Page 28 of Knowing Amelia

Floorboards.

My lip trembles behind a grin, and my eyes prick with tears as I stare at the wooden flooring.

Looking at me warily, Logan’s grin is sorrowful. He gives the carpet one more yank, flips over the pad, revealing even more hardwood. Tears spill over onto my cheeks. “It needs work,” he says, his tone soft. “But it’s here.”

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. The boards need refurbishing, it’s true, but I’m not seeing a floor. I see a memory—my grandmother all those years ago, down on her knees, crying for someone I’ve never heard of.

“Are you okay?”

I can’t explain my emotion. So, I nod again.

“I can help you with this tomorrow.”

“Sure,” I say, finding my voice. Prying my eyes from the floor, I peer at Logan—the boy next door. “Thank you so much.”

Brushing his hands on the thighs of his jeans, his dimples indent. “Anything for Amelia Benson’s granddaughter.”

My heart leaps anxiously with his words and goosebumps erupt over my skin. I’m not sure what to say to that. So, I ignore the smell of his faint cologne and the way the muscles in his arm pop when he combs his fingers through his tousled hair. Instead, I shift my gaze back to the wooden floor before me.

“I should go.”

I bite my lip, ready to be alone with Amelia’s floorboards. “Thank you for dinner,” I say, walking him to the door. “And for your help with the carpet. You might be the perfect neighbor, Logan.” Anxious nerves spread through my body, giving me jittery hands and making me laugh like an idiot. “Can you keep it up for another day?”

He just smiles but doesn’t answer my silly question.

We step outside, and I breathe in the clean, crisp Wyoming air. My eyes lock on my favorite part of Amelia’s house: the elm tree. It happens to be the only thing separating her house from Logan’s. Which feels oddly appropriate. I shuffle my feet, torn between a little more time with Logan and the waiting floorboards.

It’s a quiet evening. Nothing like the city where I live.

Logan waves before starting across the yard.

A light breeze rustles by, and I rub away the goosebumps it produces. I feel as if I’m in a game of tug-of-war and I happen to be the rope. Floorboards or Logan? Floorboards or Logan? I swallow and call, “So, how far away is the market?”

He halts, looking back at me. “How far is Farmer’s?”

“Yeah. Before you came by, I was planning on walking there to get a few things. How far will I have to juggle groceries?” My insides knot with the dumb question. I have other things to do. But when will I see him again, if ever? He’s been this strange and special part of my Amelia memory, and it’s difficult watching him walk away.

“You’re walking to the grocery store?” He runs a hand over his five o’clock shadow. “Your dad left, right? How are you planning on getting home?”

I tap the dirt at my feet. “I’ll take the bus home.” I don’t want to think about that yet. “A bus comes through, right? Greyhound?”

Logan chuckles. “Uhh, no.”

Crap. Maybe I haven’t thought this through. How am I getting home?

He leans his shoulder against the tree. “Cody has a bus though.”

“Okay… can I rent a car here?”

“Not in Rendezvous. I guess you’re stuck here.” He lifts his brows, teasing me again. “I’ll give you a ride, Olivia.”

I pinch my bottom lip between my teeth and let out a squeak. “Home?” I can just imagine Dad and Ben’s reaction. I’m home! And I’ve brought a man with me.

“No.” He breathes out another laugh. “To Cody. And to the store.”

“Oh—right.” Duh. “Thank you, Logan.” Are normal people this thoughtful? “Goodnight.”

I back up into Amelia’s front door, watching him cross the yard to his little yellow house. Then I’m back inside, musk and cinnamon filling my senses.