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)
“What aren’t you telling me?” I frowned. “What about your teaching? Are you giving that up?”
He stood. “I can’t—I mean, I want to, but…” He trailed off, obviously frustrated. “I can’t blow this.”
I grabbed his hand in understanding. “It’s okay. You can tell me soon?”
He held my hand to his heart. I could feel the rapid beat under my palm. “Yes, I promise. I will tell you everything.”
“Then I’ll wait.”
He bent and kissed me. “Thank you.” His lips pressed harder, and with a sigh, I opened to him.
His phone buzzed, and he groaned, touching his forehead to mine. “It never stops these days.”
I had noticed it going off more than usual, but I had put it down to his new teaching gig. I had no idea his talk with Carmen had gone so far, so quickly.
He scanned the screen and heaved a sigh. “I have to go.”
I tamped down my disappointment. “Okay.”
“I’ll try to come back later?”
I slid my hands up his chest, slipping them around his neck. “You have a key.”
He beamed. “I do.”
“I’ll be here.”
“That’s all I need to know.”
Hours later, I gave up. I hadn’t heard from Logan and he hadn’t replied to my text, so I assumed whatever took him away was keeping him occupied. I went for a long walk, the lure of the swirling snow in the dark too much to resist. I’d left a note in case he showed up, but it was still propped against the bowl on the hall table, so I knew he hadn’t seen it.
Chilled and feeling a little sad, I poured a hot bath, throwing in some lavender salts. I brought a glass of wine and my wireless speaker into the bathroom and selected a soothing playlist. I slipped into the tub, shivering as the warm water lapped at my cold skin. I had walked longer than I realized. I wiggled my toes, took a sip of my wine, and laid my head back, letting the music relax me.
Or at least, that was my plan. The music didn’t soothe. It reminded me I hadn’t heard from Logan. What was he doing? What plans was he making? How would this affect him? Us?
I sat up in the water. If they signed him, he’d record an album. There was no doubt it would be a hit. That meant more time in the studio. Probably a tour. He’d be gone. Living a dream he never thought he would see come to fruition.
I was torn.
I was thrilled for him—he was so talented, he deserved to have his songs heard. Yet, I wondered what it meant for us. We were still new. He was going to be busy. Crazy busy. Writing, touring, press—all of it.
The one sip of wine I’d had turned sour in my stomach. He’d be gone, and I’d be here. Once again alone, stuck in a job I hated, and knowing the one bright spot in my life was somewhere else in the world. Traitorous tears streaked down my face.
What if I became a part of his past? The woman he serenaded and moved on from? Would I become a distant memory, someone he recalled in his thanks on the back of a CD cover? Would he remember me at all?
I wiped away my tears, impatient. I was being silly. Where were these thoughts coming from? This was Logan. My Logan. My protector and lover. Success wasn’t going to change him. We could survive distance and periods of separation. I was certain of it.
Once he told me everything, we would discuss it—together. Logan was open and honest. We’d figure it out. I shook my head to clear my thoughts. I was being overdramatic and silly. One unanswered text was not the end of my relationship with Logan.
My head agreed. My heart, however, ached. I got out of the bath and dumped the glass of wine. What I needed to relax wasn’t available.
And that, right there, was the problem.
I tossed and turned all night, my subconscious refusing to shut up. Logan was going to be too busy for me now. He was going to be traveling. The calls and texts that would start as soon as he left, telling me how much he missed me, would dwindle and become sporadic and less personal. Then they would stop.
I would become a memory to him.
He would be another person who left me.
I tried to shake off the moroseness that surrounded me, but I found it difficult. I had never been what I would consider an overly emotional person. I never showed my anger or irritation at work. I rarely lost patience with people. I didn’t cry at pictures of puppies or shed many tears at the end of a romantic movie.
Yet lately, I’d had to bite my tongue several times. Count to ten before responding to a question. Tears came, unbidden and unwelcome, at the strangest times.