Page 97 of Wilde Secrets

Mason’s hand landed on Logan’s shoulder, fingers tightening until Logan looked at him again. “Do you love her?”

“Yes.” The answer was immediate.

“Have you told her?”

Logan deflated. “No.”

Mason let go of his shoulder. “Don’t be a fucking coward like me. Tell her how you feel before it’s too late.” He stood, pulling a folded piece of paper from his pocket and handing it to Logan. “She wants to talk to you.”

Logan took the note, brows crumpled in confusion. “How…”

“I spoke with King. She’s in as bad a state as you are. Is that what you want?”

“No, but?—”

“Cowards make excuses, Logan. Stop making excuses.”

Mason left, leaving Logan sitting there staring at the piece of paper in his shaking hands. As the rumble of the truck’s engine faded, replaced with the gentle sound of a light breeze stirring fallen leaves, Logan finally opened the note.

When he’d finished reading, he felt more settled than he had in weeks. He quickly tidied up the work site, packed his truck and headed home. His home, and hopefully the place Harper would call home, too.

But before that, he had work to do.

ChapterThirty-Three

Harper

She could hardly believe she was heading back to Cape Wilde. She’d left Portland a few hours earlier in her new car, a secondhand Subaru. With every passing mile, her heart beat faster, and her palms grew sweaty where she gripped the steering wheel.

It felt like forever since she’d last seen Logan.

Three long, long months.

There were meetings with Isla’s record label and with lawyers, accountants and publicists. It had taken Harper a matter of only hours to realize she needed an agent and an assistant of her own.

She’d been run off her feet, and that was before she and Isla got into the recording studio.

After that, all she’d had time for was eating, sleeping and recording.

The days had passed in a blur, one merging into the next until the album had finally been finished.

She and Isla hadn’t had the energy to do more to celebrate other than order takeout and pass out on the sofa watching TV.

But all through it she’d missed Logan. Everything reminded her of him. The songs she had written were woven through with memories of falling in love with him.

She never thought she’d see him again—until last week.

King had told her he’d heard from Logan’s brother Mason. Harper had been making herself a sandwich in the kitchen of the apartment she shared with Isla.

“Oh?” She’d replied, trying to sound nonchalant and failing miserably. She’d put the sandwich on a plate and moved to sit at the dining table to eat.

“He’s been working himself to death, apparently.”

Her stomach lurched. She pushed her food away, no longer hungry.

“Is he ok? Why? Is Mason making him stop?”

King smirked as he leaned on one of the dining chairs. “That answers what I was going to ask.”

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