Page 22 of Under the Mistletoe
“Oh, I still plan on building you the cottage. How else can I be sure that you’ll come back? Please say you will.”
And just like that, her little dream world popped. This was a dangerous game. Her fate had been set. Pretending otherwise was pointless. She stood and brushed off her hands. “I really must go.”
“Do I get a name?” His desperate tone paused her steps, but she shook her head and hurried back to the cave. He hadn’t tried to stop her or even follow.
She had almost convinced herself this morning that it had been a magical dream. That was until right this moment.
Recognition flashed in his eyes just before a smile spread across his features. A strange sensation gripped her chest, and Astryn lowered her gaze and drew a slow, calming breath. But when she lifted her head, he was still watching her.
His horse, as well as the man behind him, seemed anxious for him to continue, but he didn’t move. Everyone in her life saw the part she was born to play—what she was born to do. But there was something different in his eyes. Something personal and intimate. As if he wasn’t the king and she wasn’t a game piece in this alliance. He was just that man on the river who wanted to know what caused her frown so he could fix it.
His lips curved into a half smile that had no doubt made many maidens swoon, just before he turned Calavar toward her father and jumped the last obstacle. It was a reckless jump from that approach, but the horse cleared it without pause. Then he slid from his horse. The groom took the reins with a slight bow. Yes. That had to be the king, Orin.
“You will make a fine match for the kingdom, milady.” Enid’s words echoed what Astryn had been told her entire life, and yet, for the first time, they didn’t bring the suffocating pressure that had always followed.
He was still basically a stranger, but something in his eyes, in the way he carried himself, the way he’d talked to her…maybe this arrangement wouldn’t require her to sacrifice her heart after all. “Aye. If he doesn’t kill himself on that horse first.”
* * *
The whole idea of this writing coach was ridiculous. Logan skimmed over the suggested edits in his first chapter and slammed his laptop shut. It was supposed to go live in two days, and nothing was good enough for her. He supposed that was to be expected, as his head was a mess these days. He should have known chauffeuring Devin around would do this to him. Who was he kidding? Hehadknown it would make him useless, and yet, he’d gone ahead with it anyway.
The whole conversation had been a blur. He’d been trying to block it out, but as soon as Greyson’s name came up, he’d tuned in. And the moment Hannah announced he was single, with that matchmaker glint in her eye, words were coming out of his mouth before he could think better of it.
Logan laced his fingers over his head and let it fall back. Now he was spending evenings he needed to be writing trapped in a car with Devin. And with the way his mind kept flitting back to the way she’d looked last night with her blue sweater that highlighted her eyes and her dark jeans, agreeing to help her had been a mistake. He was totally distracted after one evening with her. How would he survive the next few days and get anything written?
As if sensing his mood, Cal’s nose landed in his lap.
Logan buried his fingers in the thick, curly coat. “It’s all right, boy. Need a break from this room? I do.”
Logan went downstairs to the front door, let Cal out, then moved on to the kitchen. He poured a glass of milk and gulped it down before setting the glass down a little firmer than necessary.
“Meeting with the writing coach go well?” His dad sat in the nook by the window, reading the paper while drinking his coffee. He wore a thick blue sweater and dark-rimmed glasses low on his nose. His short gray hair revealed just a hint of a bald patch. Retirement looked good on him. Logan hadn’t even seen him when he’d walked in.
“I believe her words on my first draft were ‘flat and uninspired.’ She said the second draft was better but lacked tension at the end.” He filled his glass again, then dropped into the chair across from his dad.
“So, she didn’t pull any punches.” His dad refolded the paper and set it aside. “Didyoulike what you wrote?”
Logan spun the glass in his fingers. “The first draft wasn’t the best thing I’ve ever written.”
“And the second?”
“I like it—at least the beginning—but she wants romance, so I gave her romance. It isn’t my fault romance is boring.”
His dad’s brow arched but he didn’t comment. “So you agree with her that the end isn’t great. Is that what is really bugging you, or was there something more?”
His dad could always see through him. “She asked me if I even believed in love. What does that even mean?”
“Do you believe in love?” His dad removed his glasses and set them on the table next to the paper. “After all, you just said romance is boring.”
“Romance isn’t love. I believe in love. You and Mom are in love and have a great marriage. I had no doubt from the first time Luke showed up at our door that he was in love with Hannah. And Libby and Austin are in love.”
“Let me rephrase it. Do you believeyoucan fall in love, or better yet, do you even want to fall in love?”
Logan downed another gulp of his milk. He didn’t like that question, and he didn’t even know why.
When he didn’t answer, his dad lifted his mug and leaned forward. “Let’s take a step back further—have you ever been in love?”
“You know I’ve never been in a serious relationship.” He downed the rest of his milk and stood and carried his glass to the sink.
