Abby filled a loaf pan with thick, cinnamon-speckled pumpkin bread batter, dropping a few globs on the counter in her state of distraction. She cast another furtive glance out the large bay window in the breakfast nook.
Logan crossed the street toward a lilac-colored Queen Anne Victorian with a horde of plastic elves on the front lawn.
A strange sensation swam in her stomach as he mounted the broad steps and maneuvered around the oversize wreath made of ornaments and abalone shells and knocked on the front door.
When she’d left home less than forty-eight hours ago, she’d planned on spending the holidays alone with her heartache. But something about being with Logan made Donnie feel closer, somehow. Perhaps because he’d known her husband so well.
Maybe spending time together would be a blessing in disguise?
Her phone warbled on the white tile countertop and she slid the loaf pan in the oven before answering it. “Good morning.”
“Thank goodness you’re alive,” Nadia gushed, skipping the pleasantries. “I barely slept all night, worried you wound up in the Amityville Horror house or something.”
Abby laughed, pressing the phone between her ear and shoulder as she cracked eggs into a large bowl. “I survived. But not entirely without incident. You’ll never believe what happened last night.” Her gaze flickered out the window again, catching sight of Logan as he disappeared inside Verna’s house. With the coast clear, she filled Nadia in on the details.
“I knew someone would be living there,” Nadia said, half scolding, half enthralled. “Tell me everything. What’s he like?”
Abby hesitated, her whisk hovering above the creamy egg mixture. How could she describe someone who appeared to be a walking contradiction? Logan seemed both warm and guarded, open and mysterious, charming and unapproachable, attractive and—
She straightened, startled by her own thoughts. Attractive? Since when did she notice other men, let alone the finer points of their appearance?
Returning to her task, she answered casually, “He’s… nice.”
“Nice? Is that all I get?” Nadia cried. “Is he cute?”
Abby flushed, furiously whipping the poor eggs as if they’d personally offended her. Recognizing her unnecessary fervor, she set down the whisk.
Pull yourself together, Abby. It’s a simple question.
“Some people might think so.”
“What about you?” Nadia pressed. “Do you think so?”
Abby tugged on the collar of her sweater. The warmth of the oven engulfed the entire kitchen, and she stepped toward the window, seeking relief.
Still no sign of Logan. His talk with Verna was taking longer than she expected.
“Abby…” Nadia’s smirk traveled through the speaker. “Am I to infer by your silence that you find this Logan guy attractive?”
“No,” Abby snapped, surprised by the force of her own words. Her heart raced like a wild animal backed into a corner.
“I’m sorry,” Nadia said softly. “I know you need more time and I shouldn’t push you. I’m just worried you’ve got it into your head that in order to honor Donnie, you need to be alone forever.”
Abby lifted a finger, capturing a tear she hadn’t realized was there.
She knew Nadia meant well, but how could she explain herself to someone who didn’t believe in soul mates? To Nadia, relationships were pragmatic, not fairy tales. And it didn’t help that her parents had an arranged marriage in India before moving to the States, and they couldn’t be happier together.
“Donnie was my one great love, Nadia,” Abby whispered around the lump in her throat. “My person.”
“I know. It’s just—” Nadia paused. When she spoke again, her voice sounded softer, almost sorrowful. “I think you have more room in your heart than you realize.”
For a long moment, neither of them broke the silence. Abby wrestled with her friend’s words and the familiar ache that wrapped around her chest, siphoning her oxygen.
A loud crack brought the world back into focus.
Searching for the source of the sound, her gaze settled on the large oak tree in the front yard.
A scrawny boy, possibly seven or eight, scrambled down the massive trunk and plopped onto the ground.
The thought of him getting hurt climbing such an old, decrepit tree made her pulse quicken, but Abby resisted the urge to rush outside and lecture someone else’s child. After all, what did she know about such matters?
He caught her eye in the window for the briefest of seconds before scampering across the lawn and down the street toward the dead end.
“Abby?” Nadia asked tentatively. “Are you okay?”
“Uh-huh.” Abby blinked, wondering if she’d been imagining things.
“You know I love you.”
The concern in her friend’s voice drew her back to their conversation. For all her bluntness, Nadia really did speak her mind out of genuine care and concern. “I love you, too. And I promise to keep you updated.”
“You’re still coming back after Christmas, right?”
“Of course,” Abby assured her, ignoring the faint hum of hesitation in her heart.
Although he’d helped Verna with various tasks over the years, Logan couldn’t remember ever being inside her house.
The interior matched his expectations exactly—vivid wall colors, antique furniture recovered in funky fabrics, and framed photographs of Mr. Bingley, an English bulldog mix who had taken a liking to him for inexplicable reasons.
Even now, as Logan sat at the kitchen table nursing a cup of peppermint tea, the roly-poly pup wiggled by his feet, polishing the hardwood floor with his substantial backside.
“Okay, Bing, you little beggar. Here ya go.” Logan relented and bent to give the dog a few scratches behind his ear. “Happy now?”
The pup’s tongue flopped out of his mouth, giving his flat, squishy face a comical expression.
Logan chuckled.
“I’m sorry, dear,” Verna cooed, sliding a tray of plump, golden snickerdoodles out of the oven, flooding the room with the distracting scent of cinnamon and sugar. “You had something you wanted to tell me?”
Logan’s mouth watered, but he tried to focus. They’d been sidetracked enough already. She’d initially invited him into the kitchen to check on the cookies, but had spent the last ten minutes telling him about the time she met Neil Diamond buying a Little Debbie in the back of a supermarket while she was on vacation in New York. And all because his version of “Joy to the World” happened to be playing on the radio the moment they walked in.
“Just wanted to let you know I’ll have a houseguest over the holidays. The owner wanted to check on the property.” Okay, so that was stretching the truth a bit. But how else was he supposed to explain it? “She plans to keep to herself for the most part since it’s purely a professional visit.”
He thought that last part was a nice touch, but Verna didn’t appear to be listening.
“She’s a pretty little thing, isn’t she? Reminds me just a skosh of Audrey Hepburn, may she rest in peace. Her features are a little more angular, I suppose, but remarkably beautiful, don’t you think?”
“Sure, I guess,” Logan said noncommittally. He really didn’t want to comment on Abby’s level of attractiveness. In fact, for his own sanity, he shouldn’t even be thinking about it.
“You guess?” Verna shook her head and gave a disapproving cluck. “Is there something wrong with your eyes?”
“No. I just—” He paused, glancing at Mr. Bingley for backup.
The dog merely gazed up at him with big, innocent brown eyes. Clearly, he’d never heard of bros before broads.
“I haven’t paid much attention.”
Okay, that time he felt a little guilty. He hadn’t planned on lying through his teeth when he came over here, but Verna sure knew how to put a guy on the spot.
Time to regroup.
“Anyway, I just wanted to give you a heads-up in case you spotted us coming in and out of the house together, on occasion. Although, as I mentioned, it shouldn’t be too often since it’s not a social visit.”
“Are you taking her to the Christmas tree lighting ceremony this weekend?” Verna asked, scooping the soft, melt-in-your-mouth cookies onto a cooling rack.
Logan frowned. Had she been listening to anything he said? “Definitely not.”
“That’s a shame. It’s one of the most romantic events in town, other than Bells on the Bay, but that’s not for a few more weeks.”
He suppressed a groan. She really wasn’t getting it. But rather than convince her that there was absolutely zero chance of anything romantic happening between him and Abby, he stood. “Thanks for the tea.”
“Anytime, dear. And take some cookies for you and your special guest.” She loaded a plate with an assortment of baked goods.
He eyed the sugar cookies warily. The snowflakes and Santa hats might go against Abby’s anti-Christmas rule.
But before he could respond, Verna asked, “Would you mind doing me one little favor before you go?”
“Sure,” he said, hoping she didn’t want him to hang any more Christmas lights. The twinkling bulbs on every tree, shrub, railing, and porch column already boasted a near-blinding effect.
Luckily, the favor consisted of an interior decoration Abby would never have to see—a sprig of mistletoe for the chandelier in the foyer.
“Thank you, dear,” Verna said as he climbed the six-foot ladder. “My old knees don’t work like they used to.”
“No problem.” He secured the sprig of mistletoe to the bottom of the light fixture with the glossy red ribbon, then tilted his head back to make sure it hung straight.
At the subtle gesture, a searing pain shot through his neck like an electrical current.
He wasn’t sure if he cried out or if the sound reverberated inside his own head, but within seconds he’d collapsed on the floor, and Verna crouched over him.
His vision blurred and he couldn’t make out more than a faint outline of her face as she said in a strangled voice, “Don’t move. I’m calling 911.”
“Wait,” he groaned, blindly reaching for her hand.
“Logan, you need a doctor.” A quiver hid behind her words, although she tried to steady them.
While he’d endured this a thousand times before, he hated putting her through the strain and worry, which was exactly why he kept to himself, preferring to deal with the spasms on his own.
“Don’t call. I’m fine.” The stabbing sensation now resembled hot coals heaped on his skin, but he knew it would pass. It always did. And this time, it seemed to be subsiding more quickly than his last episode.
He shifted his weight, groaning as his hip rebelled against the movement. He was going to be sore tomorrow, if not sooner.
“You shouldn’t move,” Verna told him. “I’ll call for some help. Maybe your new friend—”
“No,” he grunted, forcing himself to sit upright. The last thing he wanted was for Abby to see him like this. “I just need to go home and lie down.”
Making it across the street would be excruciating, but he could do it. He’d been through worse, fueled by adrenaline and survival instincts.
Beads of sweat dotted his brow as he struggled to his feet with only one thought in mind—get to the bungalow in the backyard without Abby spotting him.