Logan arrived only minutes after Bonnie ushered Dan in and served him a glass of freshly made lemonade. He didn’t look surprised to see Dan there, so he must have been warned ahead. But then again, Logan Carmichael hid his thoughts so well that Dan wasn’t sure he’d have known if the guy was surprised or not. Logan, too, accepted a glass of lemonade.
Bonnie waved them toward the seating area. “You guys make yourselves comfortable. Kinley’s running a little late and I have just a couple things to finish up in the kitchen before we eat.”
Dan noticed Logan’s slight limp again when they moved to sit. The hitch was in his left leg, as if the knee didn’t quite fully extend. An old sports injury, perhaps? He could see this rock-solid-looking guy as an athlete. Logan sat on the couch and Dan sank into a nearby chair.
“I saw the front of the inn a little while ago when I got back from a sightseeing drive,” he said to initiate a conversation. “You got a lot done today. The new post looks good.”
Logan nodded. “Fortunately, there wasn’t much damage. It was easy enough to jack up the corner and slide a new post into place. Reconnecting the gingerbread without breaking it further was the biggest challenge.”
“Kinley told me you’re a software designer in addition to your duties here. What sort of programs do you write?”
Lowering his lemonade glass after taking a long sip, Logan shrugged. “I’m more of a consultant these days. I customize software for specific customer needs. Small businesses, mostly.”
“Interesting.”
“Better than working in a cubicle,” the other man replied laconically.
Dan lifted his glass in an implied toast. “I hear you on that.”
With a rusty-sounding chuckle, Logan raised his own glass, then took a drink.
Kinley rushed in the door then, her phone to her ear. She waved a greeting to Dan and Logan while tossing her purse on the floor beside the couch. She moved to the far side of the room to continue her conversation. Giving her privacy, Dan continued his talk with her brother. “Did you figure out how
your dog got out of your yard?”
“I think someone must have let him out,” Logan answered with a frustrated shake of his head. “I walked that damned fence line twice and there were no breaks. Someone had to open the gate.”
“You think it might have been one of the guests?”
“Oh, I can’t imagine one of the guests would have done that,” Kinley said, sliding her phone into her pocket and speaking before her brother could answer. “But I hope you put a lock on the gate, just in case, Logan.”
“The tool shed is in my backyard. Zach and Curtis and I don’t want to stop to punch in a combination or dig out a key every time we need a hammer or a pair of garden shears,” he grumbled. “I tightened the latch and hung a private-property, keep-out sign on the fence. I printed a note on the sign saying to keep the gate closed because of the dog. I’ll keep an eye on my place, but that should take care of any overly curious guests.”
Kinley didn’t look entirely satisfied, but she nodded and put on a smile for Dan’s benefit. “I’m sorry I was late. I’ve got a couple making an offer on a house this evening and the owners are putting together a counteroffer. I’ll probably have another call or two this evening, so I’ll apologize in advance.”
“What else is new?” Logan asked drily.
Pointedly ignoring her brother, she turned toward the kitchen. “What can I do to help, Bonnie?”
“You can chop the tomatoes for the salad,” Bonnie said from in front of the far counter, where she was ladling something from a large, stainless steel slow cooker onto a big platter.
“Dan, how was your afternoon?” Kinley asked, raising her voice enough to be heard over the brisk sound of chopping. “Did you make it to one of the museums?”
“Yes, I did. I spent a little time at the Great Lakes to Florida Highway Museum, the one set up in the old gas station. It was an interesting look back at 1920s and 30s transportation. I had a college friend whose dad collected old oil cans and petroleum advertising products. He’d love the displays I saw this afternoon.”
“Are you interested in history, Dan?” Bonnie asked, looking up from her preparations.
“Yes. I took a lot of history classes in college. They’ve come in handy in some of my articles.”
“Have you ever considered writing fiction?”
He hesitated a moment before answering. Usually he brushed off similar questions and quickly changed the subject. The story that had been germinating in his imagination, growing increasingly demanding of his attention during the past months, was something he’d kept to himself, with only very few exceptions. He wasn’t sure why he was so reluctant to admit he had started a novel. Because it seemed like such a private goal, perhaps? Out of concern that he would never actually finish the book, leaving others skeptical about his level of commitment? Or—he shifted uncomfortably in his seat—was a fear of failure, of the type of doubt and disapproval he’d sensed so often from his parents, always at the back of his mind when it came to his own dreams?
“As a matter of fact, yes,” he said, almost surprising himself. He wasn’t sure whether it was because Bonnie had a way of drawing others into conversation, or because Kinley was so obviously paying close attention, but he felt the need to answer candidly with them, rather than prevaricating. “I have a book idea I’ve been playing with for the past few months.”
He saw Kinley shoot a look at him from the chopping board, her eyebrows lifted with interest. She wasn’t contributing much to the conversation, but he knew she wasn’t missing a word of it as she chopped tomatoes and piled them into the salad.
“Oh, that’s exciting.” Delicious aromas wafted from the large platter Bonnie carried to the already set table. “Where did you go to college?”