Page 17 of Knowing Amelia

“Oh…” I tuck a stray hair behind my ear and nibble on my lip. “I just don’t understand why. I loved the natural flooring; the planks were beautiful.” In truth, I don’t remember those floors. At all. I remember they were hard and uncomfortable. Because when visiting, Grayson and I camped out on the hardwood.

He smiles, producing that dimple once more. “Well, neighbor, if you need something, let me know.”

“Thanks.” I clasp my hands together, liking the word neighbor in his voice more than I should. “I won’t be living here though. I don’t know what I’m going to do with the place.”

He nods in understanding. “Good night.”

“Yeah. See you.” My heart aches. Stupid, I know, but I don’t want him to go. It’s Logan.

Nine

Funeral day.

I look over my tailored suit as best I can in the small bathroom mirror. The steam from my shower smoothed out a few wrinkles. Mom bought me the jet-black pencil skirt, white silk blouse, and black jacket after I tried them on and fell in love. I call it my interview outfit—though I haven’t had a need for it yet.

I straighten one last lock of hair when a knock sounds on the front door. Dad. His old home and he still won’t just walk in. That’s fine. I’m feeling a bit protective of the place. I touch up my lip gloss, making him wait thirty seconds longer.

I walk downstairs, purposely not rushing. He’s early. Opening up like I own the place, because I do, I stand in the doorway, one hand on my hip.

Only quite the opposite of my father stands before me.

Logan.

This time, clean-shaven, dressed in a crisp white button-up and black slacks. His dark curls swirl in a more purposeful way. The man knows how to clean up.

“Logan,” I say, my lips forming a smile. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve been feeling guilty. Not only did I scare you last night, but I also never offered my condolences. How are you holding up?” He shoves his hands into his pockets. “Can I do anything for you? Your grandmother was a dear friend to me. I feel horrible I was so atrocious to her granddaughter.”

I wave away his comment, my cheeks aching with the grin his presence produces. I can’t help it. I never thought I’d actually meet him. “You were making sure her home was secure. I’m sure she would have appreciated that. And I’m okay. Thank you—from both of us.”

His cheeks swell and his lips melt into a smile. “Are you⁠—”

Across the room, Ben’s ringtone sings from my phone. “Uh, one minute. Can you wait just one minute? It’s my boyfriend—I should answer it.”

“Of course,” he says with an understanding nod. “Go ahead.”

I motion to Amelia’s corduroy couch, and Logan crosses the threshold of the house and takes a seat. Shuffling into the adjoining room, I answer the phone. “Hello?”

“When are you coming home to me?” Ben whines.

“Hey, Ben.”

But he’s not calling for hellos.

“I’m serious, how soon until you leave?”

I trace my finger over the countertop and stretch my neck, trying to peek at the guest in Amelia’s living room. But I’m too far into the kitchen. My only view is the dining room. “Aren’t you basking in the bliss of work?”

“Actually,” he says with a laugh, “I am.”

I laugh too. He’s just so excited. “Or, maybe you’re slacking off with the boss gone?”

But Ben doesn’t joke about work. “I’m on break, honey. You know I don’t slack.”

“Oh, I am very aware!” I take three steps into the dining space until I can see the model—I mean man—sitting on Amelia’s couch.

“So?” His whine is back.