had only just met.
It was touching, yes.
But it was also exhausting. It took such effort to maintain her composure.
She stifled a yawn, trying her hardest to fight off her exhaustion. It had been another long night—full of tossing and turning, trying her hardest to sleep. But no matter how hard she tried, nothing worked. She had spent most of the night putting together a few collages, flipping through all of the photos Logan had brought over, more as if it was a task handed down to her by her boss rather than something she had chosen to undertake.
It had been difficult, though—she had to admit. Many of the photos had brought back memories of the past and she’d had to struggle against letting them overwhelm her. Even the happiest memories were painful now.
Logan had arrived just before one o’clock bearing bagels and coffee, insisting that she eat. She had cursed him inside her head for knowing her so well. They had dined in the truck, on the way to the funeral home.
Her eyes traveled around the room until she found him, standing near the caskets. Even with the dark circles under his eyes, it was hard not to notice how handsome he was. He was dressed in a pair of black pants, his white dress shirt tucked-in. He wore a plain black tie.
Even from this distance, she noticed it was a bit crooked—and a memory of a time when she tied his ties for him flashed across her eyes. She remembered how it felt, standing beneath him, his gray eyes never leaving her. She remembered how beautiful she had felt in that gaze—as if she was the only girl in the world he could see.
Abby shook her head, bringing herself back to the present. She definitely couldn’t go there.
Logan was surrounded by people as well, she noticed, their friends having become very popular in a short amount of time. The room was filled with various bouquets of flowers and baskets offering condolences. Everyone was so sincere—but it didn’t help. She was afraid nothing really would.
Their eyes met and her heart fluttered softly in her chest.
He understood.
Whether or not this was a good thing was unclear to her, though.
Time passed, though not quickly enough. Abby was eager for the day to finish. Too much was surrounding her—too much sadness, too much loss, too much sympathy. She had done well, holding herself together, but she could feel her resolve wearing thin.
As the night drew to a close, Logan neared her, holding her purse in his hand. He leaned in, as if to embrace her. Abby froze up instinctively, the mere thought of his arms around her almost enough to break the dam she was trying so hard to keep steady. But instead, he braced himself against her shoulders and leaned close to her ear. “Your phone has been vibrating pretty much constantly for the last two hours.”
“It has?” He nodded, and Abby took her purse, digging through it until she found the phone. She unlocked it and groaned. She was bordering on twenty missed calls. “Can you—?”
“Sure—go on, we’re almost done here anyway.” She nodded her thanks, stepping out of the room and making her way to the back of the building. The chill in the air immediately seeped through her thin navy blue blouse and dark gray pants and she tried to ignore the shiver that ran down her spine.
When she opened her phone again, she navigated the menu to view her missed calls and another wave of dread passed through her. Most of them were from Ingrid.
Without bothering to listen to the copious number of voicemails her boss had been leaving, she dialed the familiar number and waited. Ingrid was positively livid when she answered. “Where the hell have you been?” Abby was taken aback.
“I left you a message, Ingrid—a friend of mine—”
“This is unacceptable. Absolutely unacceptable. We’re due for publication and you abandon all of your responsibilities—”
“My responsibilities are with my family, Ingrid.”
“Your friend is not your family.” Abby clenched her teeth, trying to control her temper. She didn’t notice that the door had opened and that people were beginning to carry flowers to Logan’s truck. “You have a responsibility to this magazine, Abigail. I expect to have you back in the office tomorrow—”
“That’s not happening, Ingrid.”
“Excuse me?” Abby was, by now, just as angry as Ingrid, if not more so. She had never—in all the time she’d been there—requested emergency personal time.
“Ingrid, I am, at this very moment,