Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 88709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 355(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 355(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
“Okay, then.” I held out my hand, and he took it in his much larger one.
“Show me your place.”
I was nervous as I opened my door. My condo wasn’t big or fancy, but it was mine. It took all my savings to get the down payment, but it belonged to me. It overlooked the street, and I liked to sit and watch the snow fall in the streetlights from the big chair I had placed by the window. The building was older and still had the charm of gumtree moldings and chair rails, and the floors were all hardwood and creaked everywhere you walked. There were two decent-sized bedrooms, one I currently used for an office. It had a day bed for the occasional night that Brianna would stay over. There was a small dining area, and the kitchen had been done before I bought it, so it was in good shape. I had decorated it slowly, buying pieces as they went on sale or that I found in secondhand shops or antique markets. My mother had been aghast at my decisions, but it was all mine, and I loved every piece.
Logan looked around the room with a smile on his face. “Exactly how I pictured it.”
“Yeah?”
He nodded and ran a finger over my cheek. “I knew you weren’t a big-box kind of girl, and I couldn’t see you surrounded by stuffy furniture. You have an old soul, Lottie, and this place suits you.”
My breath caught. His words described how I felt to perfection. My parents never saw that about me. My father pushed for me to be a modern businesswoman, and my mother wanted my place to be a showcase like their condo. But Logan saw underneath all of it and into the person inside.
“How?” I asked. “How do you know me so well already?”
“It’s just my observations. Your clothes, your handbag, even your briefcase. Nothing showy, no labels screaming ‘Look at me!’ You carry a book, not an e-reader. You’re not glued to your phone. You’re always elegant and classy. You’re kind to people.” He smiled ruefully. “You were certainly kind to me when you thought I was a street musician and needed to eat. I saw you give sandwiches to homeless people several times. I saw the trays of coffee you would leave.” He paused, meeting my gaze. “I saw the softness in your eyes, the caring gestures you made when you thought no one was looking. That is what tells me the type of person you are—the person I thought you to be.”
The air around us hummed. Logan stepped back with a sigh. “I think you’d better go get changed and make your call, or I might not live up to your expectations.”
“Do, ah, you need to call anyone?” I asked. Macy had told me he was a teacher. Was she wrong?
He frowned. “I do work, Lottie. I’m a teacher. Well, at the moment, a substitute teacher. Full time is hard to get now. I wasn’t needed today.”
I studied him. His gaze was intelligent, and he was articulate and smart. I had already figured that out. “I bet you’re a great teacher.”
He shrugged off my compliment.
“I’m waiting,” was all he said.
I hurried away, shutting my bedroom door behind me. I leaned against it, my hand on my chest.
What was I doing? I had never once taken a sick day, and now, because Logan asked, I was going to pretend to be ill and spend the day with him. And I wanted to do it. I wanted to spend today with him. For the first time since I could remember, I was choosing myself and what I wanted over what I felt I should do.
I pushed off the door and called the office. Audrey, the HR woman, sounded shocked when I explained I wouldn’t be in, and she put me on hold for a moment. I wasn’t surprised when my father came on the line.
“Charlotte? What’s going on?”
“I’m not well, so I’m not coming in today. As I told Audrey, I left all the files needed for the meeting this afternoon on my desk.”
“What do you mean not well?”
I had no idea what to say. I hadn’t planned on having to defend myself to my father.
“I, ah…” I dropped my voice. “It’s a woman’s issue, Dad. I have cramps and—”
“I get the picture,” he interrupted, as I knew he would. “Not great timing, Charlotte.”
I rolled my eyes. “A little out of my control,” I pointed out, feeling the guilt of fibbing to him.
“Do what you have to and try to make it in this afternoon.”
I made a noncommittal response and hung up. I threw off my business suit and dressed in jeans and a warm cherry-red sweater. I rushed back down the hall. Logan was sitting on the sofa, thumbing through one of my dog-eared books. He glanced up and grinned. “You look beautiful.”