Page 111 of Tattered (Lark Cove 1)
“Sorry. I’m out of tequila at the moment.” He sighed. “Why didn’t you tell me about the emails? Or Giovanni’s?”
I shrugged. “Neither is that big of a deal. I’m used to taking shit from people and letting it roll off.”
“No, not anymore. You don’t take shit from anyone.”
“I work at a bar, gorgeous.” I patted his stomach with my free hand. “It’s going to happen.”
“Those emails are serious, Thea. We need to find out who is sending them. I won’t allow you to go back there if you’re in danger. You’ll have to stay here.”
“Hold on.” I sat up straight, my temper rising. Those emails were not going to be his excuse to make me stay in New York. “Let’s not make this a bigger deal than it is, okay? So some asshole calls me a name or two. So some bitch thinks it’s funny to write whore on a napkin at the bar. It’s happened before, it will happen again. But just like always, it will blow over. I’m not in danger in Lark Cove. It’s my home, and I am going back.”
His jaw clenched. “What. Napkin?”
Shit. I hadn’t meant to let that slip in there. “It’s nothing. Totally unrelated.”
At least, I hoped it was. There wasn’t someone in Lark Cove who could be doing all this, was there? I dismissed it immediately. I knew Lark Cove. I knew the people. This was not coming from someone local.
“Sticking your head in the sand—”
“Is not what I’m doing. If it keeps up, I’ll talk to the sheriff. Okay? But I’m sure they’ll stop and I don’t want to fight. Just let it go.” I stood off the porch swing, not wanting to deal with an overprotective Logan. “I’m going to go get ready for dinner.” But before I could retreat inside, he grabbed my hand.
“If anything ever happened to you or Charlie, I’d be destroyed.”
My anger evaporated. I stepped between his legs and put my hands on his face. “It’s just been one note from someone immature enough to think a nasty napkin was funny and a couple of mean emails to the bar’s account. I’m sure it’s just a guy I kicked out or something, and this is his way of getting revenge. Logan, nothing is going to happen to us.”
He covered one of my hands with his, turning it to kiss my palm. “You don’t have any idea what you mean to me, do you?”
Maybe I don’t.
But I knew how much I loved him. It was enough to know that if we forced this—if I laid down an ultimatum for him to move or vice versa—we’d both end up miserable.
“I better get ready.” I tried to pull my hand away, but he kept it pinned, holding my gaze for a few heartbeats, until finally letting me go.
“I’ll bring Charlie in soon,” he said.
I nodded, turning before he could see my quivering chin.
With blurry eyes, I wandered through the guesthouse until I found the bedroom where Phil had brought our luggage. Alone and safe from being overheard, I collapsed on the bed, ruining the perfectly smoothed cream quilt. I dropped my head into my hands and let my shoulders fall.
Was I making a mistake? No. Down to my bones, I knew going home was the right decision. Because unlike fairy tales, there was more to real happiness than just being with someone you loved.
Loving yourself was just as important. So was finding a place where your soul was at peace.
I let myself be sad for a few minutes, giving in to a few tears that ruined the makeup I’d applied this morning. Then I pushed off the bed and dragged my suitcase into the adjoining bathroom to get ready for dinner with Logan’s parents.
I’d just finished zipping up my dress when Logan knocked on the door. “Can I come in?”
“Sure.” I flipped the lock and opened it for him.
“I just—” He stopped short, letting his eyes rake up and down my body. Then he stepped closer, resting his hands on my hips. “You’re beautiful.”
“Thanks.” I ducked my head, having no confidence that I’d bought the right dress.
It was a simple green shift, nicer than anything I owned at home. And while I appreciated Logan’s compliment, his family might not be as quick to approve.
“You look nice too,” I said, touching a button on his shirt.
He’d pulled on black slacks and an ivory button-up. His newly polished wingtips matched his camel belt.
