Logan. "Tony's my friend, and he was just looking out for me. He's like a brother to me." I turned to Tony and gave him a pointed look. "Tony's sort of like an uncle."
Or a jealous ex-boyfriend, but we're still ignoring that giant elephant in the room, even when it eats all the food and makes its business on the coffee table.
Right about then would have been a good time for Uncle Tony to apologize for tackling my tenant, but he kept his lips pinched shut.
"Sorry," I said again, because I felt bad.
"Don't be," Logan said. "It's my fault. He yelled for me to identify myself, and I didn't." He gave me an adorably sheepish look. "I got embarrassed and didn't want you to know I was standing out here like an idiot, staring at you."
"But you weren't stalking me. You were just getting back from a walk, weren't you?"
"Yes. Walking clears my head, but sometimes I get lost in my thoughts. When I got back here and saw you in the window, I was thinking—"
"That's enough out of you," Tony barked, like Logan was about to describe some twisted stalker fantasy. "Next time an officer of the law asks you to identify yourself, you'll know what to do."
"I sure will." Logan had gotten to his feet and now squared his shoulders, facing Tony. Logan was taller, and he tilted his head back, making it clear he was looking down. They looked like brothers, with their similar dark hair and rugged good looks. Logan was younger, but looked older because of the height and beard.
They were barely moving, locked in a macho staring contest, their chests swelling and getting dangerously close to touching.
"Just kiss already," I said.
They broke eye contact and gave me annoyed looks.
"Oops." I brought my hand up to my mouth. "Did I say that out loud? Don't mind me, really. Keep going. I love a good bro-mance. Or a bro-mantic comedy."
"You're not funny," Tony said.
"Ouch," Logan said. "Burn."
"I suppose formal introductions are in order," I said. "Captain Tony Milano, I'd like you to meet my tenant and friend, Logan Sanderson. How about you two shake hands, now that nobody's in cuffs?"
The two moved hesitantly, shaking hands mechanically.
"You two have something in common," I said. "You're both involved in the justice system. Logan is a lawyer."
Tony gave him a surly look. "Not with that beard, you aren't."
Logan took a step back and pointed at Tony. "I remember you now. We met once before, at the veterinarian clinic. You said the same thing about my beard."
Something buzzed—Tony's phone, rattling in his belt holster.
"Excuse me a moment," he said, walking away from us to take the call in private.
Once he was across the yard, his low voice barely audible, I turned to Logan. "It's been a long day. Happy New Year, by the way."
He brushed the remaining snow off his clothes, but made no move to go back into the house.
I asked, "What were you thinking about on your walk?"
"Lots of stuff. I can't remember. But when I got back and saw you, I had the strangest thought. I was wishing we both were smokers."
"Smokers?" I let out a laugh, because laughter lubricates awkward social situations, and with Logan fresh from being tackled for alleged prowling, and me in my crazy bathrobe, the only thing that would make this more difficult would be my father turning up and asking when I planned to pop out some kids, while giving Logan meaningful glances. The last part of that wasn't just my overactive imagination—he'd done it to my former fiancé, Christopher.
For the second time in as many days, I was thinking about Christopher. What was he doing now, at two in the morning? Probably guzzling energy drinks at his computer keyboard, on his second or third wind of the day.
"Hey." I felt a warm hand on my shoulder, and looked up into Logan's blue eyes. "There you are," he said. "Did you hear a word of what I just said?"
I gave him an apologetic smile. "I'm tired. It's been a long day." I thought about telling him about my discovery at Voula Varga's house,
Or a jealous ex-boyfriend, but we're still ignoring that giant elephant in the room, even when it eats all the food and makes its business on the coffee table.
Right about then would have been a good time for Uncle Tony to apologize for tackling my tenant, but he kept his lips pinched shut.
"Sorry," I said again, because I felt bad.
"Don't be," Logan said. "It's my fault. He yelled for me to identify myself, and I didn't." He gave me an adorably sheepish look. "I got embarrassed and didn't want you to know I was standing out here like an idiot, staring at you."
"But you weren't stalking me. You were just getting back from a walk, weren't you?"
"Yes. Walking clears my head, but sometimes I get lost in my thoughts. When I got back here and saw you in the window, I was thinking—"
"That's enough out of you," Tony barked, like Logan was about to describe some twisted stalker fantasy. "Next time an officer of the law asks you to identify yourself, you'll know what to do."
"I sure will." Logan had gotten to his feet and now squared his shoulders, facing Tony. Logan was taller, and he tilted his head back, making it clear he was looking down. They looked like brothers, with their similar dark hair and rugged good looks. Logan was younger, but looked older because of the height and beard.
They were barely moving, locked in a macho staring contest, their chests swelling and getting dangerously close to touching.
"Just kiss already," I said.
They broke eye contact and gave me annoyed looks.
"Oops." I brought my hand up to my mouth. "Did I say that out loud? Don't mind me, really. Keep going. I love a good bro-mance. Or a bro-mantic comedy."
"You're not funny," Tony said.
"Ouch," Logan said. "Burn."
"I suppose formal introductions are in order," I said. "Captain Tony Milano, I'd like you to meet my tenant and friend, Logan Sanderson. How about you two shake hands, now that nobody's in cuffs?"
The two moved hesitantly, shaking hands mechanically.
"You two have something in common," I said. "You're both involved in the justice system. Logan is a lawyer."
Tony gave him a surly look. "Not with that beard, you aren't."
Logan took a step back and pointed at Tony. "I remember you now. We met once before, at the veterinarian clinic. You said the same thing about my beard."
Something buzzed—Tony's phone, rattling in his belt holster.
"Excuse me a moment," he said, walking away from us to take the call in private.
Once he was across the yard, his low voice barely audible, I turned to Logan. "It's been a long day. Happy New Year, by the way."
He brushed the remaining snow off his clothes, but made no move to go back into the house.
I asked, "What were you thinking about on your walk?"
"Lots of stuff. I can't remember. But when I got back and saw you, I had the strangest thought. I was wishing we both were smokers."
"Smokers?" I let out a laugh, because laughter lubricates awkward social situations, and with Logan fresh from being tackled for alleged prowling, and me in my crazy bathrobe, the only thing that would make this more difficult would be my father turning up and asking when I planned to pop out some kids, while giving Logan meaningful glances. The last part of that wasn't just my overactive imagination—he'd done it to my former fiancé, Christopher.
For the second time in as many days, I was thinking about Christopher. What was he doing now, at two in the morning? Probably guzzling energy drinks at his computer keyboard, on his second or third wind of the day.
"Hey." I felt a warm hand on my shoulder, and looked up into Logan's blue eyes. "There you are," he said. "Did you hear a word of what I just said?"
I gave him an apologetic smile. "I'm tired. It's been a long day." I thought about telling him about my discovery at Voula Varga's house,
Similar Books
