Or what didn’t.
And I can’t help the sinking feeling that I just fucked up any sort of chance I had with Logan.
* * *
“Can you believe that guy?” I narrow my eyes, watching James reach across the table and take the pretty, young blonde’s hand.
“What’s wrong with him?” Owen asks, looking up from the bar. Logan has kept himself busy doing anything he can that involves avoiding me.
“He has a wife. And that is not her.”
“What an ass.”
“Shouldn’t we do something?”
Owen cocks an eyebrow. “What do you expect to do? We’re not the moral police.”
“Yeah, but look at him. His wife is pregnant, and now his lips are on that lady’s hand. Maybe she doesn’t know he’s married.”
“He’s not wearing his wedding ring. She probably doesn’t.”
“Isn’t that even more of a reason to…I don’t know…kick him out?”
“He’s ordered three drinks with top shelf liquor already. I’m not kicking him out.”
“Fine.” I put my little pad of paper and pencil into my apron pocket. “I’ll do it.”
“Danielle,” Owen starts and reaches for my wrist. His fingers close around it, and while his hand is identical to Logan’s, his touch does nothing to me. It’s not electric. Doesn’t send a shiver down my spine or make a million butterflies take flight in my stomach. “We can’t kick him out for being a douchebag.”
“Well, you should.”
He lets go of my wrist and offers a sympathetic smile. Logan is the only one who knows the full details of why I left home, but Owen knows the Cliff’s Notes version.
“I shouldn’t encourage you,” he grumbles. “But wait until he’s paid. Then go ask how his wife is doing.”
A smile takes over my face. “You really are the evil twin.”
Owen gives me an over-the-top wink. “I wear that title proudly.” He shifts his gaze to Logan, and while I know they haven’t had time to talk yet today, I’m sure he’s aware something is up with him. It’s hard for me to grasp the whole “it’s a twin thing” when I have a shitty relationship with my sister, but those two are in sync without even trying.
I don’t want things to be weird between Logan and Owen. A sour feeling sinks heavily in my stomach. It’s one I’m all too familiar with. It starts as a slight stomach ache and ends with anxiety wrapping around me like an itchy sweater that clings to me, suffocating me, making my fingers tremble and my mind race.
The only way I know how to shut it off is with a shot of something dark and strong. Not a healthy coping mechanism, I know. It’s been a while since I felt the all-consuming anxiety, and it was one of the things I swore I’d avoid when moving to Eastwood.
My plan was to work hard, keep my head down, legs shut, and figure my shit out so I could get back on track.
Trouble is, I have no idea where that track leads or if I even want to get back on it.
I wait on a few more tables, running around like crazy to make drinks, take orders to the kitchen, and bring out food. We’re definitely going to have to hire people, which is a good problem to have.
Keeping an eye on Mr. Infidelity, I take out another tray of food and then stop by James to collect his tab. He paid in cash and told me to keep the change.
Score.
“How’s the pregnancy treating your wife?” I ask, folding the bills and slipping them into my apron pocket. “She was absolutely glowing when I saw her last week.” I flash a pretty smile and step back. Owen leans over the bar, entertained as he watches everything play out.
The pretty blonde who looks like she could easily be a Daisy or a Candy, jerks her hand out of James’s grasp.
“You’re married?”
Yep, poor girl didn’t know.
“I…I…it’s not like that,” James stammers, but it’s too late. Blondie gets up, throws her drink in his face and storms out of the bar. James sits there, stunned, as diet Coke rolls down his chin. Then he looks around, realizes everyone is looking at him, and hurries out of the bar, calling after the blonde.
Her name is Candy.
Feeling like I did my part to save at least one person from a cheating asshat, I grab my purse, the salad I packed, and head outside to take my break. It’s hot again today, and I love the heat. I exit through the back of the bar and sit on the little stoop, stretching my legs out in the sun.
I’m halfway through my salad when gravel crunches under someone’s feet. I look up, expecting to see Dean, Archer, or even Quinn, since they usually park around back and come in through this door. But instead of a friendly face, I’m greeted with a scowl.
“You fucking whore,” James sneers as he stumbles toward me. Right, he’s had several strong drinks already.
“You’re the whore,” I retort, putting the lid back on my salad before I set it down. Priorities, right?
“She called my wife,” he slurs.
“Not my problem.” I loop my arm through my purse strap and stand, reaching back for the door. My heart speeds up, and I’m well aware how dangerous a situation I’m in right now. James is drunk, and now he’s desperate and angry.
I need to punch in a code to get back into the bar, and that requires me turning away from James so I can look at the keypad. But I feel like if I break eye contact, he’ll use that time to rush at me, attacking like a wild animal.
Sweat drips down my back, and the itchy anxiety sweater is now a zip-up onesie. With footies. And a hood that’s pulled tight around my face. The ties are wrapping around my neck, making it hard to breathe.
“My wife wants to leave me now.” James comes closer. “And take my child with her.”
“You…you should have thought about that before you cheated on her.” It takes great effort to keep my voice level. My fingers shake, and I blindly hit buttons, thinking I got the combination right.
I didn’t.
I get two more tries before it’ll lock me out for five minutes. I don’t have five minutes.
James narrows his eyes and balls his fist. “You’re going to pay for this, bitch.”
I sidestep back, bumping into the wall. Then the door flies open and Logan jumps out, shoving James hard in the chest. James takes a swing at Logan, who blocks the blow and pops James square in the nose.
“What the fuck is the matter with you?” Logan shouts, taking one of James’s arms and twisting it behind his back. “I should beat the shit out of you for even thinking about hitting a woman.”
He pulls James’s arm back further and then shoves him down into the grass.
“Logan…Thank you,” I say in a shaky voice. I look at him, and all he does is flick his eyes to up mine. “Do you want me to call Wes?”
“I got this.”
“I can—”
“Just go back inside.” He looks back at James, who’s too drunk to upright himself now that he’s down, reminding me of a turtle on its back.
“Logan,” I start, heart sinking. The anxiety onesie is back, but this time it’s wrapping me up in an extra blanket of dread and regret. Logan lifts his head, eyes meeting mine.
I should see anger. Hell, I want to see anger. Because knowing he’s pissed at me would hurt a lot less than the disappointment and hurt I see reflected in his deep brown eyes. Disappointment I know my words caused him.
My words I wish I could take back. Because as much as it scares me to admit, Logan Dawson has my heart.
Chapter 7
Danielle
I stick my fork into the cake and rest my head against the kitchen cabinet. I trade the fork for a bottle of wine and take a big gulp. I need it to wash down the taste of carrot cake. Normally, I steer clear of this stuff, but it was the only cake Walmart had in their bakery at one AM.
Feeling sick from all the cream cheese frosting, I close the cake box, wipe my eyes, and push myself up off the kitchen floor. I drop my fork in the sink, take the wine, and go out onto the back porch, wanting the qui
et of the night to open up and swallow me whole.
Sundance is looking out his Dutch door, head hanging low and his lips slack. He’s nearly asleep, but he perks up and nickers softly when he sees me. I chug another mouthful of wine, grab a pair of flip-flops, and walk through the damp grass to the corral. I spill a bit of the wine when I climb through the wooden fence, and Sundance tries to lick it off my arm when I get to his stall.
“I’ve made a mess of things again,” I tell him, resting my head against his. He nudges me, trying to get to the bottle of wine. “I’m throwing a pity party for one and drinking my problems away. You’re a horse. What do you have to be anxious about?”
I undo the latch and open the door to his stall, squinting in the dark to avoid stepping in a fresh pile of horse poo as I move through his stall and into the barn. I stick my arm through the bars on his interior door, undoing another latch, and go into the aisle. Blindly, I walk through the barn until I come to the cross ties. Then I reach out in front of me for the string to pull to turn the light on.
“Sorry, guys,” I say to Bailey and Alibi, the other two horses. All three are Quarter Horses with similar levels of training. Sundance is the most ornery of the bunch, which is probably why he’s my favorite. His coat is dark chestnut, and he has a thick white blaze on his face.
I take another drink of wine and grab a towel from the cross ties. Shaking it out to make sure there are no spiders, I fold it in two and lay it down in the aisle next to Sundance’s stall.
I was never a horse person before I came here. Mom made sure both Diana and I took lessons for a few years, if only to say that her girls took riding lessons at one of more prestigious barns in Greenwich. Everything was done for show. I didn’t get it then like I do now.
Horses are big and heavy, with four feet that end in solid hooves. They could kill you in seconds if they wanted to. Putting your faith and trust into an animal this powerful seems like a death wish, doesn’t it? But they trust you back.
And that bond is something I still can’t explain, yet here I am, drinking wine from the bottle while talking to Sundance. People on the east coast would pay good money for this kind of therapy.
“Telling Mom I was engaged was stupid. I can’t hire an escort, and I’m pretty sure they’re going think I want sex, and I don’t. Not even from Stephan and his perfect abs that I’m pretty sure were photoshopped into that photo.” I take another drink of wine. “And the one guy that might have agreed to play the part doesn’t want anything to do with me right now.”
I let out a sigh and rest my head against the wooden stall. “I’m going to have to tell Mom that I either made up the fiancé thing, pretend like we had a very dramatic break-up, or try to convince everyone he wasn’t able to get off work.”
I let out a breath and swat away mosquitos.
“I think I get it now. I’m still trying. Trying to fit in. Trying to follow their rules. Well, fuck their rules.” I raise the bottle of wine, toasting myself.
Sundance sticks his head over the stall guard and noses for the wine again. I get up and get him a treat, which of course makes the others want treats too. I toss a treat in everyone’s food buckets and then give Sundance a hug goodnight. I lock up the barn and go back inside, feeling a bit lighter.
Quietly, I sneak through the house and up to my room. I change into PJs and climb into bed, trying to tell myself it’ll be all right in the morning. I don’t work tomorrow, and by the time I see Logan again, enough time will have passed that things won’t be awkward anymore.
It has to.
Going against my better judgment, I grab my phone and send Logan one of the better Game of Thrones memes I’ve been saving. There’s a chance he’s sleeping, but then the text goes from delivered to read, and I hate that he never disabled that feature on his phone. Because now I’m going to stare at my phone for the rest of the night waiting for him to reply.
I exit out of my texts and check my email. This time, there really is another job rejection letter in there, telling me that while my resumé is impressive, I lack the experience the company is looking for.
How the heck am I supposed to get experience when no one will hire me? Though, if I’m being honest with myself, I’m glad I didn’t get that job. The office is down in Indianapolis, and the thought of leaving Eastwood makes me a little sad.
I black out the screen of my phone and set it on the nightstand. Orange Cat paws at my door, and I throw back the covers to let him in. He runs away as soon as the door is open.
“Jerk,” I grumble and fall back into bed. Closing my eyes, I think of Grandpa’s words: how lucky you that you get to fail.
I’m still trying to feel lucky.
* * *
I climb up the basement stairs and emerge into the narrow hall that runs behind the kitchen at Getaway. It’s Monday, about an hour before we open, and I just finished inventorying our hard liquor supply. I haven’t seen Logan since Friday, and he never responded to my text.
The air is different now, and it’s slowly eating away at me. I would give anything to go back to that moment in the fridge and kiss him instead of waiting for him to kiss me.
“I got everything counted,” I say and extend the clipboard, heart in my throat.
“Thanks.” He takes the clipboard from me and sets it on the desk. “Now I can see how much to take out of Owen’s paycheck.”
I smile, just wanting things to go back to normal between us. “I’m pretty sure you can take out at least two bottles of Patron and a handful of beers.”
Logan chuckles and plants his feet on the ground, pushing the rolling chair back to the printer, grabbing the paper that it spits out. He spins the chair around and looks at me, really looks at me. My lips part and my pulse speeds up, getting a flash of his body against mine, the heat of his skin contrasting with the cold metal of the fridge.
I feel color rush to my cheeks, and I look away, taking a strand of hair and twisting it between my fingers.
“How’s, uh, Dexter?”
Logan shakes his head. “The little shit pulled a carton of eggs off the counter this morning and ate half of them before anyone noticed.”
I laugh. “Have fun smelling those farts tonight.”
Logan laughs too and plows a hand through his hair. “I’ll put him in Owen’s room.”
I smile, and it would be easy to tell myself things are going back to normal, but there’s still a distance in Logan’s eyes that’s tearing me up inside.
We both go back to work, getting ready to open. With the exception of our regulars, Mondays are pretty slow until about five or six in the evening. Though today, we did get a handful of people coming in, confused as to why we’re not open for lunch on weekdays when we are on weekends. I keep track of it all to use to prove to Logan and Owen that turning this place into a full-on bar and grill will be more than worth it. There are a few other restaurants in Eastwood and only one other diner. We’re on opposite sides of the town, and a decent amount of highway traffic comes through our doors. We’d do really well serving food during the day.
I’m jotting down an informal business proposal when the overwhelming smell of Chanel No. 5 wafts through the doors. It’s breezy today, and every time the front doors open, a warm summer wind comes through. I’m sure it’s annoying the people at the tables near the door, but I find it refreshing, especially when you consider that the few regulars glued to their barstools aren’t the cleanest.
I look up just in time to see my sister step away from Peter’s side, heading to the bathroom. Peter looks around the bar, and his eyes settle on me. He brings his hand up in a little wave, and I do the mature thing and drop down to the floor, crouching behind the bar.
Maybe if he can’t see me, he’ll go away.
“Danielle?” His voice comes from above me. I’ve never wished for a cream pie more than I do right now. I’d stick my face in it and pop up, speaking with an accent Mrs. Doubtfire style. I don’t have a pie, but I can still pretend I don�
�t know him…right?
“I’m sorry,” I say with the worst British accent in the world as I stand up. “I think you’re mistaking me for someone else.”
Logan, who’s at the other side of the bar, looks up. “What the hell?” he mouths, and I only respond by wrinkling my nose.
Peter tips his head, looking me up and down. He’s checking me out, and he’s not trying to hide it.
“You look good, Danielle.”
“I told you, I’m not Danielle. I’m, uh, Kasey, and I’ve never heard of this Danielle before.” My accent is starting to sound Scottish. And now, both Peter and Logan are looking at me like I’ve lost my damn mind. Truth is, I did a long time ago.
“Dani!” Diana calls, coming out of the bathroom. She must have just gone in to check out her hair or something. She’s beaming, but the smile isn’t genuine.
“What are you doing here?” I blurt.
“Nice to see you too.” She presses her lips together and adjusts the strap of her Louis Vuitton purse over her shoulder.
“Of course it’s nice to see you.” It’s not good to see Peter, and they both know exactly how I feel. “I just wasn’t expecting it. At all.”
“Peter has business in Chicago tomorrow, so we came a day early and thought we’d drive down and see how you’re faring in this little town.”
“I’m doing all right. I like it here.”
She raises her eyebrows. “It seems like it could be relaxing with that slower pace of life. And I have to say, it’s nice to see that you’ve stopped caring what people think of you.”
“What?”
Her eyes drop to my crop top. “Oh, never mind.”
“Can I get you something to drink?”
“A hot water with lemon, please.”
I’m positive no one has ever walked through the doors of Getaway and ordered that before. “Uh, sure.”
“So.” Diana slides into a barstool. “Mom said you told her you’re bringing a date to my wedding.”
Cheap Trick: A Dawson Family Novel Page 5