Willow Springs: A Destiny Novel

by Toni Blake

  “But maybe it would be better if we didn’t, remember?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” he said softly. “You wouldn’t be so damn pushy about what I should do with my life.”

  She sucked in her breath, almost offended. “I’ll never stop doing or saying what I feel is best for you, Logan—that simple. And it’s because I care for you.”

  “I know, I know,” he said. “I was only kidding. Sort of.”

  “And maybe if we didn’t know each other so well,” she went on, “you’d be . . . more considerate of my feelings.”

  He looked remorseful. “You’re right. I’m really sorry I’ve been careless that way, with Anna. I guess she’s like . . . the path of least resistance.”

  I wish I was the path of least resistance. “I . . . I wish I could be as cool and confident and casual as Anna,” she admitted then. “But that’s . . . not who I am, how I’m put together. Things matter to me. You matter to me.” And then she cried a little more, into his bare chest now, and she couldn’t believe they were lying naked on a boat in the middle of Blue Valley Lake and that she was in tears and everything felt so uncertain. Still. Or again. Depending upon how she looked at it.

  “You shouldn’t want to be like Anna,” he told her. “You’re you, Amy, and you happen to be pretty great the way you are, okay?”

  “For your information, I actually don’t really want to be like Anna. I like myself just fine.”

  “Good,” he said. “Because so do I.”

  Hmm. That sounded nice, and it almost lifted her spirits, but the truth was . . . what she’d said a minute ago he still hadn’t answered—after all this, she didn’t know how he felt, where she stood. So instead of replying to what he’d just said, she decided this was as good a time as any to make into the moment of truth. So she lifted her head from his chest, tried to wipe the wetness there away, embarrassed—and he pulled her hand away, murmuring, “Don’t worry about that, silly”—and then she asked him what she ached to know.

  “Logan, if we’re so real with each other—you and I—how do you feel? About me, about us?” She peered down at him, and somehow already knew the answer couldn’t be a good one, wouldn’t be the right one. Or else she wouldn’t even have to ask.

  And when he hesitated, she had no patience. Not anymore. “Just say it, Logan, whatever it is. Just tell me.”

  He darted his eyes to hers, clearly a bit taken aback, but she didn’t care, wouldn’t apologize.

  “I keep thinking things could be great between us, should be great,” he said, “but it seems like everything is just too screwed up right now, in so many ways. You’re so special to me, Amy, and I care about you so much . . .”

  “But?” she whispered.

  He drew his gaze away, back to the darkness above, and her heart sank a little further. “I care about you more than I’ve ever cared about any other girl, and I love being with you in this new way, but . . . well, you know I haven’t had too many real, lasting relationships. And I’m just not sure if moving forward into something serious is a good idea for us right now.”

  In response, Amy sighed and rolled to her back, not sure she wanted to be snuggled up with him anymore. Yeah, she’d known already that he wasn’t going to tell her what she wished for—Yes, Amy, I love you, the same way you love me, and nothing will stand in our way any longer—but getting confirmation hurt just the same.

  “I can’t do this anymore, Logan,” she heard herself say as she realized her own truth.

  “Do what?” he asked.

  “Have sex with you. Without it leading somewhere. I thought I could do it without promises, but each time, it gets harder. I feel closer to you and want more of you, and I’m not sure I’m ever gonna get it. And I just can’t keep torturing myself that way.” The words stole her breath even as she said them. Because she was giving up the most amazing connection with him she’d ever had—but she couldn’t see any other way at this point.

  Next to her, he turned on his side to face her again, and gently cupped her cheek in his hand. “I understand—I get it. I know this isn’t fair to you, and I promise I’ll figure it out soon. I’ll figure out what to do. About us.”

  An hour later, Amy sat next to Logan as he drove her home. It wasn’t yet midnight, but it felt much later, as if the sun should be coming up soon. She supposed it had just felt like a long night—full of more emotional ups and downs than she could even process at the moment.

  They stayed mostly quiet on the drive, in a way far more comfortable than awkward, because they’d known each other for so long and so well, and it hit her again what a nice perk that would be to their romantic relationship—if only they had one. Bonnie Raitt sang, “I Can’t Make You Love Me” on the radio.

  Her thoughts traveled back to that moment in time when he’d said he’d figure out what he wanted to do about them soon. The same way he often said he’d figure out his career path soon. How long would it take? And how much would it hurt if it didn’t go her way? And was she supposed to just sit around waiting until then, watching as he flirted with other girls because he was better at flirting than deciding?

  And as the rural outlying Destiny roads led them closer to town, a lump rose in Amy’s throat. Along with a realization. She was behaving like a doormat. She wasn’t sure when that had happened—and God knew she had very little experience at relationships, so she was instantly inclined to forgive herself—but she didn’t like the feeling.

  She’d wanted to be honest, put her true emotions out there. But she hadn’t quite made the leap in thought to the result—that it somehow automatically seemed to leave the decision, the outcome, entirely in his hands.

  And . . . and . . . if Logan was so unsure, so iffy about their romance . . . why did she even want this, want him? She blew out a breath because that was a tough thought to swallow—and yet it was so true. It hit her like a ton of bricks that even if he chose to be with her now, the relationship would never be what she wanted it to be. Up to now she’d thought she’d take him however she could have him, take whatever bit of him he was willing to give her, but now she realized—part of him would never be enough. And she was worth so much more.

  She’d told him love made you helpless, and that was the one thing she really hated about it. But . . . was she really helpless? No. Did she really have to sit around waiting for someone else to decide if she was worthy of them? No. She might still feel just as desperate inside, and she might feel empty when this maddening love affair was over, but . . . she did have a choice here. She had a choice to hold on to her dignity.

  And what she was about to do would be hard as hell, but . . . at least she wouldn’t leave him tonight still feeling as helpless as she had since falling in love with him.

  So as Logan’s car pulled onto town square, Amy took a deep breath, girded herself, and asked herself: Are you sure you really want to do this? But the simple answer she’d just figured out was that she really had no choice, not if she wanted to hang onto . . . her self, her self-respect.

  So when the car pulled to the curb outside the bookstore, she reached for the door handle, and—without looking at him, because that would just be too difficult—spoke in a clear, sure voice around that lump still residing in her throat. “Logan, what you said about figuring out what you want to do about us—you don’t have to figure it out. Because . . . I already did. I don’t think I’m interested anymore.”

  She could feel his surprise, even without glancing his way. “Interested in what?”

  “You. Us. That way. Romantically.” She opened the door now, preparing to go.

  But his shock was so great that it practically filled the car, even if she saw his eyes widen on her with only her peripheral vision. “What do you mean?”

  “The thing is,” she began, “if it’s such a hard decision . . . well, I’d rather be with somebody who doesn’t have to decide, who just knows. Who knows I’m amazing. Who knows I’m the best thing that ever happened to him. Who takes me with my f
aults. That’s what I deserve. And if you’re not that guy—then a relationship with you would never be enough for me.”

  And with that, she got out of the car in her bikini and sarong, said, “Thanks for the ride. Goodnight,” then shut the door and walked away.

  Twenty

  She saw it all with a clearness that had never blessed her before.

  Jane Austen, from Emma

  The truth was, Amy shed a few tears in bed that night. Because she thought about how good it could be if Logan were in her bed with her. But Logan doesn’t know what he wants, and that’s not good enough. And despite her sorrow, she slept soundly and awoke the next day feeling stronger and more in control, even if not fully happy about the situation.

  The first thing she did that day was drive to Tessa’s to find Anna. And she didn’t have to look far. When she pulled into Tessa’s driveway, all was quiet, no one stirring, but she immediately spotted Anna sitting on Lucky’s deck—his house being situated just above Tessa’s cabin on hilly Whisper Falls Road. Anna looked as gorgeous as usual, even wearing simple shorts and a tank top, her hair pulled back in a ponytail. Seated in a lawn chair, her feet were propped on the deck railing, her head tilted back with eyes shut to drink in the sun.

  Amy didn’t hesitate to head up the small hill between the two homes. “Anna,” she said as she approached the deck.

  When Anna opened her eyes to see Amy, she looked understandably surprised and maybe a little worried. But Amy didn’t want to waste even another second before clearing the air.

  “I want to apologize to you,” she said. “For yesterday. I don’t know what got in to me, but I know I was very out of line and I’m sorry.”

  “Wow,” Anna said, lowering her bare feet to the deck and sitting up a little straighter. “That’s really big of you, Amy. And I appreciate it. Though . . . I guess, having thought through it now, I can understand how it happened.”

  Amy blinked, stunned. “You can?”

  “Sure,” Anna said with an easy shrug. “It’s been like we’re in a fight over Logan and it was your turn to swing, that’s all. And . . . I know you have a much longer history with him than I do, so I probably should have backed off before now.”

  “Well,” Amy said, not having expected this level of bluntness, “for what it’s worth, I’m done swinging. It hit me last night that I shouldn’t have to work so hard for someone’s affections. That if he doesn’t give them to me willingly that they’re probably not worth having.”

  It caught her off guard yet again when Anna let out a short laugh—until she explained. “Funny, I was just sitting here coming to the same conclusion. And realizing that . . . well, maybe I’ve been pursuing Logan for the wrong reasons. He’s been a nice distraction from everything else I’m dealing with right now, and I really wanted a nice distraction, but . . . if he’s not into it, maybe it’s God’s way of telling me to quit looking for distractions and get to dealing with the stuff I need to deal with.”

  Amy tilted her head, struck by the depth of Anna’s insight. Apparently, she wasn’t the only one having revelations right now. And she wondered if Anna’s hurt as much as hers, deciding that they surely did, even if in a very different way.

  “I really regret seeing you as a rival, Anna. I feel like, under other circumstances, we could have been friends.”

  Anna offered up a small smile, then said, “Maybe it’s not too late for that.”

  Wow. Amy hadn’t expected Anna to be so receptive to her apology, but she was happy to say, “You’re right, maybe it’s not.”

  The following day, Monday, was the Fourth of July, and though normally Amy would have hooked up with her girlfriends and headed to Ed and Betty Fisher’s farm for their annual picnic and fireworks display, this year was different. This year her friends had husbands, or almost-husbands, other people they went places with and were now responsible to. So Amy called her mom and asked if she’d like to be her date for the fireworks this year. The fact was, she’d probably been neglecting her mother some lately and it was time to remedy that. And maybe the picnic wouldn’t be quite the same for her as usual, but times changed, life changed, and rather than whining about it, Amy knew it was time to act like the mature woman she was and simply roll with the punches.

  Logan’s mother decided to go with them to the event, as well, so Amy picked up both women and headed to Ed and Betty’s picturesque place outside town. And though the Fourth of July celebration was one of Destiny’s biggest social occasions of the year, even once Amy got there and helped her mom and Logan’s mom settle in a nice spot under a shade tree, she kept a low profile. She was still licking her wounds a little, still trying to adjust to changes—both outward and inward—and for today, she felt perfectly content to hang out with her mom and Mrs. Whitaker.

  She did, of course, run into various friends throughout the day, and each time she did, she found a moment to pull them aside and apologize for the way she’d messed up Logan’s party. All were understanding, even Mike Romo, who said, “I know you’ve been going through a lot lately, with Logan. And believe it or not, I’ve occasionally been known to speak a harsh word or two myself when I shouldn’t.” And then he even winked at her! Mike Romo, of all people! After which he told her he knew she’d made the effort to talk to Anna yesterday, and that he admired that.

  When darkness fell and the fireworks began, Amy sat on a blanket near the chairs occupied by her and Logan’s mothers, quietly taking it all in. Everything will be okay. Everything will be fine, and you will be happy again. She had to keep telling herself that, had to keep believing it. And even though she remained pretty far from happy, she still felt tougher and more in control of her own destiny than she had a few days earlier.

  When someone plopped down on the blanket beside her, she looked up with a start to find Tessa, who immediately locked arms with her and leaned in to say, “How are you?”

  The answer was complicated at best, so Amy tried to give the short version of what had transpired at Logan’s after everyone had left. And when she was done, Tessa said, “I’m really sorry you’re hurting over this, Ames. But I’m really proud of you, too. You know, Logan never has been into serious relationships with girls, and maybe he never will be. But that has nothing to do with you. You’re fabulous. And someday an equally fabulous man is going to walk into your life and recognize that the instant he meets you. It’ll be like . . .”

  “Destiny?” Amy asked, a little sad, but appreciating everything Tessa was saying.

  Her friend nodded, then bit her lip, and in the glow beneath the fireworks overhead leaned closer to say, “I’m really glad you’re my maid of honor, Amy. I love Rachel so much—you know that—but ever since I came home to Destiny, you’ve been there for me, and it’s meant more to me than I can say.”

  Tessa’s arm remained locked with Amy’s, so now Amy reached out to squeeze the hand that clutched at her elbow. “Me, too. To all of it,” she said.

  And in one way the sweet sentiments made her want to cry—again, for all these changes, all that was getting away from her that she’d never get back. But on the other hand, it also reminded her to be grateful. For all her friends. For other things she loved—like her mom, and her bookshop, and her cat, and this town. Life went on and she would go on with it.

  By Tuesday, Amy had discovered that the key to success in not pining over Logan was staying busy. So she managed to arrange a last-minute dinner at Dolly’s with Sue Ann after she got off work at Destiny Properties. Sophie was with Sue Ann’s ex until later that evening, so it worked out well for her, too.

  And since Sue Ann didn’t know about her romance with Logan—and it had been harder to explain her actions on Saturday to her friends who didn’t know the whole story, but she’d just blamed general stress—Amy found the dinner even more relaxing than she’d expected. It was nice to talk about Tessa’s wedding, and Sophie, and Sue Ann’s work, all without discussion of her ill-fated love life making it onto the scene.

&nbs
p; When they said goodbye outside the café around eight, the heat of the July day had waned, bringing on pleasant night air, and as Amy meandered back up the street to her building, she thought she might fetch one of her Jane Austen novels and sit on the quiet town square for a bit while it remained light out.

  Which was when she heard a fast-moving vehicle and looked over her shoulder to see Logan’s car come barreling around the corner of the square, screeching to a halt beside her. She flinched as he hurriedly got out, pointing toward her second-floor apartment above the store.

  “What are you—?”

  “Smoke,” he said. “Coming from your apartment. Spotted it coming out the window from across the square when I was driving by.”

  Amy let out a small shriek as she spun to look herself. She hadn’t seen it before, just hadn’t bothered looking up, but—oh God—he was right!

  “Don’t panic, freckles,” he instructed firmly. “Just called the DFD on my cell—they’ll be here soon.”

  But Amy knew that soon was a relative term. While the fire department set literally a stone’s throw away across the square, it was after hours, and before a fire truck could come, the firemen would have to drive here from their homes, and that could take a while. Which led to one thought. “I have to get Mr. Knightley!”

  She headed toward the outside stairs leading to the apartment, but she’d taken only a few brisk steps when Logan’s hand landed on her shoulder, pulling her back. “No way, Amy. We have no idea what’s happening up there—you’re staying on the ground with me. Got it?”

  She just looked up into Logan’s eyes, because he knew how much she loved her cat. “But Logan, it’s Knightley. I have to get him. I have to!” Yes, the thought of losing everything she owned was on the verge of paralyzing her right now, but Knightley was . . . Knightley!

  “Damn it, Amy,” Logan bit off under his breath, but when their eyes locked again, his softened just slightly, until he said, “Aw hell”—and then he took off toward the staircase.