remembered, but nothing more. So many times he’d wished he could remember more. He needed to remember.
The next day everything about him reeked of alcohol and pity. And he couldn’t remember a damned thing that had happened. Even when Kelly had told him. He could see how happy Kelly had been about what had taken place the night before, but Logan just felt sick. He had wondered just what kind of bastard he was that he’d take pleasure with a sweet friend just to get over his misery about losing Poppy. No one was more surprised than he was when Kelly told him weeks later that she was pregnant. They were married a month later. A week after that, she’d had a miscarriage.
He rubbed his face in the dark as if it would wipe his sins clean. It all seemed like a blur now. And every move he’d made since then hinged on that one night when… That’s for another time , Poppy had said. I’ve never been engaged.
What the hell was that all about? Poppy had urged him to read the letters last night and he’d refused. Part of him didn’t want to know the deep secrets shared between these two friends.
You didn’t know everything, Logan. I didn’t either.
Did he want to know now? Did it even matter after all this time?
Easing himself off the bed, he slowly made his way across the room. He paused by the closet to pick up the hatbox and the stack of letters Poppy had left on top. He didn’t bother getting dressed, not wanting to disturb Poppy as she slept. Naked, he picked up the hatbox and letters and crept out of the bedroom and down the hall. He quickly pulled on a pair of gray sweatpants and a sweatshirt and carefully walked downstairs to the living room.
As he dropped to the sofa, with the hatbox and letters on the coffee table in front of him, he wondered for a brief moment if he should wake Poppy. These letters were important to her. And for some reason, they’d been important to Kelly, otherwise she wouldn’t have kept them. But what could possibly be in these letters that Poppy would need to explain?
He pulled the lid off the hatbox and his heart stopped. The box held a sweatshirt, a stack of pictures, and an envelope in Kelly’s handwriting…addressed to him.
* * *
It was surprisingly cold when Poppy woke up. Reaching her hand across the bed, she found she was alone and her heart stopped. Logan was gone.
If she lived to be a hundred years old, she’d never forget the way Logan had made love to her tonight. Logan had asked her about the men in her life, and over the years, there’d been a few. But no one special. None of them ever touched her heart the way Logan had. No one had ever loved her or made her feel his love the way Logan had tonight.
She ran her hand over her swollen breast, almost feeling the imprint of his hands caressing them as he had earlier or the way his mouth had loved them exquisitely. She wanted him back in her bed, loving her again. No matter how much he’d given her, no matter how much her body ached from his lovemaking, she wanted more.
In the quiet night, she listened for sounds of him in the house. When she couldn’t hear anything, she decided to go look for him. Poppy quickly got out of bed. Naked, she made her way to the closet to retrieve her bathrobe, but stopped short. Something was missing. In the dark, she couldn’t tell. Reaching into the closet, she flicked on the light and turned around. The bed was unmade. Her clothes and Logan’s were still scattered on the floor.
And then it hit her. Pushing the blanket off her, she bolted out of bed and ran to the closet, her heart in her throat. She searched the top shelf and found an empty space. She looked around the floor. Nothing. She didn’t know where Logan was but she knew what he was doing. The hatbox and all the letters were gone.
* * *
The creak in the stair tread told him Poppy was awake. He sat in the living room; pages of a long letter that was written long ago were spread out on the floor in front of him. No
The next day everything about him reeked of alcohol and pity. And he couldn’t remember a damned thing that had happened. Even when Kelly had told him. He could see how happy Kelly had been about what had taken place the night before, but Logan just felt sick. He had wondered just what kind of bastard he was that he’d take pleasure with a sweet friend just to get over his misery about losing Poppy. No one was more surprised than he was when Kelly told him weeks later that she was pregnant. They were married a month later. A week after that, she’d had a miscarriage.
He rubbed his face in the dark as if it would wipe his sins clean. It all seemed like a blur now. And every move he’d made since then hinged on that one night when… That’s for another time , Poppy had said. I’ve never been engaged.
What the hell was that all about? Poppy had urged him to read the letters last night and he’d refused. Part of him didn’t want to know the deep secrets shared between these two friends.
You didn’t know everything, Logan. I didn’t either.
Did he want to know now? Did it even matter after all this time?
Easing himself off the bed, he slowly made his way across the room. He paused by the closet to pick up the hatbox and the stack of letters Poppy had left on top. He didn’t bother getting dressed, not wanting to disturb Poppy as she slept. Naked, he picked up the hatbox and letters and crept out of the bedroom and down the hall. He quickly pulled on a pair of gray sweatpants and a sweatshirt and carefully walked downstairs to the living room.
As he dropped to the sofa, with the hatbox and letters on the coffee table in front of him, he wondered for a brief moment if he should wake Poppy. These letters were important to her. And for some reason, they’d been important to Kelly, otherwise she wouldn’t have kept them. But what could possibly be in these letters that Poppy would need to explain?
He pulled the lid off the hatbox and his heart stopped. The box held a sweatshirt, a stack of pictures, and an envelope in Kelly’s handwriting…addressed to him.
* * *
It was surprisingly cold when Poppy woke up. Reaching her hand across the bed, she found she was alone and her heart stopped. Logan was gone.
If she lived to be a hundred years old, she’d never forget the way Logan had made love to her tonight. Logan had asked her about the men in her life, and over the years, there’d been a few. But no one special. None of them ever touched her heart the way Logan had. No one had ever loved her or made her feel his love the way Logan had tonight.
She ran her hand over her swollen breast, almost feeling the imprint of his hands caressing them as he had earlier or the way his mouth had loved them exquisitely. She wanted him back in her bed, loving her again. No matter how much he’d given her, no matter how much her body ached from his lovemaking, she wanted more.
In the quiet night, she listened for sounds of him in the house. When she couldn’t hear anything, she decided to go look for him. Poppy quickly got out of bed. Naked, she made her way to the closet to retrieve her bathrobe, but stopped short. Something was missing. In the dark, she couldn’t tell. Reaching into the closet, she flicked on the light and turned around. The bed was unmade. Her clothes and Logan’s were still scattered on the floor.
And then it hit her. Pushing the blanket off her, she bolted out of bed and ran to the closet, her heart in her throat. She searched the top shelf and found an empty space. She looked around the floor. Nothing. She didn’t know where Logan was but she knew what he was doing. The hatbox and all the letters were gone.
* * *
The creak in the stair tread told him Poppy was awake. He sat in the living room; pages of a long letter that was written long ago were spread out on the floor in front of him. No
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