Page 53 of Knowing Amelia

“She did.” I inch closer.

“She never explained?” He runs a hand through his hair, his expression thoughtful.

“We didn’t have that kind of relationship. She saw me and I ran, afraid of what she might do.” I shrug—it’s not the first time I’ve wondered what would have happened if I’d let her explain herself that day, if I hadn’t run away. “I never gave her a chance to explain.”

“You were a child. I can’t believe you kept this to yourself.” He gazes out into space, still pondering.

“I guess it’s strange, but I just couldn’t tell on her. Maybe I would have, but later that day, we had a small moment together. I was setting the table for dinner. No one else was around, though my family had returned. She asked me about my books. She behaved so differently than her normal grouchy self, and, I don’t know, for the first time we sort of connected.”

“And now?” His brows pull together as if he’s worried for her.

“And now, I’ve told you. Only you.” I squeeze my folded fingers together. “Her friend. Someone she trusted—and someone I trust. I don’t know that I’ll tell anyone else. I guess it all depends in the end.”

“Depends on what?”

“When I opened the floorboards, I found her things.”

The green in Logan’s eyes glistens as his eyes widen in surprise.

“I found her box. It has pictures and a diary from her twenties. I’ve been reading her journal. It’s fascinating and sweet. It’s an Amelia I never knew existed.” I sink into the couch, exhausted by my confessions.

“Has she mentioned Seth?” This time, he leans closer to me. He’s already invested, making me glad I chose to share with him.

“Yes!” I say, feeding off his energy. “She has. And there’s a picture of him.” I can’t talk fast enough now.

“Wow.” His hand scrubs over the whiskers on his chin and his eyes search the ground. “This doesn’t seem like the Amelia I know.”

“Doesn’t it? You only knew about one of her sons, yet she has three, as well as five grandchildren. She was private—you must have noticed that.”

“She was private, but not secretive. She was part of this community. It’s not just me. We all loved her.”

He looks sad, like he’s missing her, like his heart is aching. The thought of Logan hurting possesses me to reach for his falling face. I cup a hand to his cheek, his five o’clock shadow pressing into my palm. “I loved her too. I didn’t know her well, but she is my family. And I want to understand her.”

Logan’s calloused hand covers mine. “You’re like her, you know.”

I tilt my head, peering into those hazel-green eyes. I don’t see that. Besides maybe our love for classic literature.

He stares back, swallowing me whole. “She was kind and genuine. Forgiving.” His words catch in his throat, like he’s missing her.

I’ve inched so close to him, and with his sorrowful face in my hold, it seems so natural, so right, to comfort him with a kiss. I cup both his cheeks, peer into his eyes, and with the warmth of his breath on my skin, I lift my mouth to his.

Logan’s arms slide around my back as his lips respond to my touch. What started as a tender gesture takes an unexpected turn—one I’m not complaining about. I link my arms around his neck, my fingers tangling in his hair as that comforting peck grows longer, deeper, and so much sweeter.

Logan is like a soothing balm I’ve been needing my entire life, and if it weren’t for my need to breathe, I might never break our connection. I pull away and peer at him, my head spinning with drunk, delicious thoughts.

It’s possible I’ve made a huge mistake. But what that mistake is exactly… I’m not sure.

I bite my lip, inches from his, my arms still draped around him. “Um… sorry?”

His eyes sparkle, challenging me. “Don’t say that. Not unless you mean it.” His hands around me tighten.

“Ah…” What can I say? I’m not sorry. I very much enjoyed kissing Logan. Even if making a move on your very new friend is a no-no. So— “Can I still use your computer?” I ask, drawing my arms back.

He sighs, rolling his neck. Then, scrubbing a hand down his face, he peers into my eyes. “Yes. You may use my computer.”

Alone, in Logan’s spare room, I spend the next half hour googling. I print the information I need, then return to Logan in his living room, reading. Whew. It’s a magical sight.

“I should go. It’s late.” Night came quick. And I work tomorrow.