Chapter Seven

Angela

Sunday, I find myself parked in my mother’s driveway, dreading going inside.

“Momma, it smells weird in here,” I yell from the entryway. Closing the door behind me, I inhale deeply. “Like mildew or garbage or…I don’t know.” I wave my hand in front of my face. “Mom?”

“Angela?” I hear her voice coming from the back of the house.

Weaving my way through the maze of newspaper stacks, boxes, and bags, I find her sitting in her rocker in my old bedroom. Her hands are white-knuckled from gripping the armrests. Her eyes stay fixed on the window.

“Momma, what are you doing? What’s wrong?”

She doesn’t say a word, just keeps staring.

“You called me to come over. It’s eleven o’clock at night. What’s going on?” I take a seat on the bed and rub the hand nearest to me, hoping to relax her.

“I saw someone in the yard,” she finally says.

“Kids cut through our yard all the time.”

“This wasn’t a kid. He was tall. And he was looking.”

“At what?”

“Me. He was looking at me.”

I blow out a breath and rest my head on her shoulder. Sunday evening and another paranoid episode. Daddy died on a Sunday, so these are usually the worst days, but this is the first time it has happened at night. I know this is a direct result of Charlie’s call. I don’t pretend to understand how her mind works, but I understand this.

“Momma, no one was looking at you. Let’s get you in bed,” I say, trying to coax her from the chair.

Knock, knock, knock.

We both jump to our feet, eyes turned toward the hall.

“Who’s that?” I ask, my heart pounding in my chest.

She dusts off the front of her dress and adjusts the clip in her hair. “I called the sheriff.”

“You what?” I screech.

We both move toward the front door. Mom is graceful while I trip over two boxes and get a plastic bag caught around my foot. When I reach the kitchen window, I glance outside and groan. It’s Logan’s car. I recognize the only Crowley cruiser with six pine tree air fresheners hanging from the rearview mirror.

I grab my mom by the elbow to stop her in her tracks. “I’m not here,” I plead.

She shakes her head at first, not understanding. “Why on earth?”

“Momma, please. I’m not here.”

Finally she nods and moves toward the door as I hide behind the kitchen pantry.

As I stand there, pressed to the wall with my pulse racing, I can’t help but feel like an idiot. I mean, this is Logan Sawyer. It’s a chance to talk to him, or at least—as Audrey says—get on his radar, but my pride won’t let me face him. Not like this. Not in this house with my paranoid mother who has become the town weirdo and all her junk everywhere.

I hear the front door open and Momma invites him in. Why would she bring him into this mess? I press a hand to my forehead and realize that she really has no idea how her hoarding has gotten out of hand. She’s built her own world inside this house and I believe she has no intention of ever leaving again. All these things keep me in my hiding spot. If I can’t face them myself, I surely can’t face them with Logan Sawyer as an audience.

“Good evening, Mrs. Lavelle,” Logan says. “You reported a prowler on your property?”

I smirk at the sound of his official “I’m on duty” voice. It’s one part charming and one part confident, which equals a whole lot of sexy. The first time I heard it, I was cutting through the park and he was scolding some teenagers for climbing up the water tower. I had to hide my giggling as I listened to his speech. Wilder, younger Logan Sawyer had been up that tower a hundred times.

“Yes. He was wearing all black, standing in the backyard.”

“I see,” he says. There is no doubt, no condescension in his tone. “I checked out the yard and around the perimeter before knocking. I didn’t find anyone.”

“Well, he was there. I know he was there—big guy, just staring at the house.”

I lean my forehead against the door. That’s good, Mom, keep it simple, no details needed.

“He was looking at me,” she finishes. I cringe and squeeze my eyes shut.

“Looking at you?” Logan asks. His voice goes up at the end. Much to my dismay, his interest is definitely piqued. “Like a Peeping Tom?”

“No. I don’t know.”

“Mrs. Lavelle, do you know who was in your yard?”

It’s quiet for too long and I am almost pulled from my spot when Logan speaks up again.

“You sure do have a lot of…stuff,” he points out.

She gives a nervous laugh. “You never know when you’ll need something. So I just keep it all, you know?”

“I understand,” he says. “I imagine it’s hard to let go of things that were your husband’s, right? Still have his stuff around?”

I hear my mother sigh. “Yes. Can’t make myself get rid of anything of Nick’s.” There’s a pause and then she groans. “Oh, listen to me. I’m sure you’re not interested in all that. I got everything I need right here. And my daughter, Angela, brings me whatever I don’t have. You know Angela, don’t you? She’s a waitress at Millie’s.”

I gasp and somehow make a squeaking sound before slapping a hand over my mouth. There’s another long pause. I can barely hear them anymore because of the thundering pulse in my ears. My mind is screaming for him to answer. Or not. Or maybe I’ll get lucky and just spontaneously combust right here.

“Yes, ma’am. I believe we went to school together.”

“Oh, yes! I suppose you’re right. She’s single, you know? Won’t be a waitress forever.”

My stomach lurches; my heart feels like it’s going to actually crash through my chest. I silently beg her to just stop talking.

“Well, there is no one here, Mrs. Lavelle. You’re safe now.” I imagine him hitting her with that endearing, lopsided grin that would make almost anyone lose track of their thoughts.

She sighs. “Thank you, Deputy Sawyer. Would you like to come in for coffee or something?”

My eyes widen and my grip tightens on the door handle. No! Let him go!

“No, thank you. I’ve got to get going.”

Relief floods my body as I sag against the wall. I hear them move toward the front door. She thanks him again before it closes between them. I scurry across the kitchen and peep out the window just in time to see Logan climb into his car.

“Why are you hiding from that boy?” Mom asks, making me jump.

I spin to face her, a hand pressed to my chest.

Something snaps inside me. Some final thread that’s been holding me together unravels with the embarrassment of having Logan in my mother’s house and dealing with another one of her paranoid delusions. “That’s it,” I say. “I’m cleaning out this house.” She watches me as I flail my arms and walk in circles around the table. “This is ridiculous. There’s stuff everywhere. It’s all got to go. If you’re not going to get rid of it, I will. Aren’t you tired of living like this?”

I cringe at my outburst, wondering if I’ve crossed a line. For too long, I’ve been walking on eggshells around her. When I stop, she doesn’t look mad at all.

She’s wearing an amused look, one eyebrow raised higher than the other. “Fine, Angela. But you didn’t answer my question.”

Grabbing my keys off the counter, I move past her. “And you didn’t answer mine. Good night, Mom. I’ll be back Friday to get started.”

…

It’s late Thursday afternoon and the lunch rush has come and gone. I’m manning the last remaining table while Audrey takes a smoke break. After the customers leave, I take a seat in one of the booths and kick up my tired feet. It feels so good to finally get a break that I don’t move when Audrey returns. I close my eyes and rest my head on the back of the booth.

“Tired, Al?” she asks while refilling napkin dispensers.

“Do you know how exhausting it is to keep up with homework and studying, Mom and her issues, while this place is slowly sucking my soul, one cup of coffee at a time?”

“You know what would solve that?”

I raise my head and look at her, knowing what comes next.

“Sex!” she says, leaning forward. “It’s a great stress reliever, you know. Go get you some!” Audrey waggles her eyebrows and I can’t help but laugh.

I take a deep breath before confessing. “I’ve decided on another plan of action.”

She drops her stack of napkins and slides into the bench opposite me, knocking my feet to the floor. “Oh, do tell.”

“I don’t want you to overreact, Audrey.”

“Who me?” She honestly sounds offended. “Spill it, Al.”

“I’ve decided that I’m going to go after Logan Sawyer,” I say. The words sound awkward and weak. I realize this is the first time I’ve said it out loud and I don’t sound convinced.

“Well, hot damn! It’s about time,” Audrey says, clapping her hands. “I can just see your story now. You two will have a fall wedding, then there will be little redhead kids running around with Logan’s blue eyes. You’ll have holidays with the sheriff and Auntie Audrey will spoil them rotten.”

I sit up and wave my hands in front of her face. “Earth to Audrey. What planet are you on? Before all that, we’ve got to have our Page One—at least some conversation. And I’ve already failed at that for thirteen years. I mean, where do I even start? I’ve got no game.”

She stands, pulls me out of the booth, and holds on to my shoulders while looking me right in the eyes. “Angela Louise, this negative attitude is half of your problem. Smile,” she says, poking me in the ribs.

I grunt and give her the best smile I can manage.

“I don’t want the smile you give your grandma when she gives you a ten-dollar check for your birthday. I want the smile that says, ‘I’m intelligent. I’m sexy. And I will give you a cat bath with my tongue.’ ”

After adjusting my face a few times, I settle on something that feels completely awkward.

“There! That’s it. Now hold that face,” she says before spinning me. “Because Logan just pulled up.”

“What?”

Audrey shoves me toward the door and takes off running to the back of the diner where she disappears into the back room. Some wingman she is.

I smooth down the front of my uniform, tighten my ponytail, and take my place behind the front counter. Logan makes his way inside, the bell clanging against the door, announcing his arrival. My fingers fidget with the utensils and napkin I’ve already set out for him, while my pulse spikes and I already feel sweaty.

I haven’t made eye contact yet, because saying you’ll do something and actually doing it are totally different things. I was so sure I was ready for this, but as it turns out, I’m still that little girl with a crush and no confidence to do anything about it.

“Hi,” he says, taking a seat in front of me, laying his hat on the next seat.

I finally look up and he’s looking back. There’s none of his usual pretending to browse the menu even though he orders the same thing every time. His crisp blue eyes hold mine and I’ve forgotten how to speak.

“Uh, hey,” I respond.

Logan’s gaze flicks to my nametag and back to my face.

“Angela Louise.” He gives me a smile—and it’s definitely not a smile for his grandma.

“It’s just Angela. I mean my name is Angela Louise, but no one calls me that.”

I take out my order pad and pen, just to occupy my shaking hands. My brain is furiously working to figure out if he is actually flirting or just being friendly. Am I so clueless that I can’t differentiate between the two? I glance at the swinging door, begging Audrey to come back, but she doesn’t.

“Angela is great, too,” he says.

There’s something different about the way he’s looking at me today. It’s new and unnerving, like a secret I’ve not been let in on. All these years, I’ve wished that he would look at me like this—really see me, and now that he does, I’m not so sure I like it.

“Cheeseburger and fries?” I stare at my order pad like the coward I am. Even with the distraction, I can still feel his eyes on me. The way his gaze rakes over me, it feels like fingers across my flesh. It makes my cheeks burn and my insides rattle.

“Yes. Cheeseburger and fries. I guess I’m boring and predictable, huh?”

Another smirk and—was that a wink? Oh god. I don’t know if he was winking, or maybe it was a regular blink and I missed the other eye. Holy shit, I’m such a dork.

After jotting down his order, I deliver it to the cook’s window and return with a glass of sweet tea. His smile today is also different. I pray that it’s not just me projecting my wishes onto an unsuspecting man. I decide I don’t care. I promised myself—and Audrey—that I would pursue Logan Sawyer, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.

“Predictable? Maybe,” I answer, resting my elbows on the counter between us. “Boring? I highly doubt it.”

Logan’s eyes finally leave mine as his radio crackles. He listens for a few seconds before switching it off and giving me his undivided attention. “Now, how would you know?” he asks.

“Are you serious right now? The whole town knows everything you do. Your reputation precedes you.”

“Well, this town likes to think they know me. Maybe I sit at home with my fourteen cats, eating Hot Pockets and watching reruns of The Office every night.”

My eyes widen and I slap my hands to my cheeks. “You too? Oh my god, we must be soul mates.”

Logan’s eyes shine as he tips his head back and laughs. It’s a glorious sight, a glimpse into the childhood boy I swooned over. He’s so carefree, so at ease. Meanwhile, it’s a complete opposite situation on my side of the counter. My heart is pounding, my fingers trembling. There may even be boob sweat.

“I went by your mom’s house on Sunday,” he says after sipping his tea.

“Really? I didn’t know you guys were friends.” I hope my voice sounds surprised, but I’m not sure I’m a great actor. I’ve been told I’m a terrible liar.

“Ha. We’re not. It was in an official capacity. She called the station, complaining of a prowler.”

“Oh,” I say, blowing my bangs from my eyes. “It was probably nothing.”

Logan nods. “I didn’t find anything, but she seemed convinced there was someone. I know it’s none of my business, but this is Crowley and rumors fly, you know? Has she been like that since your dad died? Locked up in the house?”

That’s a loaded question and I don’t want to steer this conversation to the complicated happenings of Jean Lavelle. Maybe it’s those baby blues of his, but for some reason I find myself answering him. “She hasn’t left the house since Daddy’s funeral. She has her good days and bad days. And for the most part she does just fine, but, to be honest, she hasn’t been the same since then.” I catch myself and see those eyes that made me bare my soul crinkle with concern. “But she’s probably a little lonely with me working and going to school and all. Maybe she just wanted some company.”

“Well, she did invite me in for coffee. Even mentioned you.”

I lean against the back counter and cross my arms. “And what did she have to say?”

Logan stretches his arms wide before muffling a yawn. The tan muscles of his arms strain against his uniform and I am mesmerized. His hair is a little longer than normal, curling up on the ends. It adds a bit of boyishness to his otherwise very manly appearance. “She made sure to bring up that you were single,” he says, one eyebrow arched higher than the other.

I roll my eyes, still pretending that I didn’t hear that whole conversation. “Of course she did. The woman hasn’t left the house in years and still manages to try to set me up with the first guy who comes along.”

“Hey, I’m probably not the first guy. I bet she sees Marvin every day. She’s probably told him all about you, too.”

“The sixty-year-old postman? Oh. Be still, my heart.” I dramatically clasp my hands over my chest. “He could probably get me all the free stamps I need. Actually, that wouldn’t be so bad. I hear older men are better in bed anyway.”

Logan laughs before gulping down half of his drink. I take a much needed deep breath and exhale slowly. The air is thick, a sort of sexual tension tying us together, and for once, it is not one-sided.

“I don’t know about older men being better. They may have experience, but I feel like I make up for that with effort.”

Ding.

I scurry away to retrieve his food, leaving behind that cocky grin and the last bit of my ability to play coy. This is a whole new level of flirting. I feel lost and out of my league, but hopeful at the same time. I take a few extra seconds before delivering his plate along with a bottle of ketchup and some napkins. Our eyes connect, this time over a cheeseburger and fries, and I realize this has become awkward. One of us should say something. I count to five. He doesn’t move.

Finally, I open my mouth, but Audrey bursts through the door before I can say anything.

“Hey there, Deputy Sawyer!” she says before sliding up next to me and bumping my hip with hers. “You can take a break now, Al. I got this.”

“Oh, I don’t need a break. I’m good.”

She gives me another nudge. “Sure you do. Been on your feet all day. Take a quick five,” she repeats while pressing her lips together and shifting her eyes towards the back room. I’m sure this is supposed to be code for something, but I can’t translate face talk.

Logan’s gaze bounces between the two of us as he takes a huge bite of burger. She all but shoves me towards the swinging door before I can say another word.

I push through the door with a bit too much force. It slams into the wall and swings closed behind me. Dropping into a chair in the back room, I throw my head into my hands.

Why did she send me away? She’s supposed to be helping, not cock blocking. Is that even a thing for women?

My knee bounces up and down, vibrating the chair. I stay there as long as I can stand it, which adds up to approximately sixty seconds. When I’ve lost all patience, I jump from the chair and rush to my locker. I pull out my compact and check my face in the mirror. I look tired.

“Would you like to go out sometime?” I watch the words roll from my lips and wonder if I’ll ever have the balls to say them to Logan. I practice again, this time pasting on a smile afterwards. It’s not a good smile. It’s desperate and anxious, doing nothing to build my confidence. “Want to have meaningless sex and make a small town girl’s dream come true?” I try again, before rolling my eyes and slamming the compact closed.

The bell dings out front and I panic. What if that was Logan leaving?

I throw myself into the diner and scan the counter. Logan looks up from his burger and gives me a grin while chewing. It wasn’t Logan leaving but another few customers entering. Audrey is busy refilling ketchup bottles. I suppress the need to sigh with relief as an old man takes a seat a few spots down from Logan and the couple chooses a table.

Grabbing the pitcher of sweet tea, I refill Logan’s glass, hoping to rekindle the flirtatious vibe we had before I was sent away. He gives me a nod of thanks and goes back to his food.

I frown and turn my attention to my new customer. “What can I get you today?” I ask.

“I believe I’ve had everything on the menu,” he says. “Time to start over, I guess.”

I laugh. “That’s a lot of diner food. What keeps you coming back? The food or the company?”

He gives me a smile and folds the menu closed. “Both, I suppose.”

Once the old man’s order is placed, I decide to busy myself by wiping down menus near the kitchen drop off window. I glare daggers at Audrey as she saunters behind the counter to prepare her table’s drinks. She hums a cheerful tune while ignoring my scowl.

“What was that?” I ask in a whisper.

“What?”

“Sending me away.” I wipe another menu and slap it down on the clean stack. “Now I’ve lost my mojo and it’s weird.”

Audrey props a hand on her hip. “I was doing you a favor, kid.”

“A favor?” I say too loud. “Things were going good, Audrey.”

“I know. But he comes in here at least two or three times a week. And when things are good, you always leave them wanting more. So, I sent you away. Just so you know, it worked. He hasn’t taken his eyes off of you since you got back. You’re welcome, Sugar Tits,” she sings.

I glance up at Logan. He quickly looks away before throwing a few fries in his mouth.

“Whatever,” I say, feeling hope spark again. “You totally cock blocked me.”

“No, we’re ladies. I clam jammed you,” Audrey finishes.

I gesture wildly for her to continue, but she sets the drinks on her tray and heads off to deliver them. Logan’s plate is almost empty and I feel this opportunity slipping away.

I straighten my apron and walk over to stand before him again. He’s still looking. I’m still smiling. But something has changed. I don’t know if it’s a bad change or a good change, but I feel it.

“All done?” I ask.

“Yep. Delicious as always.” He crumples his napkin and tosses it onto the nearly empty plate.

My mind scrambles for conversation, something to keep him here, anything to keep his eyes on me for a few more minutes. “You want some dessert? We’ve got pie.”

He ducks his chin and rubs at the back of his neck. “You know my weakness,” he says. “Wait. You’re not trying to bribe me for anything, are you? That didn’t turn out so well for Old Man Jennings’ granddaughter in the pageant.”

I laugh. “Nope. Not me. Just trying to make sure every customer is satisfied when they leave Millie’s Diner. So, apple or cherry?”

Logan stands, places his hat on his head, and throws twenty dollars on the counter. “No pie today,” he says.

My heart plummets inside my chest and I try to keep the disappointment off my face.

I pick up his plate and cup to keep myself busy. “Well, have a good day, Deputy.”

He tips his hat. “Same to you, Angela.”

And with that, he is gone. I stand there, holding dirty dishes, as the bell dings and he climbs into his patrol car. I throw his plate into a kitchen bucket behind the counter, empty the ice into the sink, and add it to the pile. My mind spins out of control with the what if’s and the disappointment of another missed encounter to just pull the trigger and ask him out. What am I so afraid of? I groan, because I know the answer to that—rejection. As long as Logan exists as this unattainable man, there’s always hope that he could be mine someday. If I actually pursue him and he’s not interested, well then, all hope is gone.

The bells rings again and I put Logan out of my mind, knowing I’ve got two more hours of my shift left. I turn to greet the customer only to find Logan standing there. His eyes are serious now, no smile.

“Did you forget something?” I ask, glancing down the counter to where he was seated.

“Yes,” he says. Logan removes his hat and holds it against his chest. “Would you like to have dinner with me Saturday night?”

All of the dreams and plans for what I would say or do in this situation are abandoned as I feel the air leave my lungs. I ignore the urge to look around for help, because I haven’t answered him yet. Blood drains from the rest of my body and rushes to my cheeks. I feel like I might possibly be dying, but not before I go out with Logan Sawyer.

“Yes,” I finally say.

His smile returns. His hat is placed back on his head. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

This time I watch him leave the diner, hear the bell ding, and follow his car as it turns left onto Main Street. I’m in shock and denial at the same time. My feet don’t move as I stand there, staring at the spot he’d occupied.

Audrey passes by, slipping Logan’s twenty-dollar bill into my apron pocket.

“Page One,” she says. “Logan Sawyer didn’t want pie. He wanted Angela.”