Page 16 of Knowing Amelia

“Key,” he says, holding up a key on the same kind of homemade tasseled keyring as mine. “I saw the light on, and I thought some kids were fooling around in here. You clearly aren’t from Rendezvous—I should have realized then…” His arms uncross and his accusing glare turns boyish. He rakes a hand through his dark curls before holding it out to me. “I’m Logan.”

“Eep!” I jump at the sound of his name. “Logan!” It can’t be. He cannot be the boy I remember from all those years ago. I stare at him a minute longer before dropping my knife and phone to the counter and setting my sweaty palm in his.

His brows furrow. “Have we met?”

“Oh, no. Nope.” I shake my head, reiterating more no’s than anyone ever should. “You’re Logan and I… I am Olivia.”

“Yeah, you mentioned that.” He smiles, and a dimple forms in his cheek. Whew. If I weren’t a very taken woman, I’d be noticing a whole lot of things right now.

This is crazy. Sure, the man is good-looking, but I’ve had this perfect, two-stories-up, top-of-the-head, eleven-year-old image of Logan in my mind for years. And now here he is, standing in front of me.

Can you be starstruck with someone who isn’t a star? Just a regular ol’ guy. Apparently, I can. This isn’t going to bode well for my I’m a mature, grown-up, non-crazy person mantra.

Brushing his hands down the sides of his jeans, he gives me a sheepish look. “I’m sorry I startled you.”

“It’s all right.” I can’t even fake being upset. It’s Logan, all grown up.

He shoves both hands into his pants pockets and rocks on the balls of his feet. “So, Amelia left you her place?”

“She did.”

“I didn’t even know she had a granddaughter.”

His words sting. They shouldn’t, and yet they do. “I didn’t know she had an overprotective neighbor.” I bark out a laugh. But I can’t keep the bite from my tone. No one knew about me. Why would she leave me this house when she never kept in touch or told anyone I existed? Did she ever think of me? Or was my name simply an afterthought in that will and testament?

A breathy chortle falls from his lips. “I didn’t mean to insult you. Clearly, you must have been close.”

He might as well be rubbing salt into my already stinging wound. I grin and avoid the topic altogether. “She has three granddaughters.”

“Really?” Genuine surprise flitters across his face.

“And a couple of grandsons.”

“I knew she had sons. Red and another⁠—”

“Two more,” I say. “Earl, and my dad, Jonathon. I guess it’s safe to say she didn’t talk about us much then, huh?”

“Truthfully”—he runs a hand over the stubble on his chin—“not at all.”

All at once I feel like the intruder. It’s clear that Logan knew Amelia better than I ever would. Afraid to look in his eyes, I let my gaze drop. Which has me staring at the man’s stomach. Not wanting to gawk at his abs—that dumb tight T-shirt tells me they are glorious, though I didn’t ask; that top is basically shouting at me—I shift my eyes down once more. Like a lit fuse, fire spreads into my face and over each of my limbs. Did I just check him out—head to toe? I cannot do that! I am a girl with a very nice boyfriend—a boyfriend who never wants to get married. But still, I care deeply for Benjamin. And one day we’ll… unite?

Ugh. This is all that dumb T-shirt’s fault.

I speed past Logan, my eyes focusing on the living room entrance. “I didn’t mean to worry you or take you away from your evening,” I say, my nerves bouncing around like bottle rockets.

“I’m just thankful it was you. I’m very happy to meet you, Olivia.”

I force my gaze up to meet his, and his green-brown eyes lock on mine.

“This place hasn’t changed in probably fifty years,” he says, more to himself than to me. His tone is sad. I think he’s missing her. His eyes linger on the chair in the corner, her crossword puzzle still on the armrest.

I rub my hands together, keeping them busy, which seems better than my crazy urge to console him. “Except for the carpet.” The beige rug would never stop offending me. It had destroyed all my hopes of finding Amelia’s secrets.

“That’s right. She put that in…” He drags a hand through his dark curls, the bicep that I’m absolutely not looking at flexing with the action. “Five or six years ago.”

Why didn’t she leave her house to him? He knows all about her. My tired eyes shut at the thought. “Ugh. Unfortunately.”

“Sorry?”