Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 88709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 355(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 355(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
He held me harder, then eased back. “You’ll have to tell me all about him.”
“Really?”
“You can talk to me about anything, Lottie. Obviously, you loved him—you still do—so of course I want to know about him.”
“I’d like that. But not today. I want today to be about us.”
He traced a finger down my cheek. “Okay. Whenever you want.”
He clasped my hand in his. “Now, I’m ready for breakfast.”
“Sounds good.”
Logan led me to another small restaurant, where he was obviously well-known. He was greeted warmly, and he led me to a booth in the corner. I sat down, unzipping my coat and inhaling the scent of coffee and sugar hanging in the air.
“Do they know you in every diner in the city?” I teased.
He chuckled. “Only about four. I sub at the school a few blocks over. I usually stop for breakfast on the days I work there. I love their waffles. Great coffee too.”
My mouth began to water. Waffles. I couldn’t recall the last time I’d had waffles. My mom used to make them when we were kids—they were Josh’s favorite. After he died, she never made them again.
“Lottie?” Logan’s worried voice interrupted my thoughts.
I shook my head to clear it. “Waffles sound perfect.”
He ordered each of us waffles and added a plate of bacon to share. I sipped the hot coffee, enjoying the strong brew.
Logan drank his faster, emptying his mug. The waitress reappeared and set a carafe on our table, then walked away looking amused.
“They know you well.”
“I sometimes mark papers while I’m here. They know how much coffee I drink.” He winked and filled his cup and sat back. “You don’t do too bad yourself.”
“Caffeine is the only thing that gets me through some days,” I admitted.
“What do you do, exactly?”
I looked past him through the window. It was still snowing lightly, the white glittering in the sun as it drifted down to the ground. I disliked talking about my job, but I forced myself to give a quick explanation.
“I’m part of a group that works with investors on a project. We present and bring them into a new investment opportunity, and basically hold their hand until it is done. We meet with them, keep them up-to-date, calm their fears, ask them for more money at times. It varies. Sometimes it’s short—a few weeks or months, other times longer, depending on the size of the project. I spend most of my time doing research and supplying the team with the information. It’s my job to know each project inside and out. I have to be ready to answer any question the client, the investor, a team member, or my father asks.”
“Sounds like a lot of stress.”
“It is.”
“And you do it because…?” He trailed off.
“Because I have to.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “You have to?”
“It’s expected of me.”
“That’s a huge responsibility to have on your shoulders.”
I hated discussing my job. Simply thinking about it these days made me feel ill. I was grateful to see the waitress approaching, and I forced a smile to my face. “Oh, here’s breakfast.”
Logan took the hint. “Good. I’m starving.”
The waffles were amazing. Light and fluffy, yet crispy. Logan watched, bemused, as I drowned the waffle in butter and syrup and took my first bite, groaning at the delicious explosion of sweetness.
“Oh my god,” I mumbled. “I’d forgotten how good waffles were.”
He cut into his, devouring his plate of food. I ate slower, but I did manage to eat almost three-quarters of the large waffle on my plate plus two pieces of bacon. Logan finished off what I couldn’t eat.
“Are you a bottomless pit?”
“Most of the time.” He met my gaze, his eyes serious. “I know hunger, Lottie. I never want to experience it again.”
My heart stuttered at the pained look in his soulful eyes. I covered his hand with mine. “I’m sorry.”
He frowned. “Don’t feel sorry for me.”
“I’m not,” I insisted. “I feel empathy.” I looked down at the table, tracing the scarred wood with one finger. “I know a hunger of a different kind. It’s called loneliness.”
He flipped his hand over, squeezing mine. “I know.”
I met his eyes. “You do?”
“I saw it in your eyes the first time I played for you.”
For a moment, our gazes locked, sharing a quiet, intimate moment of pain. Warm, understanding whiskey stared into my troubled blue. I was certain Logan looked right through me into my soul, seeing all the pain and worry, the abandonment and fear I had experienced. And somehow, with that gentle look, eased a small part of it away.
I blinked, and the moment was gone. The noise of the diner surrounded me again, but the warmth of Logan’s hand never left mine.
He hunched over the table. “We have a lot to learn about each other, Lottie. Today is just the start. How about we make it a rule that today—this gloriously sunny, snowy day we have together—is only about now. Only today. It’ll be the day we look back on years from now as our start. I want it to be a good one.”