Citizens of Logan Pond Box Set

by Rebecca Belliston

  She blinked rapidly, anticipating it all, yet feeling like one word out of Greg’s mouth could shatter her.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  She laughed. She couldn’t help it.

  “What?” he said. “You can apologize up and down, but I can’t?”

  “No. You just never say what I expect you to, Greg. So does that mean you’re sorry that Oliver left, or that things aren’t better between him and me? Or are you sorry for blurting out my love life to the world? Or that you broke your grandma’s heart?”

  His eyes smiled. “All of it, actually.”

  Though it didn’t take away all the pain, it took away some. That’s how it usually was with Greg. Painful, but for the best. The stupid plant analogy fit more than she cared to admit. At least he cared enough to help her. At least he was her friend.

  Her head lifted.

  Greg’s my friend.

  More than Jenna or Sasha. Even more than Amber or May. He knew what was going on in her life better than anyone right now—and he cared about her, too. Honestly, the same was true in reverse. She cared about Greg, truly deeply cared about him. Not as a boyfriend, not as a fellow clansman, but as a friend.

  Her friend.

  The thought was startling and comforting at the same time because she finally knew that she had chosen right. She’d chosen Greg.

  Curious, he watched her. “What is it?”

  “I think…” She smiled, finding it wonderful and silly at the same time. “I think you’re my friend.”

  “And you’re only realizing this now?”

  She loved that he didn’t question her childish wisdom, just how long it took her to find it. “Yeah. Sorry. I’m slow.”

  As she turned back to watch the dancers, her spirits lifted to the beat of the music. She was no longer alone at the party. And really, neither was Greg.

  He leaned over. “By the way, you look real beautiful tonight.”

  Her smile grew, and she forced herself not to fidget with her swept-back hair. “Thanks.”

  “Quite stunning, actually,” he continued even though his eyes stayed on the dancers. “I told you Oliver would like the blue. Although it’s not fair for you to leave him tongue-tied and speechless all the time. I wouldn’t be surprised if he still hasn’t recovered from seein’ you like this.”

  Before she could think of something to say, but after blushing head to toe, Mariah and Richard joined them.

  “Oliver’s gone?” Mariah said. “I didn’t even get to thank him.”

  Richard hugged her. “Yes you did, love. Four times.”

  “That’s not nearly enough.” Mariah’s head fell against Richard’s shoulder. She gave a sigh of contentment before her gaze shifted to Carrie. Her expression shifted, too. “We came over here to check on the walls. How are they holdin’ up?”

  It took a second for Carrie to understand her meaning, then the blood drained from her face.

  “What do you mean?” Greg said.

  “You know. The walls.” Mariah pointed behind Carrie with a mischievous look identical to her son’s. “They aren’t as strong as they seem, are they?”

  Greg looked behind him as if expecting to see actual damage to the interior walls. Richard rubbed the paint, playing into his confusion.

  “With this loud music and everyone bouncing around,” Richard said, “there’s always the danger of a crack or two, don’t you think, Carrie?”

  Richard was in on it, too?

  “Yes,” Carrie squeaked. “No. I don’t know.”

  Help!

  While Richard pointed out a convenient crack over Greg’s head, Mariah bent close. “You and Greg had us real worried there at dinner,” she whispered. “But things seem to be lookin’ up. Any walls comin’ down?”

  Carrie thought back to her new realization and nodded. “Yes. Only they’re my own.”

  “Really?” Mariah grinned. “I suppose that’ll work just as well.”

  “No, wait. I don’t mean…” Carrie flushed. Greg was looking at Richard like he was completely nuts. There’s no way she could explain to Mariah about her and Greg’s new friendship, or how much it meant to her. Mortified and wanting a few walls of her own, Carrie studied her torn shoe.

  Mariah laughed and tugged on Richard’s hand. “Come, love. The music is callin’ to us.”

  As the newlyweds headed into the dancing crowd, Carrie glanced sideways. She could see the wheels churning in Greg’s brain, making the room shrink around them.

  “Do I wanna know what that was all about?” Greg asked.

  “Probably not,” she said.

  “Didn’t think so. Well, since Oliver won’t do it…” He held out his hand. “Wanna dance?”

  She stared at his outstretched hand, the one with her name practically autographed on the palm.

  “Hey,” he said, “if you’re gonna be my friend, you can’t be scared of me anymore.”

  He was right.

  Clinging to the word friend, she reached forward and took his hand for the first time. His skin was warm, making her self-conscious about her ice-cold fingers, but it didn’t seem to affect him. She yelled at her heart to stop pounding so wildly.

  Friends.

  He led her by the hand into the group. “I should probably warn you,” he said over the music, “I’m a lousy dancer. I hope that doesn’t bump me from your list.”

  His teasing helped her relax a little more, and she managed a genuine smile. “No. I’m not much of a dancer either.”

  “Really? Prove it.”

  forty-six

  GREG LIED.

  He danced as well as his relatives, if not better. Sadly, Carrie had told the truth. But the Big Band music was the type to keep anyone from taking themselves too seriously. In between the horns and saxophones, there was a lot of bumping elbows and stepping on toes.

  Carrie kept her eyes on the room, finding it easiest while Greg worked his magic. His hands were confident and strong—and awfully warm—as he led her through the steps. Holding her waist. Twirling her around. Dodging bodies. Clutching her waist again. Unlike her, he seemed completely at ease, but it took until the second song to get up the nerve to compliment him.

  “I’m never believing a word you say again,” Carrie said loudly. “You’re a good dancer.”

  Greg pushed her away and tugged her back again. “Grandma gave me a couple crash courses this week in anticipation of dancin’ with her beloved Carrie. ‘You don’t want to mess this up, Gregory,’” he said in his old lady voice. “‘Dancing is important to girls, especially to my Carrie. She loves to dance—LOVES to dance! You need to get it right. Practice, Gregory. Practice!’”

  She laughed. “I’m not sure why May thinks I like to dance. I don’t.”

  He stopped. “What?”

  “I mean, it’s a little fun, but mostly it stresses me out.”

  His thick brows pulled down. “Why didn’t you tell me this two days ago? You coulda saved me from a whole lot of old lady dancin’.” He twisted the two of them around so he could spot May through the crowd. “Grandma,” he growled.

  Carrie laughed again, and his glare turned on her. She tried to wipe the smile from her face. Tried and failed, because she pictured Greg and May dancing in the living room. May was half his size and hunched over with arthritis, but she would have ordered him around like a drill sergeant. Greg would have rolled his eyes yet still submitted to the two-step. Because while he pretended that his grandma drove him crazy, he never would have put up with her if he didn’t, on some subconscious level, absolutely adore her.

  “Great,” he said. “You’re picturing me dancin’ with her, aren’t you?”

  Carrie’s smile grew to giggles. “Yes. But don’t worry. It’s very cute.”

  He tried to keep his expression stern, but a tiny smile played in his eyes. “Well, you better not tell her you hate to dance. She still has hopes for us.”

  Carrie’s smile faded. “She does?”

  “She c
ornered me in the kitchen just now and told me I wasn’t tryin’ hard enough.” He chuckled. “She told me to fight for you.”

  So May hadn’t given up on them. And Greg thought it was funny.

  Fight for Carrie?

  Hilarious.

  “If she finds out you hate dancin’, she’ll blame me.” He twirled her around and pulled her tight against his chest. “You sure it’s not my fault?”

  She couldn’t breathe—or didn’t dare—overly aware of his hand pressed into the small of her back, the muscles of his chest under her own hand. She politely pushed him away. “Yes. You’re a good dancer, Greg.”

  “That’s what I thought. Alrighty. Keep up with me. I want to show her I’ve done my neighborly duty.”

  As Carrie digested the words neighborly duty, he made a point of weaving them closer to May and CJ. Then he did it again. He caught hold of her waist and pulled her close.

  “Flash her a few smiles,” he whispered in her ear, “so she thinks you’re havin’ the time of your life.”

  Carrie smiled as best as she could under the dizzy confusion she found herself in. Greg insisted he had enough charm to blow Braden out of the water. She no longer doubted it. He had a way of looking at her, holding her close, then leaning in and whispering that she looked “quite stunning.” Then again, he also had a way of dropping a “neighborly duty” bombshell on her.

  “Not convincing enough,” he said.

  Carrie threw back her head and laughed. May was fooled. She flashed Greg two wobbly thumbs up when she thought Carrie wasn’t looking.

  “Thanks,” Greg said. “I owe you.”

  He skillfully spun them to the outer edges of the crowd. Carrie complied, completely at his mercy. Not just in dancing either. When he laughed, she laughed, too. If he pulled her in for a slow step, she yielded, trying to ignore the way it felt to be in his arms. She wasn’t graceful, she wasn’t even comfortable, but she was accommodating, and one dance turned into two. And then three.

  And then four.

  “You’re awfully quiet,” he remarked as the fourth song started.

  I’m not the only one, she thought. He’d barely said a word during the last song, yet the new Greg wasn’t quiet. Not even close.

  “You don’t look real happy either,” he said, leaning down to regard her.

  She wasn’t unhappy, she just kept reminding herself that he had Nicole and she had Oliver. Greg was her friend. Nothing more. He has Nicole. He has—

  No one, her thoughts cut in.

  “I left,” he had said. “She didn’t. End of story.”

  “You mad?” he asked, curious.

  “No. Sorry.” She forced a smile. “I’m just trying not to break your toes.”

  “Good. You had me worried there. For a sec, I thought you were wishin’ I was somebody else.”

  “No. Not at all.” Are you? she wanted to ask in return. But without Amber’s—or Greg’s—candidness, she couldn’t.

  He nodded softly. “Good.”

  Though the trombones sped on, his feet slowed.

  So did hers.

  Carrie chanced another glance up. Once she met his gaze, she couldn’t look away. The way he looked at her. It was like he was speaking some silent language to her, and not only was she supposed to understand, she was supposed to respond as well. Except she didn’t know what to say. Or think. Or feel or do. She knew absolutely nothing except in that moment, she didn’t want to be anywhere else. With anyone else.

  His feet stopped altogether, forcing her to stop, too, even though the song hadn’t ended and the room swayed around them.

  “Carrie…” he said, her name a whisper on his lips.

  His piercing green eyes studied her with a depth they never had before, taking in not only her smoked eyes, but her swept-up hair, her cheeks, and then her mouth.

  Her heart pounded like mad.

  Greg had thrown out that compliment earlier with little thought or effort, but as he studied her so intently, she wondered if a small part of him really did think she was beautiful. Stunning even.

  Was it possible?

  His hand tightened on her waist, pulling her closer. His head lowered a fraction toward her, and her breath caught. If she didn’t know better, she would have though he was two seconds from kissing her.

  “One of these days,” Mariah whispered from her memories, “he’s gonna wake up and realize he’s in love with you.”

  Dylan and Sasha bumped into them, jostling them.

  Greg blinked.

  That’s all it took.

  He jerked back and glanced around, as if he’d forgotten where he was—who he was with. Then Carrie watched the transformation take place, first in his eyes, and then in his entire expression. Everything seemed to melt. Then harden. And then freeze. In a blink, he was the Greg from six weeks ago. Cold. Hard. Unbending.

  Stunned, she froze, too.

  He was mad at her. There was no other explanation for the tightness of his jaw. His hands no longer held her with warmth but gripped her tightly. She rushed through the last minutes to figure out what she’d done. She hadn’t stepped on his toes. She hadn’t said much of anything, hopefully not insulting his ego.

  Then she found it.

  The three words that had ruined everything:

  “Not at all,” she had said, admitting for the first time to Greg—and herself—that she didn’t want to be with anyone else. Not even Oliver. She wanted to be with Greg. Dancing. Laughing.

  Like Oliver, Greg had a deep goodness to him, he had more charm than Braden, and she wanted what May, Mariah, and Amber wanted. Only she wanted Greg to want it, too. Desperately.

  And he was furious.

  Braden and Amber brushed past them next, snapping Greg out of his glare. He loosened his death grip on Carrie’s waist, gave her one last twirl, and stepped away.

  “Thanks for the dance, Carrie.”

  The song was nowhere near done, but she heard herself thank him in response while processing another rejection. This time unspoken.

  Out of nowhere Lindsey Ziegler appeared. She stood next to Greg with puppy-dog eyes. He took the hint and the two of them picked up where he and Carrie had left off.

  As Carrie watched them spin away, heat mounted behind her eyes. She breathed slowly and blinked rapidly.

  An arm slipped around her shoulders. “You okay, darlin’?” Mariah asked.

  It was the wrong person at the wrong time. Carrie closed her eyes.

  Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

  “Oh, sweetie.” Mariah hugged her. “It’ll work out. Just give him some time. You’ll see.”

  “Excuse me,” Carrie whispered. “I need some air.”

  She pulled free of Mariah’s embrace and rushed out the door.

  * * * * *

  Carrie sat on the wood bench on May’s front porch, letting the snow wash away her cares. The spring snow shower was cleansing and smelled like rebirth, the cool temperature was perfect for her flushed skin, and the moisture blocked out all sound, as if there wasn’t a party going on inside without her.

  The brisk air also cleared away any silly hopes she had formed inside. Already she felt a million times better. She was grateful Greg had stopped her wild behavior before she humiliated herself any further. They were friends. Nothing more.

  If only she never had to see him again.

  The door behind her opened, and her surrogate grandpa walked out. CJ’s face shone with the joy of the day, lifting her spirits even more. He sat next to her on the wood bench.

  “Other than this storm,” he said, “I’d say this has been a perfect day for our little clan.”

  “The best day yet,” Carrie agreed.

  The strongest urge came over her. She laid her head on CJ’s shoulder. It had been a long time since she’d done it, yet CJ acted like it was as natural as it once had been. He put an arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer. The warmth of his friendship sank down to her core. In a way, she’d lost gra
ndparents when Greg and Mariah moved in. It was nice to have CJ back, even if only temporarily.

  “I don’t think it gets any easier seeing my baby girl get married,” he said a little gruffly. “I’m going to miss her.”

  “Mariah’s only moving a few houses away,” Carrie said. “You’ll still see her.”

  “It’s not the same.”

  “I guess not.” Just like it wouldn’t be the same having Greg live across the street from her.

  They sat in silence, drinking in the soft snow. Carrie shut her eyes and relived the best parts of the day. Mariah and Richard. Amber and Braden. Even her walk around the pond with Greg, her new friend. It really had been a great day. Mostly.

  “What is that?” CJ said, sitting up.

  Carrie opened her eyes. Something in the distance was coming toward them down the street. She made out the shape of a person. A man. Someone seemingly in a hurry.

  “Is that Jeff?” CJ asked.

  “Yes. It is.” She tensed. She’d never gone to Jeff’s house to smooth things over. She’d chosen Greg, and now Jeff was running down the street toward them—toward her. “Maybe he’s coming to the wedding. Maybe he changed his mind?”

  “No,” CJ said. “Where are Jenna and the boys?”

  CJ stood and Carrie did, too.

  Jeff’s feet slapped against the wet pavement, running fast enough the snow couldn’t cling to his clothes. The closer he got, the more Carrie’s pulse pounded. CJ was right. Jeff’s strides were long and furious.

  The second he hit CJ’s driveway, he spotted them on the porch.

  “You!” He pointed at Carrie.

  She shrank back into the brick.

  In three great strides, Jeff Kovach covered the last of the distance and leaped up onto the porch. He grabbed Carrie by the neck and rammed her against the brick wall.

  Pain exploded in Carrie’s head. She tried to gasp but couldn’t find air.

  “You!” he yelled in her face.

  Jeff’s grip tightened on her neck, squeezing the air from her throat.

  “You did this! You killed her!”

  CJ grabbed his arm. “Jeff, stop! Let Carrie go! What happened?”