Page 47

I lean against the dining table, watching Logan as he folds over my carpet and examines the hardwood. “Does she really have the authority to hire me?”

Logan glances back. “Technically? No. But if Rachel says you’re hired, then you’re hired.”

“That’s interesting.” Little Rachel Lemonade has power in Rendezvous.

“Principal Levitz trusts her. Rachel will end up making him think it was his idea all along.” He stands, brushing his hands on his jeans. “I should go. I have a Volvo coming in any minute now.”

I swallow, wishing he’d stay. I’m not sure I want to be alone just yet. “Thanks for your help.”

“I didn’t do anything.” His eyes rove over my face. “I’m proud of you, Liv. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for. Are you sure you’re okay though?” He rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “I mean, you just broke up with your boyfriend.”

I did. I’ve been with Ben so long, the words sound strange and foreign. But I don’t want to take it back. “Uh, I’m fine.” Maybe a touch confused at my gumption and sudden clarity, but I can’t deny the rightness of my actions.

“I’m glad. It’s been killing me to see you with a Roy.”

“A Roy?” My brows cinch together. What does that mean? “Are you really putting Benjamin and Roy in the same category? Benjamin is a genius.”

“Clearly.” His eyes widen and his forehead wrinkles. “Ben may be a genius, but he’s also pompous and self-absorbed. He has no idea how to treat another person.”

I scoff, unsure why I’m feeling so defensive. “You’ve known him five minutes!”

Logan blinks, his head shaking in a bobble. “He helped your dad hire a realtor without your knowledge. You’re going to argue with me? You’re the one who kicked him out.”

Why am I arguing? Was I so used to defending Ben? Or maybe I’m defending my own pride—after all, I’d chosen to be with Ben.

“I’m just saying, you don’t know Ben,” I huff. “You barely know me. Benjamin can be a good person. He works hard. He’s very passionate.”

Logan easily excused Roy. Yet, he has no issues ripping Ben’s character to bits.

He starts for the door, passing me, but turns back, folding his warm hand inside mine. I don’t pull away. And for a moment, I forget my anger. His hazel eyes lock with mine, and he gives my fingers a light squeeze. “For such a good person, he’s horrible at showing you he loves you.” His fingers slip from mine, and my hand falls limp. “I have work.”

I watch him go, feeling strangely disconnected with him gone. Squeezing my hand into a fist, I feel something there—something Logan left. I hold up the little business card and read the words “Sheila Forester—I’ll stamp it sold!” with a headshot of the blonde in the left-hand corner of the card.

My eyes well with tears. With my rush gone, I slog up the stairs, an invisible magnet pulling me to the closet. I retrieve Amelia’s journal before collapsing onto the bed.

June 30, 1955

Four days. It’s been four days since that dumb dance. Philip has called three times.

Two days ago, I pretended to be in the bathroom when Uncle Herb called for me. I “forgot” to call him back. Then yesterday, he showed up at Uncle Herb’s store! There’s no way Philip Harlem cares about art. How could he possibly think I’d be interested in him after the other night? I’ve already declined a second date. Apparently, he doesn’t believe me. The girls around here all swoon at the sight of him. Who cares that he’s dull and completely in love with himself?

So, it’s been an uneventful, somewhat annoying few days. Normal for Ganesworth. Until today. Today was interesting.

Seth Garrison, the man from the dance, came into the gallery today. He seemed just as surprised to see me as I was to see him. He looked at a few local, unframed pieces, and then he came to the counter to ask a question. I asked him if he remembered me, and he said he did. We spoke mostly of the paintings in the gallery. He’s an artist; he only works for Philip’s dad to pay his bills. He was nice. I’m surprised at myself for calling him plain before. He has a nice face, and pretty blue-green eyes. I like him. I hope he stops by again. It would be nice to have a friend.

Amelia

I can’t stop my storybook mind as I read this entry. She thought him plain, and then suddenly she didn’t. It’s a tale I’ve read many times.

I keep waiting for my memories of Amelia and this full-of-life girl to come together. Right now, it doesn’t feel possible. It’s like they’re two different people.

The rest of my weekend feels pretty lonesome. It’s strange being in Rendezvous and not seeing Logan. Once we passed by our parallel windows at the same time, but I didn’t stop. I don’t want to be needy. I’m not exactly sure what happened this afternoon. We argued. I don’t even know why. We both agree that Benjamin is an idiot. I guess I just believe him an idiot with some endearing qualities. Is that really a hill I want to die on?

What if I’ve ruined my friendship with Logan?

With nowhere to go, no way to get there anyway, and no Logan, I spend the rest of my weekend in Amelia’s bedroom. I go through everything. Now that I’ve ventured in, I decide it’s time to clean house. Her books are my favorite discovery. I can see which she loved the most just by the wear of the pages and the bend in the binding. I flip through Pride and Prejudice, its pages tattered more than any other. The second-to-last page flops closed—quicker and clunkier than the others. I lick my finger, opening to the back of the book. No wonder it fell shut so quick. She’s taped a large silver coin to the last page.

Wait.