Your B&B or Mine

by Melissa West

  “No, nothing about the B and B, dear. Business is business and everyone’s been there.”

  Savannah eyed her cautiously. “Then what?”

  Mrs. Cook’s eyes drifted out the back kitchen door to Logan, now sans shirt and sorting paint cans.

  “Oh.”

  “But don’t you worry over a little gossip. Maple will talk about the moon if it doesn’t shine bright enough.”

  “Right.” Savannah bit her lip and stared after Logan, her shoulders curling in. She’d always hated rumors, and the idea of being a piece of town gossip made her insides turn sour. She knew if she looked in the mirror she’d see the stress line between her eyebrows, which her mama had always tried to rub out.

  Mrs. Cooke reached up and ran her thumb easily between Savannah’s eyebrows, causing a warm feeling to move through her. “Now, now, that’ll stick if you’re not careful. You don’t worry yourself about this. Be happy. That is the single best thing you can do to honor your parents.”

  Nodding, Savannah pushed aside the nagging doubts in her mind. She did deserve to be happy. “So the menu?”

  “Right here.”

  Once she’d worked out the breakfast, lunch, and dinner menus, she pushed out the back French doors, only to find several women out on the deck, their eyes trained on Logan. She had to laugh.

  “Looks like you have some admirers.”

  Logan swiped a bead of sweat off his forehead with the back of his arm, and Savannah could have sworn she heard an audible sigh from the ladies. “I hadn’t noticed. Lately, there’s only one admirer I’m interested in having.” His gaze hit hers, and the fluttering in her stomach returned, her chest warming as their eyes locked. Would she ever get tired of this feeling? No, never.

  Forget town gossip, she was about to jump the man and lose the only guests they had. Clearing her throat before her thoughts showed, she peered up at the trim around the kitchen and back double doors, all three of which led onto the deck. Logan had the brushes and paint pans set up and had already run blue painter’s tape around the house itself in case they made any mistakes, which, with Savannah on the job, was very likely to happen.

  Pulling her hair back into a ponytail, she grabbed a paintbrush and went for the trim, but Logan reached out a hand to stop her. “What are you doing?”

  “Um, painting? What does it look like?”

  Logan’s expression turned serious. “You can’t paint with a brush. You have to use the small roller, and the brush for the corners.”

  “That’s ridiculous. They call them paintbrushes for a reason. They paint stuff. Including this trim.”

  “Everyone knows that if you paint with a brush you’ll have lines from the bristles. That won’t happen with a roller.”

  “He’s right,” one of the women chimed in, and Savannah nearly said, of course you think he’s right! All eight of his abs were out for all to see. Add to that those low-hanging jeans and no shoes, and no woman in the world would argue with him right now. Well, other than Savannah, apparently.

  A woman with a cropped blond bob sat up. “I agree with the girl. It doesn’t matter what you use as long as you prime first. Are you priming?”

  Savannah stared at the cans of paint with concern. “Oh. I don’t know.” Her eyes lifted to Logan. “Are we priming?”

  He smirked. “Admit I’m right, and I’ll tell you.”

  “This is ridiculous. It’s just painting. I could already be done.” She dipped her brush, unsure if it was paint or primer or glue for all she knew, but at this point she had to wipe that grin off his face. What did it matter anyway? Wasn’t primer white? She’d just double coat it or something.

  “You can’t do that,” he said, his arms crossed now, all Very Serious Logan.

  “Watch me.” She started for the trim just as Logan darted in front of her, causing the brush to collide with his chest instead of the trim. Savannah’s eyes went wide, a giggle fighting its way up her throat. “Sorry, I…” Logan glanced down slowly at the white stripe across his chest, and the giggle turned to full-out laughter.

  “Think that’s funny, do you?” he asked.

  “No. It’s freaking hilarious.” She broke into fits, and Logan snatched the brush from her hand, swiping it across her cheek before she could move. “Hey!”

  He shrugged. “Not my fault you’re slow.”

  Savannah growled in answer, and the war began. The ladies rushed inside as Logan and Savannah took brushes and rollers, each jabbing at the other until they were both laughing loudly and coated in white paint—or primer. She still didn’t know.

  Finally, Logan snatched her as she went for his hair, and twisted her so her back was against his chest, his arms locked around her. “Surrender or suffer the ultimate punishment. Death by paint.”

  She wriggled in his arms, but he tightened his hold. No other choice in view, she gripped the handle of her brush and edged it dangerously close to the crotch of his jeans. In truth, it was the only spot she could reach. “I’m pretty sure you want to let me go.”

  “I’m pretty sure I never want to let you go,” he whispered, and just like that, she dropped the brush, her body boneless. Logan’s breath hit her neck in short bursts, his heart hammering against her back. “Too much too soon?”

  She turned in his arms, her face close to his. “No. And I think that’s what scares me the most.” They fell into silence as he touched his forehead to hers. “Do me a favor, Logan Park?”

  “Whatever you want, Savannah Hale.”

  “Don’t leave.”

  He kissed her lips gently. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Logan stepped back to look at his creation, smiling at the effort and how well it had turned out. And if he’d timed it right, Savannah would be stepping outside, right about—

  “Hey, Mrs. Cooke said you were looking for me? I was—”

  He turned around to see her staring down at him from the deck, the lights from inside shining over her and making her appear dangerously close to an angel. Her mouth fell open and Logan took another step away from the blanket, his hands outstretched.

  “Care to join me?”

  A small smile tugged at her lips as she started down the steps, and as she walked toward him, tiny pieces of grass clung to her sandaled feet. He wondered if the grass was still too wet from the rain they’d had the day before, but there was supposed to be a lunar eclipse and he didn’t want to miss it.

  The night sky was already dark above them, the stars impossibly bright against the black, without any cloud cover to hide them.

  “Wine?” he asked as he poured a glass for her and then set it down beside his on the serving tray.

  “I can’t believe you did this.” She took a seat beside him, and though he knew the grass must have soaked through to her clothes, she didn’t say anything. Savannah had never been the sort of girl to care about those things, and it was one of the many things he loved about her.

  He thought of that word—love—and how little he knew of Savannah today. Could he still say he loved her when he didn’t really know her? Inside, he wasn’t sure he’d ever stopped loving her, but if this was going to work, and God did he ever hope it would, they needed to go slow. Get to know one another again. He needed to romance her, so she would fall in love with him, and him her, as though for the very first time. And in a way, it was. At least, the first time he’d allowed himself to care for her without Will’s ghost staring over his shoulder, judging him. But he’d spent his entire adult life trying to make up for Will’s death, and while he would always love his best friend, he couldn’t deny himself Savannah any longer.

  They settled back on the blanket, enjoying their wine and the clear, warm night.

  “What does twenty-eight-year-old Logan do for fun?”

  He smiled. “You mean besides this? I work a lot. My assistant tries to get me out of the office at a decent hour and rarely succeeds.”

  “Wow. Assistant.”

 
“Chloe. You’ll have to meet her sometime when you come to Atlanta. You’d like her.”

  Savannah’s head turned toward him, the small smile returning. “When I come to Atlanta?”

  “I hope you will. Of course, if you go back to Boston then—”

  “I think I want to stay.”

  “You do?”

  She lay back on the blanket, her hands resting on her stomach as she crossed her ankles and stared up at the sky. “I don’t think it will be easy, but my parents loved this place. They worked their entire lives to make it thrive. Sure, they made some mistakes, but there are people who love the B and B, people who come every year, who would be devastated if we sold.”

  Logan cleared his throat and took another long sip of his wine. There were only two subjects he’d hoped to avoid with her tonight. Will was one and the bed-and-breakfast was the other. The partners intended for him to close this deal, and he’d had little guilt about that fact. Savannah had her own life in Boston. He never dreamed she’d want to come back and take the place over, but now…

  “I know nothing about running it. It’s so far behind on the mortgage that I don’t know if I’ll even be able to save it, but I have to try. For them. For myself. I’ll regret it forever if I don’t.” She laughed then. “You must think I’m crazy. Who fights for something that’s already gone?”

  “ I don’t think you’re crazy. I think it’s what they would want you to do. It’s brave.”

  “You think so?”

  “It’s what I’d do if I were you.”

  And there it was, him putting her before his job. He shouldn’t support this. He should offer all the reasons why selling was a good idea—the money, the stress relief, her job and life back in Boston—but none of those things came to his mind. Because the truth was, he’d worked for years now and had made himself a small fortune and not once had he ever felt as happy as Savannah looked when she was talking with a guest. That kind of happiness should be nurtured not diminished.

  She rolled her head toward him, watching him for a moment before speaking. “And what about you? Have you ever considered moving back? Opening a business here like you always dreamed?”

  The stars were bright tonight, the air comfortable, with not a sound around them, making it easy to relax enough to be honest, something Logan rarely allowed himself to do. “Maybe one day. I have some things to check off my list first.”

  The conversation was veering dangerously close to Will now, and the last thing he wanted was to make her remember all the reasons they shouldn’t be together. A smell of fresh rain still lingered in the air, and as Logan drew it in, he wondered if he could live in Maple again. With Savannah around, it might be worth the occasional run-in with his dad.

  “Check off?”

  “There are just certain things I need to do in my life.”

  “Like what?”

  Logan had the list so memorized it appeared in his mind without any effort at all. “Like snowboarding.”

  She turned her head toward him again, a wide grin forming. “You want to go snowboarding.”

  “Something like that.”

  “What else do you want to do?”

  Logan’s mouth set into a hard line as he thought about her question. He had never been the kind of person to plan out his life. He lived by the moment up until Will died, and then he no longer felt like his life belonged to him. If he could do anything at all, would he want to snowboard? Would that make his list? Maybe. Or maybe not.

  “What do I want to do or what do I need to do?”

  Her eyebrows knit together, and he wondered if she could see into his mind, pick out the pieces that were his and those that were Will’s. He’d worried for a long time that when he finally saw Savannah again he would’ve become too much like Will for her to ever see him clearly. But then, he’d never been able to be anyone but himself with her.

  “What do you need to do?” Her voice was low as she asked the question, like she knew there was something more to the conversation, but she didn’t want to search it out. Not yet.

  “Snowboard. Visit Africa. Backpack through Asia. Earn an MBA…and five million dollars.”

  She sat up and peered down at him. He’d placed his hands behind his head as he ticked off the last five things on the list. He’d planned to knock out Africa and Asia when he hit Europe after his second tour in Iraq, but then he was offered the job with Hartridge and Long, and he figured he better get started on the five million if he hoped to get there in his lifetime.

  At the time, it seemed an impossible number, but he was very good at his job and he was already halfway there thanks to an impressive salary, an even more impressive bonus plan, and a few smart investments. Savannah was right, he was a numbers man through and through, and his love of statistics had served him well.

  If only money were enough.

  He’d been on both sides of the coin—dirt poor as a kid and quite wealthy as an adult—and through it all only one thing had remained constant. Savannah. Which was why he refused to push her away now.

  She opened her mouth and closed it, likely deciding which of the list she wanted to ask him about first, and he was relieved when she said, “You have a double major. Why bother with the MBA? Seems like a waste.”

  He laughed. “Yeah, probably is. You went to Boston College, right? What was your major?”

  “Journalism,” she said with a hint of longing in her voice. “I wanted to be one of those freelancers that travels to wild and dangerous places, and then big magazines would publish my stories.”

  “And what happened?” As soon as the words slipped out, he wanted to take them back. He knew what had happened. Will. She’d been a year into college when she came home that summer and Logan delivered the worst news of her life. It made sense that she wouldn’t want to risk her life after losing someone to war.

  They fell into silence, and she lay back down beside him, her thoughts so evident they were almost tangible.

  “Ask,” he said finally.

  “I’m sorry, I just…none of those things sound like you. I wouldn’t have put any of them on your list. Maybe I don’t know you as well as I thought I did, but I don’t think that’s it. I think there’s more to your list than you’re telling me. Am I right?”

  Logan didn’t want to respond her question, so instead he asked one of his own. “What would be on my list?” He turned his head so he could see her when she answered.

  A falling star dropped from the night, and they watched it in silence, losing themselves to the greatness of the sky, the bubbling sound of a nearby fountain the only thing to keep them grounded on Earth. Logan realized then that when people said, “this is the life,” they meant moments like this.

  “Spear fishing.”

  He glanced over to Savannah. “What?”

  “Your list. I think you’d have spear fishing on it. Deep down in the Atlantic, sharks all around you, but you wouldn’t care. And you’d choose Italy and France over Asia and Africa, but you wouldn’t be able to decide where to visit first so you’d make me pick.”

  “And what would you choose?” he whispered, caught up in her tale of his life.

  “Rome, so you could see the Sistine Chapel. You always loved art.”

  He did, though he’d never admitted as much to anyone.

  “And I’d never have guessed you cared about money enough to want thousands let alone millions.”

  He didn’t. Money was trivial to him, and he’d become a spender because of it. The only reason he saved at all was to hit the stupid five million goal.

  Eyes back on the night sky, the eclipse happening before them, Logan’s thoughts became strained. He’d expected them to need to relearn one another, but maybe a person’s core never changed. And if that were the case and neither of them was different, did that mean their struggles were the same? Would they forever live under the shadow of Will’s death?

  “What would make your list?” Logan asked, though he thought maybe he kn
ew the answer. Still, he wanted to hear her say it—see if he knew her as well as he thought.

  She reached out for his hand, threading her fingers through his. “I’d never make a list,” she said. “And neither would you.”

  Rolling onto his side and propping up on one elbow, he brushed her hair from her face, desperate to be closer to this woman who saw straight into the depths of him. “No, I wouldn’t.” And then he leaned down, sealing his mouth over hers as he let his mind and the past drift away, leaving only the two of them under a star covered night. And then he thought, if he had made a list, surely this moment would have been on it.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The sky was blue. The clouds white. The sun bright as ever. Not at thing in the world could wreck Savannah’s mood. One week of perfection with Logan and suddenly she didn’t know which way was right and which was left, but as long as Logan was ahead of her, she’d follow along.

  Of course, most of their time together had been around the B and B, without half the town eyeing their every move. And though Mrs. Cooke said talk had already started up about them, Savannah hadn’t seen or heard it first hand. She liked to pretend it was like the whole tree falling in the forest thing. If you’re not there to hear it, the sound doesn’t exist. Same with gossip.

  At least that was what she told herself as she entered Dan’s Dixie Store. She walked around to the produce aisle to pick up some apples to make an apple pie. She’d been killing herself trying to think of a creative idea to bring in new business at the bed-and-breakfast, but had come up empty.

  She needed to cook to get her brain juices moving again, and she’d been craving apple pie with vanilla bean ice cream all week. The day was closing in when she’d have no choice but to try to get a loan to cover what the bed-and-breakfast needed, or ask her brother for a loan. A part of her was angry that he hadn’t offered outright. He was a professional athlete! Surely that meant he had plenty of extra money, but every time she attempted to bring it up, he changed the subject, all but saying he had no interest in helping the bed-and-breakfast out of its hole. Leigh was a museum curator with a hopelessly small salary, so Savannah hadn’t even asked her, though she knew Leigh would help if she could. So that left Savannah to figure it out on her own.