Blow(22)

I clapped my hand to my forehead. “What was I thinking? Of course you can carry the heavy boxes.”

Logan moved closer to me still. “Are you mocking me?”

I squeezed his biceps. Electricity struck and my flirty voice fell. “No, not at all. Just testing your strength.” Breaking the connection, I bent to lift a box. “I’m much stronger than I look, you know.”

He raised a brow and then purposely shifted his gaze down my body. “I bet.”

The heat between us was palpable and I found myself setting the box back down so that I could take my coat off, but then feared I might have looked weak. “I am. Yoga, Pilates, kickboxing, boxing, Tae Bo. You name it, I’ve done it.”

The corners of Logan’s mouth tipped up. “I don’t doubt your abilities. Something tells me you have mad self-defense skills and can hit your target as well.”

I tilted my head to the side. “Wing Chun and point blank.”

It seemed like I was boasting as soon as the words left my mouth. “Not that I’m bragging,” I added.

He ran his fingers up the sleeve of my blouse. “Not at all. I respect the fact that you know how to protect yourself.”

“I didn’t have much choice.” My expression must have portrayed my anguish, even though I hoped it hadn’t.

Immediately, Logan asked, “Why? What happened?”

With a shrug, I dislodged myself from his hold and nudged past him to the boxes. “Too long and too sad of a story to share now.”

There was no way to explain my life easily. That since I was fifteen, I’d basically been on my own. And that I’d had to learn to protect myself because I didn’t know what to expect. That since then, I’d only ever relied on one person—Charlie. And that didn’t end well. So ever since, I’d believed the only person I should rely on is myself.

Logan seemed impervious to my mood. Either that or feelings weren’t his thing.

Not that they were mine.

He removed his jacket and moved his head from side to side as if preparing for a workout before rubbing his hands together. “I think I’m ready. Where do you want the boxes?”

Okay, definitely impervious.

Our conversations were up and down. They went from brutally honest, to serious, to funny in the blink of an eye. And as I looked at him now, I had to laugh. In fact, I couldn’t stop laughing. He was easy that way. He made things easy. I liked that.

“Downstairs.” I pointed.

He hefted the box I’d just set down. I went for the empty ones.

Just because.

Boxes at my sides, I saw the metal tucked in his waistband as soon as he stepped in front of me. His shirt mostly covered it, but I was good at catching things like that. I didn’t say anything. After all, I, too, carried protection everywhere I went—it wasn’t tucked in my pants, but it was zipped inside my purse.

We made almost a dozen trips up and down the stairs. Our conversation was light. We talked about Boston, the weather, and baseball. Once all of the boxes were out of sight, he helped me break down the ones that were empty and restock the items into inventory that I didn’t need upstairs. Finally, I made one last lap around the boutique. “I think it’s ready.”

He followed the path I had taken. “I think you’re right.”

The cuckoo clock from Germany started to go off. The little bird popped its head out and as soon as the music started to play, the dancers spun with the music and the bell ringers rung their bells. Nine times this cycle continued.

Logan stared at the clock. When it finished, he looked at me. “I hope to f*ck that sells right away.”

I crossed my arms and tried to look insulted, but I couldn’t fight the smile.

He snapped his fingers and pointed one at me. “See, you feel the same.”

Knowing exactly what he meant, I moved toward him and lowered his finger. Sparks flickered when I touched him. I dropped my hold and recovered. “I refuse to speak ill of any of my treasures, but I do hope the clock finds a home quickly.”

Logan smiled softly. “Speaking of homes, it’s time I take you there. I’m sure you have a long day ahead of you tomorrow.”

I did.

Still, I couldn’t help but think about him in ways I knew I shouldn’t for so many reasons. And the main reason wasn’t even the gun he was carrying. I glanced out the window, pondering what was going to happen when he got me home. I noticed the rain had let up, so while I put my coat on, I left my hat behind.

Logan and I had spent only four hours together, but it felt like so much longer. I felt like I knew him. Not well, but I’d gotten closer to him than I had to anyone in years. Michael and Peyton didn’t count—they were people brought into my life by circumstance.

But then again, if I thought about it, I supposed he was, too.

“Where to?” Logan asked as he got in the Range Rover.

Still pondering my last thought, I answered quietly, “Thirty-six Melrose Street.”

Logan knew where he was going. He did a U-turn and headed south on Charles, then made a right on Melrose. We were in Bay Village and on the quiet tree-lined street in no time.

“It’s right here on the left.”

He stopped in front of the brick row houses, and I indicated the end unit with the red door and black painted steps.