Then came the second throw—dead-on, center of the stack of bottles—andnothing moved.
“Hey!” Logan shouted. “I hit those!”
“I didn’t see a thing,” the guy replied innocently, throwing his hands up like he was completely unbiased.
Logan groaned, deeper this time, and chucked the rest. Zero. Nada. Not a single bottle budged.
“Don’t feel too bad,” the guy said, standing and gesturing toward the prize wall beside us. “I’m feeling generous. Why don’t you pick something out for the lady? On the house.”
“Well, aren’t you just the sweetest,” I teased.
“He stole five dollars from me. How is this on the house?” Logan muttered.
I hushed him and wandered over to the prize wall. Stuffed animals, oversized novelty hats, and flashing glow sticks, which were all a little ridiculous. But on the bottom row, a collection of embroidered keychains caught my eye. Logan bent down, scanned the selection, and picked one up.
It was a small circle, stitched with a bold red A in the center.
“Huh,” I said, taking it from his hand and examining it. “An A? You do know my name starts with an E, right?”
He smiled softly, that same smile that was completely Logan—the one that curled just one side of his mouth and melted me in seconds.
“You’re the only one I call Ace. So for me, the A means more.”
My heart skipped a beat. The butterflies in my stomach did somersaults.
I threw my arms around him, burying myself against his chest. Logan didn’t hesitate. His arms came around me immediately, holding me tight. I breathed him in, let myself sink into the moment. It was sweet. Thoughtful. Unexpected. The kind of gesture you remember.
And now, every time I looked at that keychain—and Iwould, because it was going straight on my keys—I’d think of him.
And I’d smile.
22
LOGAN
Pit stop number two on the first day of our road-trip adventure turned out to be an old-fashioned roadside diner, which was a far cry from the haunted amusement park Ellie had dragged me to earlier. I’d let her choose every stop on this first leg, so I had no one to blame but myself.
I still felt a little jumpy after that park. The workers, the creaking rides, the everything. But it had been fun, mostly because Ellie’s laughter made even the creepy parts worth it.
“I still can’t believe that guy scammed me,” I grumbled as I pulled the truck into the gravel lot. The neon sign out front spun lazily, blinking red and turquoise against the softened blue sky. The building was spotless, but it had that perfect retro vibe, like we’d driven straight into a postcard.
Ellie’s laugh bubbled out, her head tipping back so her blond hair cascaded down her shoulders. Brown eyes met mine, sparkling. “I bet he gets at least a dozen suckers a day. You had no idea those bottles were weighted.”
“At least he let me pick a prize,” I muttered.
She lifted her purse, letting the keychain I’d “won” clink against a tiny plastic Magic 8-Ball and a plush cow.
We made our way inside, and a burst of jukebox music hit us—Elvis crooning beneath the clatter of dishes. Black-and-white checkerboard floors gleamed under bright fluorescents. The red-vinyl booths looked like they’d been lifted straight from the fifties.
“Welcome in!” a voice screeched. I turned to see the hostess—Lottie, her name tag read. She had strawberry-blond hair piled high, jaw working gum like she was mad at it. “You two must be driving through.”
“We are,” Ellie said with a smile and a huff. “What gave it away?”
Lottie eyed us up and down a beat before saying, “I can read people. I think I got it from my grandma—we called her Mee-Maw. Give me two minutes in a room with anyone, and I can tell ya their whole life story.” She leaned down on the hostess stand elbow first to rest her chin on her hand. “I miss that old hag. She made some of the best chicken noodle soup.” She let out a deep, loud cackle. “Funny story. She raised her own chickens for this legendary soup, right? Which meant she was the one to, ya know.” Lottie raised a hand and dragged her thumb across her neck.
“Yeah, got it,” I said, shifting and putting my hands in my pockets. I glanced at Ellie, who was enthralled by Lottie’s story—arms crossed, hip popped as she nodded along. If it weren’t for her interest, I’d politely ask Lottie to show us to our table instead.
“Well, this one time.” Lottie snorted. “She cut the chicken’s head off, and the body jumped right off the table and ran around her living room! Can you believe it? Mee-Maw had to chase after it but she wasn’t quite quick enough. Gerry, her old beagle, caught it first, and then he ran around with the body.”
