“And yet . . . ?” She let the sentence trail off. Clearly Logan wasn’t telling her everything.
He paused, then said, “You mentioned the dimensions of her workshop making no sense. The fact is, the building that houses the shop isn’t all that big. There is no basement. And she appears to do all the restoration work on the pieces she sells at the shop herself. She has no other location that anyone is aware of. But her workshop would appear to be too small to handle some of those pieces.”
“Right. I thought the same thing.” Alex’s smile faded as the hairs on her arms and the back of her neck prickled. “Not logical.”
“Hence the stories.”
“So . . . what is the reality? How does she do it? Smoke and mirrors?”
“No one knows. Nobody has been back there to tell the tale. Until today, apparently.“ He broke off, and she could see he was struggling with the desire to beg every detail from her, like a little boy getting a peek inside Santa’s workshop.
It was pretty damn cute, actually, though she doubted he’d want to hear that. “It’s killing you that you didn’t get to go back, isn’t it?”
“I’m . . . curious. I’d be less than human if I wasn’t. I’ve been in and out of that shop my whole life.”
“I’m here five seconds and back to the workshop I go. I wish I knew why. And I wish I could tell you it was all magical and otherworldly, but the truth is, it’s a pretty basic workshop. Tables, tools, shelves lining the walls. There were a number of different projects in various stages of restoration.”
“That’s it?”
“Pretty much. I mean, the dimensions were off, like I said, but”—she lifted a shoulder—“I can’t explain that. In every other way, it wasn’t anything special.”
He eyed her closely, but all he said was, “Well, I’d suggest you don’t mention to anyone else that you’ve seen it, or you’ll be hounded.”
“It’s really that big a thing?”
He nodded. “People really enjoy the stories. The truth would be like saying Santa’s workshop was just a shed with some tools thrown about and a few really short guys helping out.”
She laughed at that, even as she realized he was one of those disappointed ones and wished she had a better story to tell him. Then something he’d said earlier, when she’d been sidetracked, finally sank in. “You said she talked to you recently. What did she say?”
There was the whimsy of the shop and their talk of elves and faeries in the air, but the moment she asked that question, the undercurrent that constantly ran between them turned into a sudden riptide. The way his eyes went all hot made her pulse jump.
He didn’t answer right away, as if he was debating whether he should. “She told me change was coming. And I should be open to it.”
Alex went still, and every other conversation they might have been having ceased. There was only one topic between them now. “And?” She heard the tremor in that single word and wondered if he had, too.
“I met you that afternoon.”
Alex’s heart skipped a beat. It took her a moment longer to form words. “Did she say anything else?”
“She told me that I didn’t like change, but that just because it’s difficult, or challenging, doesn’t mean it isn’t a good thing.” He held Alex’s gaze for another interminable, tension-jacking moment and she thought she might melt or spontaneously combust. “She also said that sometimes the best changes need to be both.”
“Logan.” She didn’t even know what else she wanted to say, but she wanted him to know the idea was affecting her, too. Not just him.
“What did she say to you, Alex? Specifically. You said she told you that you were at a crossroads, and you needed to see each path in order to know which one to take. What else?”
“I-I thought you said you didn’t believe the stories. About her predictions.”
“I said I didn’t believe in gnomes and faeries. We’ve all learned never to discount what Eula says. It may not make sense at the time, but it always becomes clear. Whether you want it to or not.”
“Well, she . . .” Alex closed her eyes, knowing the only chance she had of recalling anything Eula might have said was if she wasn’t staring into Logan’s eyes, feeling the heat of his gaze on every inch of her body. What was he trying to say with this? Had he taken Eula’s words to mean that the change and challenge he should be open to was the restoration? Or did he take it to mean a relationship with her? “She told me to go with my gut, not with logic. She said we were alike in that we both needed to fix what needed mending, just that I did it with lighthouses and she did it with antiques. She said it wasn’t just that we wanted to do it; we needed to do it, to feel whole and like ourselves. Or words to that effect.”
“You said she offered you a job?”
“I-I think so. Or maybe she just wanted company. Though she certainly doesn’t seem the type who’d want that. She told me to pick up the piece that called to me and get to work. I assumed that meant she wanted me to work with her, so I said I had two jobs already. She told me the offer stood. She said something about how I had to go all around the world to do what I did, risking my life to have an adventure, but she had the pleasure of going on an adventure with every piece she restored, without ever leaving home. And that her—how did she put it?” Alex smile faintly, remembering. “She said she had more fun. And that her playground was actually much bigger than mine.”
She opened her eyes and was startled to find that Logan had come around the desk and was leaning on it right in front of her.
Being that close to him, and knowing there would never be a time when she could just go into those arms, kiss that mouth, feel the heat, the flames that licked at them anytime they got close to each other . . . she wanted to close her eyes again.
“Alex.”
She’d been staring at her hands in her lap, wondering if she should tell him what she felt, knowing it was unfair, yet struggling with the desire all the same. She lifted her gaze to his, but didn’t risk saying anything, afraid she’d beg him to rethink their decision. He was being strong, standing firm; the least she could do was not make it any harder on him.
“I know you haven’t been here very long, but—” He stopped, and for the first time, he was the one who broke eye contact since their conversation began.
It took every last drop of willpower she had not to stand up and move into his arms. “But what?”
“What Eula said to you”—he lifted his gaze to hers and all that shattered topaz shone through his thick fringe of lashes—“did it . . . make you think about . . . your playground?”
“I-I haven’t had time to really think about what she said. How do you mean?”
He took a long moment, and she wasn’t sure if he was going to ask her anything else; then he suddenly said, “Have you thought about your next job? I don’t mean the specific job, but just . . . what it will be like? What that life will be like? Now that it’s just you?”
“I—” She broke off. In all honesty, she hadn’t. Other than having dreams of going back on the road, back to the work she knew and loved, she hadn’t thought about the actual lifestyle, or how different it would be. Not really. “No. Not like you mean. I guess I needed to know if it was even something I wanted to do anymore. That’s what I needed to find out here.”
“And you did. You love your work.”
She nodded, gratified and scared that he knew it to be true without asking her, just from observing her. Maybe that’s why he was standing firm on their living apart.
He ducked his chin again. “What about Blueberry?”
She felt as if a light had been blown out somewhere inside her. “What about—? You mean, what do I think about it?”
“Is this what it’s like when you go to a new place? You jump right in, get to know people, form friendships . . .” He let the sentence trail off and she knew what else he was mentally adding to that list.
Get involved with someone.
“No,” she said, the word a little rougher now. “I’ve never . . . this is different. All of it. Very different. Probably because I am alone. Or just . . . I don’t know.”
He glanced up at her again. “So . . . is it something you hope to do the next place you go?”
She started to respond, then realized she had absolutely no idea what to say. “I-I haven’t thought about that.”
He pushed off his desk and she had to hold on to the armrests of the chair she sat in to keep from grabbing his hand and pulling him back when—instead of reaching for her and taking her like he had last night, like he had when he’d come out of the shower that first time, like he always did and probably always would have, as long as they were together—he turned away and walked back around his desk.
“Will you?” he asked.
“Will I what?” she asked, completely lost and thinking that applied to far more than what they were saying.
“Think about what you hope to find wherever you go next. If you’ll miss the place you left behind, the people, the life you had with them . . . or will any old town fill the void?” He sat down in his chair and she saw his shoulders slump a little. “Is it really all about the work? Will that give you everything you need? Because, if it doesn’t . . . what do you plan to do to get the parts of life the work doesn’t provide? Is the work alone—and working alone—worth giving up all the rest?”
Alex was trembling now. “What are you asking me, Logan? Just . . . ask me.”
“I’m asking if you ever considered that place, people, and having a life outside of work could equal, or even trump your work. And, I guess I’m asking if you ever thought about switching playgrounds?”
“I haven’t before. It never came up.”
“Will you think about it?”
She nodded. “Logan—”
“Don’t . . . say anything. Just . . . as you’re working, living at Delia’s, making friends like she said, and being a part of this town, involving yourself like you already have . . . think about it. That’s all I ask.”
She stood then, and she saw him go still. “Okay. I will.”
Their gazes stayed connected and held tightly again, until she felt unsteady on her feet. She turned to the door.
“I’ll tell you this much,” he said, stopping her in her tracks. “I’ve thought about it.”
“About me switching playgrounds?”
“No. About me switching playgrounds.”
She turned around, certain she’d misunderstood him. “But—this is where you belong.”
“I know. I agree. But that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t try. If I could see any way to find something that was for me, in addition to us . . . I’d try.”
She stared at him. “You’re serious.”
“As I’ve ever been in my life.”
She thought her heart might leap right straight out through her throat. What did he mean? Just a second ago he was wanting her to be okay at Delia’s. And now—she was confused. It was . . .
maybe exactly what I want it to be.
“Logan—”
“Just . . . think about it. Because I can’t seem to stop thinking about it. Okay?”
His intercom buzzed just then, making them both jump.
“Sorry, Chief,” Sergeant Benson’s voice echoed into the silence in his office. “But you’ve got a call you need to take. Your sister, Kerry. Long distance. Very long distance.”
“I’ll—I should go,” Alex said, opening the door. Her emotions and thoughts all tangled up in one giant jumble, she glanced back just as he punched the button on the phone to pick up the receiver. “And I will. Think about it. I promise.”
She stepped outside the police station, only to realize that her truck was still parked on the street in front of Owen’s store. It wasn’t that far to walk, and she was dressed warmly enough, so she set out on foot. It gave her time to think about what Logan had said, about what Eula had said, and Delia, too.
What did she want from life now? Was it all about the lighthouses? She loved the work, but without her father, without their crew . . . would it be enough by itself? Or had she simply not known what else to do? If Blueberry hadn’t happened, maybe she’d have never had a taste of what else her life could be. But Blueberry
had
happened. And Logan had happened. And Fergus, and Delia, Owen, Brodie, even Eleanor had happened.
When she thought about the next lighthouse . . . and contrasted the joy of tackling a new project with the reality that it meant leaving the Cove and all of those people behind . . . was the work, in and of itself, a worthy substitute for all she’d lose? Would she be content to re-create Blueberry over and over again, just to supplement the work?
What kind of life was that? It was like work with no soul. No foundation. What was it Delia had said? No safety net.
“Could it be I’m a root person and I didn’t know it? Or was I not one before, but now . . . without a foundation that travels with me . . . would I be happy becoming one?”
She turned up the hill from Harbor Street and immediately spied the boarded and taped-up door to Owen’s shop. Beyond, her gaze was drawn back to the broad branches of the mossy cup oak tree. She looked at it for a long time, Eula’s words echoing through her mind. Then she turned around and looked down the hill and out over the harbor, to where Delia’s place sat at the other end of the half-moon-shaped cove that gave the harbor its name. She looked at Monaghan’s Shipyard, and, though she couldn’t see it from her vantage point, she looked out toward Pelican Bay, toward the tower she knew stood sentinel over the sprawling home there, and everyone tucked safely into the cove behind it.
How would it feel to leave Blueberry? A month from now? A year from now?
Hell, right now?
The tug on her heart was matched by the knots that formed in her stomach. One was longing, one was fear.
She turned back toward Owen’s shop and her truck parked beside the curb. Could she just drive off into the sunset? And then another sunset? And then another? She hadn’t been too good at winging it with Logan. What made her think she could wing it with town after town? Of course, the alternative was to not get involved, to focus on the work, hang with the crew who would leave when she did, only to go off in different directions to different jobs. She glanced over her shoulder, her gaze skimming over the water back to Delia’s. The truth was, she was looking forward to Thanksgiving dinner. She was looking forward to going to the Rusty Puffin. Sergeant Benson had mentioned they had live music on the weekends. That sounded like fun. She wondered if Logan would go. Would he dance?