Page 10 of The Unbound Bookshop
Max grinned, ogling a plate of chocolate eclairs topped with thick, creamy ganache. “Especially dessert.”
“Exactly,” Nadia agreed. “Now, do we get to eat sometime this century? Or are you going to grab a ruler and start measuring the overhang of the tablecloth?” she teased.
Logan snorted. He liked Nadia. More than he’d expected when they met last Christmas. On first impression, he’d pegged her for a girly-girl who cared too much about brand names and appearances. But he’d quickly upgraded his opinion. Nadia was solid. A fierce, loyal wingman. Or wingwoman. She’d be a worthy maid of honor to Abby.Ifhe ever got the chance to propose.
“Oh!” Abby’s eyes widened as she surveyed the lace tablecloth. “I didn’t even think about that. Should I?”
“Honey”—Janet Hill flounced her salon-blond curls with an impatient flick of her hand—“while I consider myself to be eighty yearsyoung, I’d like to live long enough to enjoy this tea while it’s still warm.”
Abby laughed. “I guess I have gotten a little carried away, haven’t I?”
For the first time since he’d paused in the doorway, Abby noticed Logan standing there, holding the scones. Her entire face brightened, and the second their eyes locked, his breath stalled in his throat.
Buckle your seat belts, ladies and gents. We’re cleared for takeoff.
“Logan, would you mind setting the scones here, please?” Abby gestured to the only vacant spot on the table.
As if on autopilot, he moved toward her, his pulse thudding so loudly he was positive even Verna could hear it from across the room.
He set the platter beside the Spode tea set—the one he’d convinced Abby to use, despite the mismatched sugar bowl.
“Thank you. Now, if you’ll take your seat, we’re ready to begin.” She waved to the empty chair by her side, but Logan didn’t budge.
His mouth felt dry and watery at the same time. He swallowed clumsily.
“Logan?” Abby cocked her head. “Are you feeling okay?”
Nope, he thought.Not even a little bit. I’m exhilarated, nervous, excited, fired-up, and pumped so full of adrenaline and eagerness, I might pass out.
Instead of the lengthy confession, he said, “Yeah. But there’s something I want to give you first.” He shifted a few of the scones and lifted the sugar bowl from the platter.
Abby gasped. “How did you—” Her gaze darted to meet his, and he grinned.
“I know a guy.”
“I—I can’t believe you did this.” Her hand flew to her chest, as if she needed to catch her breath. “Of all the crazy, thoughtful, sweet, utterly insane things to do.” She laughed, half in disbelief, half in delight. “You outbid me for my sugar bowl!”
“Guilty as charged. Why don’t you check out… the, uh, craftsmanship.” He stumbled over his words like a tongue-tied teenager asking a girl to prom.Yeesh. He must’ve rehearsed what to say a hundred times, but his mind went blank. As long as he didn’t choke on the actual proposal.
He caught the glimmer of Nadia’s cell phone camera light as she pressed Record, and his pulse spiked again.
Focus. He fixed his gaze on Abby. Her gorgeous hazel eyes held a questioning glint. And was it his imagination or did her fingers tremble slightly as she reached for the lid?
No one dared breathe as she slowly lifted the lid from the bowl, moving it a millimeter at a time. Another inch and she’d glimpse the diamond ring nestled inside. Another inch and he’d drop to one knee.
“Excuse me,” an unfamiliar voice cut through the stillness.
Startled, Abby dropped the lid, and it clattered back onto its base.
Logan’s euphoria fizzled into an internal groan of frustration. Seriously? Someone had to interrupt them rightnow?
The unexpected visitor was a woman roughly his own age, early thirties, give or take a few years. And something about her stance—guarded yet determined, like a soldier at the ready—sent warning bells blaring. A young boy about four or five clung to her hand. “I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said without sounding apologetic in the slightest. “But no one answered the door, and I really need to speak to Abigail Preston.”
“I’m Abby. How can I help you? Would you like to book a room at the inn?”
“Not exactly.” The woman’s jaw flexed, and while she aimed her gaze in Abby’s direction, she didn’t meet her eye—another red flag. He instinctively took a step toward Abby.
“I’d like more than a room,” the woman told her. “I’d like half the inn.”
