The What If Guy - Lauren Blakely Page 0,69

hand of a curly-haired blonde.

My ovaries dance a jig.

They execute handsprings.

He’s never been more attractive, and that’s saying something.

Wait. He’s opening the door for her. It’s official. He’s even more irresistible.

He holds the door for his daughter, who jerks her gaze around the store. “Daddy, where’s your girlfriend?”

She’s loud and bold, and I love it. Laughing, I raise my hand and wave. I stand, and they walk over to me.

The girl flashes me a bright smile and extends a hand. “I’m Amelia Clarke. It’s nice to meet you. I like cats, cake, books, and my dad and my mom too.”

Oh. My. God.

She is the most fantastic person ever.

I take her hand and shake. “I’m Bryn Hawthorne. I like road trips and retro posters, sayings about strong women, my friends, and my mom, who’s in Heaven. And I like meeting new people. Like you.”

“And do you like cake?”

“Obviously.”

“Good. But I don’t want to share. Sharing is good, but not with cake, because I want my own piece. Please. Is that okay, Daddy?”

He ruffles her hair. “Absolutely.” He casts me a look like he’s asking if I want to share with him. “How about you?”

I scoff. “Don’t look at me. I don’t share cake either.”

We all head to the counter and order our own slices. I think this will be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

And maybe more, because when the three of us sit down, Amelia takes a bite, says it’s yummy, then stares at me. “Are you guys in love?”

My cheeks flame red, and my smile is as wide as Manhattan from end to end. “I definitely am.”

Logan reaches a hand out to take mine. “I absolutely am too.”

Later that week, when Amelia is with her mom, Logan comes over carrying a large, thin, rectangular object wrapped in brown paper.

“Is that a poster in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”

“Both,” he says, edging in and setting the item down. “It’s something you were looking for once upon a time.”

Intrigued, I rip open the paper. Then I gasp, my hand flying to my mouth, tears blurring my vision. All my emotions rise, bubbling up and clogging my throat. “You didn’t.”

“I did.”

“How did you find it?” I ask shakily. “That’s what we were looking for two summers ago.”

“I know. That’s why I wanted you to have it.”

I rip off the paper the rest of the way, and my heart lodges deeper in my throat. It’s the signed Snoopy comic my mom and I were hunting for on our last road trip.

The one we never found.

“How did you find it?” I ask reverently as I stare at the Red Baron.

“I asked the woman in Your Little Loves to help me, and we tracked one down. I wanted you to have it. I thought it would be great to hang in the new office of Bryn Hawthorne Consulting,” he says.

I stare at it for a little longer, imagining my new office, picturing my mom seeing me in it. Knowing she’d be proud of me, of my choices, of my life.

Of my choice to love this man.

I stand, cup his cheeks, and whisper against his lips, “I love you.”

“Good. Because I love you too.”

36

Logan

The next few months go like this:

Work my ass off.

Promote Matthew to run The Dating Pool.

Hang the Snoopy poster in Bryn’s new office.

Celebrate with a sushi dinner when she finalizes the deal with Joy Delivered.

Celebrate with another dinner when she takes on Hadley as a client.

Celebrate one more time when her friend Paisley hires her.

See her as much as possible.

And juggle everything.

I learn to juggle in a whole new way, with more dexterity than I’ve ever needed before.

My daughter comes first and foremost. Then my business. My family. My friends.

And the woman I love is way at the top too.

Fortunately, my friends are nuts about Bryn because she’s amazing.

But sometimes it’s good just to hang with the guys, though they do love to give me a hard time about how little they see me now.

It’s a balancing act, fitting everything in, but Fitz is taking off for England for a week, so I make some time to head over to his place on a Sunday in August.

I arrive at his Gramercy Place apartment around one.

The door swings open. “Hand it over,” he says, a stern look on his face as he holds out his palm.

“It’s a no-phone game?” I ask.

“Yes. Because the pact is kicking in, and I don’t want to be tempted if I get some booty-call