I might head to the Caribbean for some parasailing, but I guess I’ll go with your plan.”
“You’re damn right you’ll go with my plan. Do you know how hard it was for me to force that little sweetheart to leave? It broke my heart to make her cry. And then to find out that whole mess wasn’t her fault?” Butch shook his head. “If you don’t go get her, I will.” He grinned again. “And I’ll buy her a whole busload of socks if that’s what it’ll take to have her forgive me.”
“I could go now,” Logan said.
“You’ll never make it back in time for the concert tonight.”
He had half a mind to say fuck the concert. He had more important things to do.
The elevator doors opened on the top floor, and they stepped out into the corridor.
“She won’t answer her cellphone,” Logan said to Butch. “Can we get her home number? Office number? Send a carrier pigeon? Something?”
“Carrier pigeons are extinct,” Butch said. “But I’ll get a message to her somehow. What do you want it to say?”
Heat flooded Logan’s face. Was he actually blushing? Lord. “Uh. I love her. It was my Mom who answered my phone this morning. I’m not cheating on her.”
Butch’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. “She thinks you’re cheating on her?”
Logan sighed and nodded.
“No wonder she won’t answer her phone. I thought she must still be upset about being accused of selling you all out to the tabloids.”
“I told you I straightened that out last night. This is a whole new fuck-up.”
Butch chuckled. “I guess I’ll add a florist and chocolatier to my speed dial. I have a feeling I’m going to need their numbers often.”
Butch was probably right, but Logan shook his head at the dig.
“I’m still going to try to get a hold of her, but yeah, I need everything ready to go so I can head to Seattle directly after the concert.”
Butch shrugged. “No problem. It’s not like I have anything better to do.”
Logan was certain Butch had thousands of better things to do, but the man was Logan’s hero and had yet to let him down. “Thanks for having my back, dude.”
“One of these days I’m going to call in all my favors. And then you won’t be thanking me.”
Logan doubted that. If Butch helped him get Toni back, Logan would owe the man his every happiness.
And he’d pay in any currency Butch demanded.
Thirty-Five
Toni was about five miles from home when she realized she’d left her cellphone in her desk drawer at the office. She was truly having a shit-tacular day. Driving up the long drive to the A-frame wood cabin she’d called home for the past fifteen years made her heart ache. How could Mom even consider selling the place? Toni simply could not let it go. And Toni wouldn’t let her father go either. It wasn’t time to move on. It would never be time to move on. There was plenty of room in her heart for both the living and the dead. Especially now that the mistreated organ had a gaping hole recently carved into it by a certain cheating son of a bitch.
The sun was already setting behind the pine trees, casting long spear-like shadows on the walls of her home. Gravel crunched beneath her feet as she made her way up the driveway, and she reveled in the little nuances of the place that she usually took for granted. The scent of the pine forest, crisp and clean. The soft clucking of the hens settling into their nests for the night. The picturesque sight of the snow-tipped hunk of craggy granite in the distance. And the feeling, the comforting feeling of home. No place on Earth could compare. She had to figure out a way to keep this place. For Birdie’s sake, yes, but also for her own.
Toni climbed the steps to the deck that surrounded the entire house and let herself into the mudroom. She figured she could fall asleep standing up until the mouth-watering scents of garlic, oregano, and basil filled her nose. Her grandmother must have spent the entire day cooking. Toni closed the door behind her and dumped her messenger bag and laptop case on the floor with a weary sigh.
“Eloise?” Grandma called from the connecting kitchen.
“No, it’s Toni,” she said.
“About time you came home. These delivery guys are about to drive me nuts. Ringing the doorbell every hour on the hour like clockwork.”