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It was on the tip of her tongue to point out that she was no longer a child, and that she planned to move out—she was too old to be living with her parents at twenty-Seven.
The cursor on her laptop blinked repeatedly while Emma sat at the desk in her bedroom. She had drained the cup of hot chocolate a couple of hours ago when she’d sat down at the screen. The page had been blank then and was still blank now. Words wouldn’t come for the first time since she’d started to write, her head and heart not able to clear the unhappiness that she’d been feeling since she realized that Logan wasn’t going to write back. Sure, she’d managed to get some writing done in the last few weeks but now, it seemed too difficult.
She had numerous works in progress, but couldn’t settle on one. She really shouldn’t let Logan’s silence affect her as much as it did, but she had no idea how the hell to pull herself out of it. She’d started to drive herself nuts, and not in a good way.
Perhaps she needed to write to him. Not send them, but write what she was thinking with his silence. Put it all down into a diary. Write about her heartache over her loss of his friendship. And perhaps write how she truly felt about him because her heart had certainly been involved.
Was there something wrong with her because she’d fallen in love with a man she hadn’t really set eyes on? The picture she had of him was grainy, taken with a cell phone, and all she could really make out were his eyes. His beautiful eyes really stood out. They were a deep blue and like nothing she’d seen before. A girl could get lost in them, and she had.
She had to stop dreaming and take action, do something.
Closing the lid of her laptop, Emma grabbed her diary and her favorite pen, before lying on her bed. She flipped the diary open to the back where there was a tablet of lined paper and let the words flow from her heart.
Chapter 5
Logan stood outside on the porch and watched the thick flurries fall to the already covered ground. Nobody would be going anywhere, at least, for a while. But as he watched, the cold started to seep through his warm fleece and chill his body. Eventually his face felt frozen and he knew it was time to head back inside. He had no idea how long he’d stood out there, but the fresh air felt good, and it reminded him of Emma. She loved the snow. Would she be out sledding, because he knew how much she loved that? He’d love to go sledding with her. He couldn’t remember ever doing that as a boy, and he certainly hadn’t gotten the opportunity as an adult.
Turning, he walked back into the B&B and felt a blast of heat warm his body straightaway as he stamped his numb feet against the mat in the entrance.
“Are you ready for breakfast?”
Logan focused on the voice and smiled. “I think I am now. Thank you.”
Adele, the owner, turned and led him through to the dining room.
Inside, he looked around the Christmas themed dining room. The tables had been covered in red and white-checkered tablecloths. A Christmas tree stood in one corner and was full of handmade decorations, which hit him with a sense of nostalgia. When he was a young boy, every Christmas, his mom would buy art supplies and they’d spend a few nights, after homework was finished, making decorations for the tree.
“Would you like to sit over there?” Adele offered, and he accepted by making his way to the chair.
Adele looked to be in her late fifties or early sixties and he wondered if she’d ever been in law enforcement because her interrogation when he’d checked in yesterday had been difficult to ignore. She’d asked a lot of questions in a roundabout way, but, luckily, he’d been able to ignore them. Something told him that he wasn’t going to be so lucky over breakfast.
“Thank you.” He sat at the table next to the tree and smiled when she poured him a large cup of coffee.
He was partial to the dark brew and was used to drinking the thick sludge they served in the mess tent. As he drank the strong coffee, he felt his insides begin to thaw out.
“No cream or sugar?” Adele raised a brow.
“No, ma’am.” He took another sip of the steaming brew.
Adele’s face lit up. “Please say that again.”
“Ma’am.”
Adele sighed.
“I could listen to you calling me that all day. I bet that charm works with the ladies.” She put her hand to her chest and fluttered her eyes, “If only I was ten years younger.”
“Try thirty, Mom.”
Logan chuckled as Adele’s son, Greg, came up behind her.
She swatted at him. “I’ll go and bring your breakfast out. Full American?” she questioned.
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Oh.” She fanned herself on the way out of the room.
Greg dropped into the chair opposite. “Do you mind?”
