Page 76 of Knowing Amelia

Wide-eyed, I look at Logan and silently plead for help.

But he doesn’t offer to rescue me. He doesn’t volunteer to be the sacrifice in my place. No, he winks, laughs, and nods me on.

What. Is. Happening?

I lock my gaze on him until my eyes are dry and Logan’s face is going fuzzy. I’ll kill him later—fewer witnesses.

Our host, whose name I can’t come up with, waves me on. “Come on up here, Olivia!”

And the crowd gives a holler of approval.

Well, crap.

I take a swig of Coke, wishing it were something stronger, and make my way onto Ruthie’s stage.

“What’ll it be, Miss Benson?” the DJ asks. “Are you a country superstar?”

I run a hand down my face, hearing Logan’s twangy music in my head. “Oh sure. I’m a regular Loretta Lynn,” I say, thinking about the old movie, Coal Miner’s Daughter, that Grandma Isle made me watch every Fourth of July. Sarcasm drips from my every syllable. I’m not a singer. And if they make me do this, they will regret it. “Isn’t there someone else who—” I start, but all at once acoustic guitar and tapping drums boom from the speakers.

Then words string across the old TV screen on stage.

Well, I was born the coal miner’s daughter…

I whirl on our host, heart thrumming. “Wait!” Racing to the edge of the stage where the man now stands on the floor, I snag a hold of his collar. “Joe got Billy Joel, Ken sang Madonna! Classics.”

“It doesn’t get more classic than Loretta.” He nods. “Go on, now.”

I sway awkwardly, rereading the words on the screen, the lights in the bar blazing down on me.

“Sing it, Miss Benson!”

I squint into the crowd. But the only person I see is Logan. I’ve known the man for mere weeks. How is it possible that, by looking at him, I feel like maybe I can survive this?

Off-tune and low, I go into the song, remembering the words, thanks to Grandma Isle. “We were poor, but we had love,” I half sing, half speak.

A hoot sounds from the crowd—Logan. He’s smiling at me.

My heart skips with the indent of his dimple. I don’t know if it’s the dimple or the smile or simply girlish memories and song lyrics running through my brain, but I raise my chin, strengthen my voice, and sing.

Twenty-Nine

The kitchen lights are off, and the single dim lamp in Amelia’s dining room creates a quiet, peaceful atmosphere that makes me speak in hushed tones. “Thank you for tonight. It was fun.”

“Did it get your mind off things?”

I pull in a breath. “Oh yes. All the things.”

“Good. Then, I’ll just allow you to keep thinking that I asked you out to distract you.”

I smirk and sit in the chair beside him at my little kitchen table.

“Your nerves were just a good excuse.”

Fighting a grin, I reach for his hand. How can something so new feel so right?

I understand that things with Benjamin ended not all that long ago. That I should be grieving or healing or—something. And yet—it’s Logan. It’s like I’ve known him since he was that curly-haired kid playing soccer. “As if you ever need an excuse,” I say, wishing my endless wish—that he’d kiss me. I picture his large warm hand cupping my cheek, drawing my lips to his.

I flutter my eyes closed and⁠—