the tire tracks she’ll leave in the snow.
“But it seems like she just got here.” Mom pouts, swirling her spoon in loopy infinity signs through her coffee, which is really more creamer than anything else.
“You know I have to go back soon too, right?”
She rolls her eyes, waving off the very suggestion like a foul smell. “Yes, but you have to go back. She doesn’t.”
The reminder is a punch to the chest. I remember our conversation from last night about how Summer doesn’t get an off season like I do.
Mom’s right. I’m under contract. It’s two flights and an hour-long drive up the mountains just to get here. The odds of Summer making it back to Lost Haven with her work schedule are slim to none.
“Her life is in Boston,” I say again through clenched teeth, silently reviewing the anger management techniques Summer taught me. I’m supposed to count down from ten.
Nine.
Eight.
Seven.
“But no, I don’t want to let her go.” The words come out before I can wise up enough to stop them.
Fuck it. This is how I feel, and if I can’t discuss it with my own mother, then who can I discuss it with?
“Then don’t let her,” Mom whispers, squeezing my hand. “It’s obvious you like her. Tell her how you feel.”
“She knows how I feel. But she has a job back in Boston, and so do I. I’ll be back there in a month.”
Mom’s stirring gets faster. “A lot can happen in a month.”
“She’s not going to fall for someone else in a month, Mom.”
“Really? Because you fell for her in less than two weeks.”
Shit. She has a point.
With a shrug, Mom presses up from the table, leaving me to marinate in this weird cocktail of worry and hope. “Summer isn’t the kind of girl who will stay single forever, honey. That’s all I’m saying.”
Just the thought makes me want to put my fist through a wall.
18
* * *
SUMMER
The blank line on the return-to-work form stares back at me, as white as the snow piled up outside the cabin window. I’ve been staring at these forms for the past hour, waiting for the storm to let up, and now I can barely see straight.
I, Summer Campbell, certify that Logan Tate is suited to return to work, and is ready and able to perform the functions of his position.
The words are all right there, plain and simple. All I have to do is sign my name.
The counselor in me knows that we’ve barely scratched the surface of Logan’s issues, but the romantic in me knows that if I stay here in Lost Haven any longer . . . well, I think last night is all the evidence I need that whatever is happening between Logan and me is the furthest thing from professional.
I told him I’m leaving today. So, why can’t I just work up the courage and sign my name to the paperwork that makes it official?
Les is right. I flew all the way out here and convinced Logan to do some counseling sessions with me. That was my job, and I did it. As for digging deep and really getting to the heart of his psychological issues, I did my best. It’s time to close this client file before I fall in love with the man. Although admittedly, it might be too late for that.
With a heavy sigh, I uncap my pen and do what I have to. One quick scribble across the page, and the deed is done. Signed, sealed, and now I just have to deliver it. Which means hopping on a plane and taking it back to Boston where I belong. Far away from Lost Haven, and far away from Logan.
Just thinking about him, about last night, makes my head spin.
Who falls for a guy in less than two weeks? Even worse, what kind of counselor falls for her client? And why don’t I feel more guilty about it than I do?
This whole situation is enough to give me a pounding headache, which is the last thing I need right now. I stare at the paper, trying to focus my attention to make the pain go away.
In any other situation, I’d be proud to sign these papers. I just successfully gave professional counseling to one of hockey’s top athletes. Instead, it feels like the end of a chapter of my life that I’m not sure I’m done living. Whether I’m ready to say good-bye or not, I’ve got a flight to catch.
Packing is quick work, considering I only brought a few days’ worth of clothes. Fitting in the new socks and toiletries from the general store, along with the small collection of gifts I’ve accrued from the family, is a bit of a challenge, but I manage to squeeze it all in. I top the bag off with the tin of tea that Jillian gave me as a parting gift. As if leaving weren’t hard enough, losing Logan’s family too is just the cherry on top of an ice cream sundae of suckiness.
My duffel bag’s zipper snags when I try to tug it closed, and I blink back frustrated tears. I know I’m in rough shape when the smallest inconvenience starts the waterworks. I manage to wrestle it closed with a huff. Lacing up my boots, I try as hard as I can not to think about where they came from, who bought them for me, and all the warm, fuzzy emotions attached to those memories.
Ripping a page out of my notebook, I jot down a quick message.
Decided to brave the storm. I’ll text when I’m back in Boston. Thanks for everything.
For a second, I consider writing a separate note specifically for Logan’s eyes only, but I decide against it. Why make this harder than it needs to be?
I don’t really have a plan when I step out into the snow, carrying my laptop bag and my duffel bag slung over my shoulder. The snowstorm has stopped, at least, so visibility will be fine on the roads. The snow itself has piled over a foot high, but this is Colorado. It snows like this every other day, from what I understand. The snowplow guys must be experts at getting the roads clear in no time, right?
Before I can psych myself out, I trudge the hundred or so yards back to the house and around it to the driveway. With one great heave, I toss my duffel into the truck bed, peering over my shoulder to make sure the noise didn’t grab the attention of anyone inside. The last thing I need before I leave is to make a scene.
I tug on the door handle, and naturally, it’s locked.
No, Summer,
the last thing you need before you leave are the damn truck keys.
I dig through my pockets but come up empty-handed. I must have left the set that Jillian gave me in my cabin, which I locked behind me already. But I know there’s a spare set on the hook near the back door of the house.
It’s easy enough to sneak back into the foyer and grab what I need. What’s harder is the gravitational pull I feel as soon as I hear the familiar voices of the family inside, talking shop by the fireplace. I can hear Grandpa Al’s soft snores from his recliner and Jillian in the kitchen, getting dinner going. And when Logan’s deep, manly laugh echoes down the hall, my whole body quakes.
A very real, very scary thought occurs to me.
I could put the keys back on the hook so, so easily. Ten short steps into the living room, and I could snuggle up next to Logan on the couch, join in the laughter, and be a part of the family. All I have to do is put the keys back.
Instead, I shove the keys in my coat pocket and rush out the door. I don’t even try to be quiet. I need to get out of here before my overactive imagination causes me any more problems.
Hopping into the truck, I replay the memory of Logan teaching me how to drive a stick shift. His hand on my thigh, encouraging me.
Focus, Summer. Ground the clutch, put it in neutral . . .
Soon the wheels are crunching against the freshly fallen snow. The truck groans and creaks, clearly unhappy with me and my choices. It takes every scrap of patience and a few emergency prayers, but I manage to get the truck to the property line, turning where I think the road begins.
So much for clear roads.
The sun is setting just ahead, reminding me that I’m mixing dangerous situations here. Driving in the dark for the first time and in the snow? This isn’t the best choice I’ve ever made, but it’s the only one that feels right.
I pull my coat tighter under my chin and reach for the heater, cranking it all the way up. The truck sputters and coughs up nothing. Perfect. Looks like I’ll be freezing for the next hour.
Maybe it’s the cold, or maybe it’s because I’m finally off of the Tate property, but my feverish thoughts begin to clear.