Relishing the cold air against her cheeks, Abby pulled the plush blanket tighter around her, careful not to spill her mug of hot coffee.
Back home, she rarely spent time outside. Granted, they had only a tiny balcony off the living room at Nadia’s place. And the view of other apartment buildings hardly warranted hours of admiration.
But in Blessings Bay, she’d discovered a hidden utopia in the spacious backyard.
The French doors of the master suite led to a small stone patio with a wicker loveseat and matching chairs—her own intimate oasis. A cozy bungalow and beautiful gazebo occupied the opposite end of the sprawling lawn, surrounded by shrubs and foliage waiting to blossom after winter passed.
But what Abby loved most was the breathtaking view of the ocean. The endless expanse stretched on for miles, rippling in the sunlight with hypnotic brilliance. She could spend hours listening to the waves crash against the rocky coastline despite the frosty breeze fluttering strands of hair across her face. She should ask Logan if they owned a firepit. If they did, she might never leave the backyard.
She might never leave Blessings Bay.
The thought startled her, and Abby straightened. She’d been here for three days and she already wanted to stay? It didn’t make sense. Her home, her friends, were all down south. And when her mother visited from Chicago, she liked to go to Disneyland and shopping in LA. She’d never talk her into schlepping all the way to the middle of nowhere.
Pushing off the quilt, Abby scrambled to her feet. She needed a reality check. A walk into town would set her straight. After five minutes of strolling Main Street, she’d get bored and remember why she loved living in the city.
Without even finishing her coffee, Abby dressed and slipped out the front door, anxious to leave the comfort of her too-cozy cocoon.
Choosing the quickest path to the road, she strode across the lawn, bypassing the meandering stone pathway.
A loud crack rattled overhead, followed by a jarring thump a few inches from her feet.
Her yelp caught in her throat, and she froze, too startled to leap out of the way.
A rotted tree branch lay severed in several jagged chunks on the ground.
If she’d been standing a few more inches to the right, it would have landed on her head.
A second later, a small boy scurried down the trunk, his expression sheepish.
The boy again.
Another jolt of adrenaline surged through her as a million thoughts collided all at once.
Is he all right? What was he doing up there? Where are his parents?
“Are you okay?” She scanned his scrawny frame for cuts and bruises. Luckily, he appeared unscathed.
He nodded, confirming her assessment.
As her fear subsided, another instinct kicked in—the one that wanted to prevent future harm.
“You really shouldn’t be climbing that tree. It’s not safe.”
His features crumbled as though she’d just told him Santa Claus wasn’t real. He must really like climbing trees.
“It’s okay to climb some trees,” she amended, hoping to lift his spirits. “Just not this one. It’s old and the branches are weak. It’s only meant to be looked at.”
He cocked his head, his warm brown eyes curious. “You mean like a Christmas tree?”
“Yeah, kind of like a Christmas tree. You don’t climb your Christmas tree at home, do you?”
His face fell again, and he glanced at the ground. “We don’t have one. They cost too much.”
His words pierced a place in her heart that reached beyond her own complicated feelings about the holiday. No little boy should go without a Christmas tree. Not if she could help it.
“I’m Abby, by the way. What’s your name?”
“Max,” he said shyly.
“Nice to meet you, Max. Do you live nearby?” she asked, a plan formulating in her mind.
He nodded, pointing down the street. “The gray house at the end.”
“And you know what Blessings Bay is famous for, right?” She was making stuff up on the spot, but it wasn’t like he’d know that. Kids were gullible, weren’t they?
He shook his head.
“It’s known for unexpected blessings. Like a Christmas tree.”
He frowned, tilting his head again.
Okay, so kids didn’t grasp subtlety. She’d have to try a different tact. “Why don’t you head home and see if one shows up later today?”
His eyes brightened, but hesitation hung around him like a heavy shadow. “You really think it could?”
“I do. After all, it’s the season of miracles.”
He didn’t look convinced, but seemed willing to give her theory a try as he ambled toward the road.
Her heart wrenched when he glanced over his shoulder with a look of timid uncertainty.
What had happened in this boy’s life to make him so skeptical?
Whatever it was, she hoped surprising him with a Christmas tree would bring a smile to his face.
But to do so, she’d have to explain to Logan why she was breaking her anti-Christmas rule.
And convince him to help.
Logan poured himself a cup of coffee, savoring the earthy aroma as it floated toward him. Was it his imagination or did the coffee taste better since Abby arrived?
As if on cue, she strolled into the kitchen, a sight for sore eyes in a cream cable-knit sweater that brought out the rosiness in her cheeks.
Good grief. He’d gone soft. When had he ever thought about rosy cheeks before?
He gulped his coffee, barely registering when it burned his tongue.
“Good morning.” An underlying question hid behind her greeting.
Logan lowered his mug. “What’s up?”
“I, uh, have a favor to ask. If you’re not busy.” Why did she sound so nervous?
“Sure. What do you need?”
He took another sip of coffee, almost spewing it across the room when she said, “I need a Christmas tree.”
“You what?”
She fidgeted with the hem of her sweater, not quite meeting his eye. “It’s not for me. It’s for Max, the boy who lives down the street. Do you know him?”
“I’ve seen him around the last couple of months, but no, we haven’t met.” He ignored the sharp pang of guilt for completely ignoring the world around him. Not that he didn’t have a good reason for it.
“I just caught him climbing the tree in our front yard.”
“I’m not surprised. It’s the tallest one on the block. If I were a kid, I’d wanna climb it, too.”
“Well, don’t mention that little tidbit to Max. I told him not to climb it anymore. That ancient tree is an accident waiting to happen.”
Logan hid a smile at her motherly tone. And for the briefest of moments, he wondered why she and Donnie never had kids. “So, why the sudden desire to get him a Christmas tree?”
“He mentioned that his family couldn’t afford one, and regardless of how I feel about the holidays, that didn’t sit well with me.”
A strange tingling sensation spread across his chest as he stared at her, amazed by her kindness. She really was something else. He swallowed against the unusual tightness in his throat. “That’s thoughtful.”
She shrugged, brushing off his compliment. “I don’t mind paying for the tree, but I’m not sure I can manage picking it up by myself, especially with my tiny car. You wouldn’t happen to have a truck, would you?”
The reality of her request hit him in the gut. She wanted his help to transport the tree? Of course she did. Why wouldn’t the one favor she needed be the one thing he couldn’t do? His crummy luck wouldn’t have it any other way.
“I don’t.” Her hopeful expression unraveled at his admission, and he loathed the thought of letting her down. Even if it meant choking on his pride. “But I have something else that might work.”
A smile lit her face, and he took a mental snapshot to ease the sting that would follow next.
He led her to the garage and flipped on the light.
There, gleaming before them, sat a cherry-red 1972 Chevy El Camino, fully remodeled and polished to perfection.
His baby.
His untouched, completely pointless baby.
Abby whistled. “She’s beautiful. You’re not worried about chipping the paint if we put a tree in the back?”
“Not really.” In his long list of reservations, that didn’t even register.
But she must have sensed his reluctance and ascribed the wrong meaning, because her features softened. “Thank you, Logan. I can tell the car means a lot to you, and I appreciate your generosity. I promise to let you drive, and I’ll be extra careful when we’re loading the tree.”
“That’s the problem.” He raked his fingers through his hair, his jaw tense.
“What is?”
He grabbed the key hanging on a hook by the door and handed it to her.
She glanced from the key to his face, clearly confused.
Just man up and say it.
With a deep breath, he confessed, “I can’t drive.”