Logan couldn’t help analyzing every minuscule flicker of emotion that crossed Abby’s features, as if his entire future depended on the tiniest flutter of her eyelashes and imperceptible parting of her lips.
In a way, he supposed it did.
She was clearly falling for Blessings Bay and its unavoidable charm.
His only hope rested in the fact that Abby hated Christmas.
Which meant she was in for an unpleasant surprise.
He watched her closely as they turned onto Main Street, a long thoroughfare with shops on one side and the oceanscape on the other.
While burnished rays of sunlight bathed the Victorian-style storefronts, showing them off in a far too flattering light, he wasn’t worried. The Christmassy explosion drenching the town in decorations counteracted the otherwise appealing effect.
At least, he suspected it would to Abby.
“You’ve got to be kidding.” Her nose wrinkled as she took in the yards of evergreen garlands, brightly colored bunting, and wreaths adorning every window and doorway. A twenty-foot Christmas tree stood in the center of the grassy promenade lining the bluff, and festive music spilled onto the sidewalk. “Are you guys trying to win the title of most excessively decorated town?”
“I wasn’t aware such a competition existed, but I did hear Santa Claus has a beach house here.”
To his surprise, she laughed, shaking her head with an expression of amusement and incredulity. “This is exactly the kind of overzealous Christmas spirit Donnie would’ve loved.”
As realization dawned, Logan could’ve kicked himself. Or gone another round with the Taser. “That’s why you’re skipping Christmas, isn’t it? Because of Donnie.”
She stiffened as though morphing into self-defense mode. “I realize it might be an overreaction to some people, but—”
“Hey, who am I to judge your grieving process? I’m sure even Tiny Tim and Cindy Lou Who would cut you some slack.”
This evoked another smile, and he tried not to stare. But it wasn’t easy.
“How come you don’t like Christmas?” she asked.
“Who says I don’t?”
“Well, you gave it up pretty quickly. Don’t you usually celebrate?”
He shrugged, lengthening his stride. Why did the market have to be at the far end of the street? “My grandparents raised me. They both died while I was serving overseas. Since then, I haven’t really seen the point.”
“I’m so sorry, Logan.” Her tone exuded genuine empathy, which he found oddly comforting, considering she was essentially a stranger.
“You learn to get by.”
“You do?” They stopped in front of the quaint general store, and Abby glanced up, searching his face as though he could offer some sort of tangible hope.
The only problem? He couldn’t. He didn’t even know why he’d said that, except it seemed like the right thing to say in the moment—a coddling cliché. How could he tell her the aching void never went away?
“Absolutely,” he lied, forcing a smile as he held open the door for her.
She slipped past, and he remembered a second too late that he probably should’ve warned her first.
Abby glanced over her shoulder at the exit, reassessing her whereabouts. Had she stepped into a grocery store or a portal to the North Pole?
A plethora of paper snowflakes hung from the ceiling and elaborate displays decorated the tops of the tall shelves, each one representing a different Christmas-themed vignette.
And instead of normal aisle markers, the signs designated sections like Comet’s Canned Goods, Prancer’s Produce, and Dasher’s Deli. Even Blizten’s Liquor, a departure from the alliterative pattern for a mildly uncouth play on words.
Donnie would have loved it, which only made Abby miss him more.
“You okay?” Logan asked in a voice low enough for no one else to hear.
Swallowing the lump in her throat, she nodded. “Uh-huh. But I might keep my items under the limit for the express lane.”
“Unfortunately, there’s only one cashier. Archie, the store owner. And I don’t think he’s going to be your favorite person.”
He nodded toward the checkout line where a bearded man stood in a full Santa suit of crimson velvet and shiny gold buttons.
“Oh no,” Abby groaned.
“It gets worse. He’ll probably try to hand you a candy cane, too. Unless you request the complimentary carrot instead. The kids like to feed his pet reindeer, Tinsel.”
“Wow.” Abby had no words. This town took Christmas to a whole nother level. And to think, she’d come here to get away from it all.
“Stay close,” Logan said, gently cupping her elbow. “I’ll shield you from the truly horrendous displays, like the ten-foot snowman made out of stacked toilet paper rolls.”
He grinned, trying to ease her discomfort with levity, but she couldn’t focus. Something about the feel of his fingertips on her skin short-circuited her brain, cutting off communication to her extremities.
When she didn’t move, he leaned in closer, only making the situation worse. “Are you sure you’re okay? We can leave if it’s too much.”
She bit down on her lip and the sharp pain seemed to reboot her system. “I’m fine. Thanks. Let me just check my list.” She used the opportunity to extricate her elbow from his grasp and reached into her purse.
As they strolled the aisles, her pulse slowly returned to normal, but she couldn’t help noticing the other shoppers’ less-than-subtle glances in their direction.
“Logan,” she began quietly, when he paused in Frosty’s Frozen Food section. “Have you noticed the way people keep staring at us?”
“I hadn’t.” He frowned, glancing over his shoulder. “But now that you mention it…”
“Is it because I’m new in town?” While she found that hard to believe, especially in an area that seemed to cater to tourists, she couldn’t think of another explanation.
“It’s not you.” He raked his fingers through his thick, light-brown hair, his shoulders tense. “I should’ve thought of this earlier.”
“Thought of what?”
“Verna Hoffstetter.”
“You’re going to have to help me out here. I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She tried to ignore the two women peering at them over a pyramid of minced pie filling.
Logan ducked behind a wall of boxed waffle mix, gesturing for her to follow. “Verna Hoffstetter is the town gossip and our neighbor across the street. I should’ve figured she’d see us leaving the house together and jump to certain conclusions.”
Heat swept across Abby’s cheeks as she realized what he meant. “I didn’t think about how it would look, the two of us staying together.”
“It doesn’t help that I haven’t dated anyone since I moved here. The possibility of me having a girlfriend is prime time news.”
Her gaze darted to Logan’s face in surprise. With those distracting blue eyes and strong, sculpted features, she found his single status hard to believe. Not that she paid attention to that sort of thing.
“Don’t worry,” he continued. “I’ll go over to Verna’s as soon as we get back and set the record straight.”
“That would be great,” she said a little more emphatically than necessary.
She glanced at her ring finger, barely able to make out the faded tan line.
At least she wasn’t still wearing her wedding band and diamond solitaire. The rumor mill would have a field day with that detail.
She’d removed the white gold set a few months after Donnie passed, hoping to avoid the inevitable questions about her husband. It was easier if people didn’t know she’d ever been married. Otherwise, she’d be forced to relive his horrific accident over and over again every time she met someone new.
However, there was a downside to her bare ring finger. Men asked her out constantly, and she tired of turning them down as politely as possible. Plus, with each suitor she rejected, she had to deal with Nadia, who thought it would be healthy for her to get back in the dating game. The furthest thing from a romantic, her friend believed a year was a respectable mourning period.
But to Abby, the twelve months had passed in the span of a single second while simultaneously dragging on for an eternity.
How could you explain to someone who had never experienced a similar loss that moving on wasn’t an option?