Page 87 of Paging Dr. Summers

The song came to its conclusion, and Brooke and Lola hugged, clinging to one another while the rest of us gave them a standing ovation.

Lola kissed Brooke on the cheek before she bounced back to Alejandro.

Brooke found her way to me and fell onto my lap, snuggling right into my chest. “What did you think of my mom’s song?” she whispered.

“I think she’s a rock star like her daughter.”

“You,” she whispered, her breath warm and inviting against myear, “are bound and determined to make sure I fall hopelessly in love with you, aren’t you?”

That was my plan. “Do you mind?” I asked.

“Not at all.” She settled against me.

My arms tightened around her instinctively. “That’s excellent news.”

“OOH, TRY THIS ONE OUT.” I patted the cushion next to me on the ridiculously priced leather couch in the home decor studio in Aspen Lake. The small town didn’t have enormous furniture warehouses like we did back in Nebraska, full of oversize couches and hundreds of recliners that looked like they belonged in your grandma’s house. This place was all style and grace, with the classiest furniture I’d ever seen in my life—you know, besides the stuff at Lola’s house.

Come to think of it, I’d bet this was where Camila and you-know-who had bought their furniture. To top it off, this place didn’t have salespeople hounding you—you got assigned an interior designer. And not just any interior designer. Dante was the height of cool, dressed in a black edgy outfit, wearing triangle-framed glasses, his gray hair pulled back in a pristine man bun.

I mean, it was a way to go. But Logan would never know the joy of haggling your third cousin twice removed who smelled like stale beer and cigar smoke to give you a better deal on a table made of MDF. To each his own.

Logan sat as close to me as possible, until our bare legs touched. Logan had convinced me it was okay for me to wear cutoffs to this appointment. I loved that he didn’t want me to be anyone but myself. Granted, he just loved my legs, but I liked that too.

“I like this.” He did a little bounce to test it out.

“Do you think Dante would mind if we lay down on it and madeout? How else will we really know how comfortable this couch is and if it suits your needs?” I whispered, teasing him. Dante was off getting us some spritzers. Seriously, I couldn’t make this stuff up.

“You meanourneeds?” Logan crooned in that freaking fantastic voice of his, making me want to accost him. I still wasn’t over his Sinatra number. Or the fact that furniture shopping was number three on the bucket list he’d come up with.

He seemed to have taken a page out of Mom’s book and come up with items that led to something greater and more meaningful. That being to convince me I belonged with him in this town. Mom always told me if a man asks for your opinion about furniture, it means he sees you in his space.

I also recognized that Logan finally furnishing his place meant that he was ready to move forward in his life. It wasn’t moving on from Erica, and he finally realized there was a difference. You didn’t move on from the people you loved; you just got to carry them with you into the next phase. There was something healing about that.

But despite my desire to push him over and kiss his face off, I held it together and demurely responded, “If you love it, I think it will suit our needs just fine.” I mean, we had proven we could make out just about anywhere, and this couch was a lot bigger than the seats in his convertible or the sofa in the break room at the hospital.

Oh, we’d tested that baby out. The head nurse, Evie, was none too pleased about it and scowled at me every time I visited now.

“But the real question is,” I posed, “What do you think of some framed black-and-white concert posters for the wall?”

Logan barked out a laugh. “You won’t believe this, but I imagined you would ask me that.”

I loved that. “You did?”

Logan nodded, and Dante returned with our spritzers in champagne glasses with a twist of lime on each rim.

“I think that’s a chic idea.” Dante handed me a glass.

“Really?” That was shocking.

“Yes, darling,” Dante responded.

“There you go.” I nudged Logan. “I’m chic. Who knew?”

Logan grinned and took a glass, clinking it to mine in a quiet toast.

I wasn’t sure he liked the concert poster idea. Not everyone could be chic like me.

“I think we’ll take the couch,” Logan informed Dante.

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