Page 57 of Single Mom's Guide to Love

17

maeve

There aresome things I gave up willingly when I became a mom. Dating and sex were the top two. I mean, who has time for likely disappointing outings when you have to raise a human? Another was going out for drinks on a whim. My mindset was that I had plenty of fun in my twenties. Probably too much fun. I took the shots and had the hookups and danced until the sun came up. I filled my quota.

But sometimes you just need the burn of whiskey going down your throat, songs you haven’t heard in twenty years, and your siblings surrounding you at your hometown bar on a holiday.

Lucky for me, all of my sisters are in town and the bar in Rolling Hills—our small hometown about forty minutes from Nashville—happens to throw quite the party on Thanksgiving night.

Yes, Porter, the owner of The Joint, knows that typically Thanksgiving Eve is the party night. His theory, however, is that people need a drink even more after spending all day with their families.

Or in my case, having the most weird, confusing, sad, and infuriating day known to man.

“Is no one going to ask the question?”

I look over to Quinn as I finish a sip of my whiskey and Diet Coke, as do Ainsley and Stella. “What question?”

“The one where I ask why you, out of all the sisters, requested we meet at The Joint—a bar you haven’t frequented in years, mind you—on Thanksgiving night, arguably it’s busiest night of the year?”

“It is a bit suspicious,” Ainsley adds, sipping on her club soda.

“What? Can’t a girl want to hang out with her sisters?” I protest. “I mean, how often do we all go out like this?”

That part is true. Between Quinn living in Arizona, Ainsley’s job, and Stella now happily in love with Emmett, it’s a rare occurrence when even three of us can hang out together, let alone all four.

So that’s the story we’re sticking with. Because I might not want to be alone with my thoughts, but I also don’t want to talk about them.

Stella leans forward on her elbows, staring at me so hard I feel like I’m about to be interrogated. “There’s something you’re not telling us. And…I’m going to go out on a limb and say that it has something to do with a certain sexy billionaire.”

I know my cheeks are turning red. I just hope they can’t see them in the dark bar. “It’s not Logan.”

Well, it’s notjustLogan…

“The lady doth protest too much,” Quinn replies.

“I said one thing! How is that too much?”

“You could have said nothing,” Quinn says. “Now spill. How is it working for one of the world’s most eligible bachelors?”

I know Quinn isn’t asking about the design and the progress on the house. She might want to know some details about if he’s really like who the tabloids and blogs say he is. But all I keep thinking about is today, and the broken boy who is living inside this powerful man.

How can a family treat their children like that? I know that Jayce will likely need therapy one day—hell, who doesn’t?—but even with Josh and Vivian randomly getting married, he still has a pretty normal home life.

And then there’s my crew. The Banks family is as traditional as it comes. Five kids. Two parents who are approaching forty years of marriage and still love each other like it’s year one. We’re loud, chaotic, and there’s nothing we wouldn’t do for each other.

Then there’s Logan, a kid who is now a man, who just wanted for everyone to get along and to love each other. A little boy who thought if he could make his parents proud they’d stop arguing for just a second. A brother who wanted to make sure his sibling was going to be okay. A man who, despite what he says, is probably still trying to make his parents proud, even though they’re selfish assholes who don’t deserve a second of his accomplishments.

In his own way, he wants to fix things. And I get that more than anyone.

Even with the news that he was in a dozen different PR relationships, his backstory is all I keep thinking about. But I can’t tell my sisters any of this. Neither are my stories to tell. And I have a feeling Logan hasn’t told many people what he told me today.

So I’ll deflect with my sisters and let the whiskey wash away the hurt I’m feeling for Logan. And the urge to go back to his house, give him a hug, and tell him that everything’s going to be okay.

“It’s good,” I say to her question. “He’s pretty much given me free rein.”

“And he’s easy to look at.”

“Stella!” I scold. “You’re a taken woman.”

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