Crazy Little Thing Called Love (28 page)

“Right.”

“There's no confusion.”

“Right.”

“And the only transition I'm having is going from being single to being married again—and I'm marrying Ted.”

“Right.”

“So let's look at dresses.”

“Right.”

“And stop saying ‘right.' ”

“Right—” Mindy covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes wide. “I mean, okay. Let's do this.”

An hour later they'd narrowed down Mindy's matron-of-honor dress to three possibilities.

“I still like the idea of something with an Empire waist.” Mindy clicked back to the second dress option. “And I wouldn't mind a one-shoulder-style dress, because it provides more coverage than a halter or a maillot or something with spaghetti straps. I mean, I am going to be a nursing mom most likely . . .”

A knock at the front door interrupted her perusal of the turquoise knee-length dress.

“Look and see if you find anything else. I'll be right back.”

A few moments later, Mindy reappeared, followed by Logan Hollister.

“Guess who stopped by?” Mindy's eyebrows were skyrocketing over her eyes.

“Logan?” Vanessa closed the laptop, rising to her feet.

“Good guess.”

“Sorry to interrupt.” The way he smiled at her, Logan didn't look sorry at all. “I, um, was wondering if you'd like to go for a motorcycle ride.”

“A motorcycle ride?”

“Yep.” A familiar glint lit his blue eyes. “For old times' sake.”

And after all the years of silence . . . of emotional and geographical distance . . . Vanessa's heart still responded to the little bit of I-dare-you in his blue eyes that always pulled her toward him.

Why wasn't she still holding on to the puppy—some sort of furry little barrier between her and Logan?

Completely ineffective.

But she couldn't say yes to Logan anymore. They weren't teenagers. A wedding and a divorce—and so much more, including her engagement and upcoming wedding—separated them.

He stood there, watching her. Not saying a word. And she knew he understood everything she was thinking. And feeling. The
I won't
's warring with the
I will 
's. Teeter-totter. She'd never been good at saying no to Logan. With him, it had always been about saying yes . . . and her acceptance of his invitation to meet him at the bridge last night had weakened her defenses. And really, what could one short motorcycle ride with Logan hurt?

“Sounds like fun.”

His grin lit something long dormant in her heart, but Vanessa tamped it down with a quick shake of her head.

“Is that okay, Mindy?”

“You don't need permission from me—I'm not your mother. Besides, I'm about ready for my mommy-to-be nap, anyway.”

And just like that, they stepped into old times' sake.

Standing next to his motorcycle, Vanessa couldn't believe it was the same one he'd bought during their first year of college. “So, it still runs, huh?”

“Yeah. I leave it here year-round in my parents' garage.” He handed her a blue helmet. “I think my dad pays someone to keep it tuned up for me.”

“Good thing my hair's braided.”

“I like how you're wearing it long.”

That wasn't a compliment, exactly. More of an observation. “Yeah, well, I don't swim much these days.”

“Except when you jump into the Gulf to rescue someone from drowning.”

“That was different—and you helped.”

“Like I said, we're a good team.”

He spoke the words as he reached over to help her adjust the helmet's chin strap, his fingers brushing against hers. She dropped her hands to her sides, her fingers curling tight into her palms. Once the strap was buckled, Logan rapped on the top—once, twice—the sound echoing back to years ago.

“All set?”

“Yes.”

When he'd put on his helmet and settled on the bike, he slid forward, steadying the motorcycle with his feet. She climbed on behind him, waiting until she found her balance again. Vanessa stared at Logan's broad back. Where did she place her hands? Did she dare touch Logan again? Wrap her arms around his waist? Lean in like she used to do when they were . . . younger? When she placed her hands where his belt rested just above his hips, he seemed to exhale, bringing the motorcycle to life with a roar and steering it out of the driveway with practiced ease, going slowly until they hit the road in front of the house.

Vanessa closed her eyes. Inhaled, but was unable to smell the morning air rushing by them because of the helmet. Not remembering. Not thinking ahead. Just feeling the power of the motorcycle, how Logan controlled the bike with assurance. Watching his strong hands grip the handlebars, the curve and width of his shoulders beneath his brown leather jacket.

Despite what Logan said, this ride wasn't for old times' sake. The choice to climb up on the bike again and go for a ride with him had nothing to do with the past. She couldn't—wouldn't—remember back to when they were both younger and didn't think before they leapt and mistakenly thought they'd fallen in love forever. No recalling what she and Logan had thought they had . . . because then she'd have to stop and evaluate what they'd lost.

And taking this ride had nothing to do with her future as Ted's wife. She would never do anything this impetuous with Ted. He drove the speed limit. Scheduled his next dental appointment the same day he got his teeth cleaned. Took a multivitamin. Met with his insurance rep once a year to check his policy.

But she understood his calm, careful approach to life. Appreciated it. Ted faced nonstop drama in the ER, just as she rode the rush of adrenaline whenever she went out on a call.

Being on the motorcycle with Logan—allowing herself to ease just a little closer, to relax, to relish the pull of the wind against her clothes, the subtle sense of speed—was about being in this moment. Nothing more.

The echoes of laughter from the past would fade once he brought her back to Mindy's. She'd forget that being here felt . . . familiar. Comfortable. She ignored the faint whisper in her heart telling her she'd missed this. That she'd missed him.

Because that wasn't possible.

Vanessa opened her eyes. How long had she been sitting here, eyes squeezed shut?

She wasn't surprised Logan headed toward the high school. Not really.

Where else would he go?

•  •  •

Logan had no game plan for what came next. His invitation had been impulsive—and he hadn't expected Vanessa to say yes.

Her agreement nourished something inside his heart. A verbal salve to an invisible wound that ached just a bit less when she climbed on behind him . . . well, not exactly like she had in the past. She hadn't snuggled up against his back. Hadn't wrapped her arms around his waist. Hadn't run her fingers through the strands of his hair brushing his shoulders.

Because he didn't wear his hair long anymore.

And they weren't that couple anymore. Weren't married anymore.

But he still had to force himself to concentrate on the road. Not think about the woman behind him, her hands warm against his waist. Mere inches separating their bodies. The memories of so many rides together teased him so that he barely noticed the scenery passing by.

He turned the motorcycle into the high school parking lot not because that had been his intention all along. Not because he had anything to say to Vanessa. But because he couldn't think straight.

Logan pulled the helmet off, inhaling a deep breath, raking his fingers through his hair. He twisted to face Vanessa just as she removed her helmet.

“So . . . enjoying the ride?”

“Yes.” The one word was quick. Breathless. “I haven't been on a motorcycle since . . . in years.”

He steadied the bike as Vanessa dismounted, then set the stand before locking the helmets on the back of the motorcycle and coming to stand beside her.

“How's your family?”

“My parents retired to Montana—where my dad's from. He . . . he's recovering from a heart attack.”

Her statement jolted him a bit—away from his awareness of her. “Is he okay?”

“Yes . . . I mean, he's recovering. It happened right before I came here. He's home now.”

“I'm glad to hear that. Your mom okay?”

“You know my mom—she handles everything. Nothing upsets her.”

Except her daughter eloping during her senior year of high school. There was that.

“And what about Rylan? Did he ever get his own motorcycle?”

“Yes, he did—once he joined the military.”

“Just like your dad.”

“Yes. He's in the air force, too—overseas. But he's still single. Makes it easier for him, I think. He likes the travel.”

“And you're a paramedic. How'd that come about?”

“I was studying kinesiology in college. After the . . . the divorce, I decided I wanted to get a job to keep busy. I thought about working at a gym, lifeguarding or teaching swim lessons—you know, use my swim-team experience. I needed to get recertified with some of my life-saving certification. And then some of my classmates mentioned they were EMTs. And one thing led to another . . . I found I liked helping people. There's no typical day . . . and there's an emotional rush that's addicting. Yeah, it's kinda outrageous to admit to that.”

“So, life looks good. Work. School. A wedding.”

“Yes. Ted and I have known each other for a couple of years. It's . . . easy.”

“Great.”

“And you . . .”

“Like I said last night, I've been doing what I love. Chasing storms. I've had a great time.”

No need to tell her all that was ending.

“I saw in the news that there was an accident.”

She'd read about that? About him?

“Yes. That's why Max is on crutches. You know how the press is—all about creating headlines—and that means covering the worst stories.”

“I'm glad you're okay—you and your team.”

“Thanks.”

Even with those few words, Vanessa offered him more comfort than his own father had, but then that had always been the case . . . or had been for a few years, at least.

“So when do you head back to Denver?”

“Tomorrow. My boss has let me have a few extra days on top of a few extra days.”

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry—that was a bit confusing. I took a couple of extra days to visit my father. Then Cressida added a few more days to my time here, what with closing the airport down. What about you?”

“The team and I fly out tomorrow, too.”

The smile she offered him ended with a sigh. “Everyone gets back to normal.”

“Exactly.”

He scanned the parking lot, which was vacant except for a few cars and what looked like a couple of repair vehicles parked close to the gym.

“Doesn't look like school's back in session yet.”

“I heard on the TV this morning that besides the sign damage, the gym roof took a hit from the hurricane. So I think they're delaying school until next week.”

“Understandable.” He nodded toward the school. “But there's no reason we can't go for a quick walk through the halls—for old times' sake and all that.”

“What? No—” Vanessa didn't move.

“Are you going to the reunion next month?”

“No.”

“Well, then this is your only chance to walk the hallowed halls of Niceville High School, our alma mater.” He tilted his head toward the gym. “Join me?”

He braced himself for her refusal—and so the sound of her laughter, coupled with the way her hand brushed against his as she came alongside him, was an intoxicating and unexpected glimpse of the past.

“Lead on!” Vanessa fell into step with him.

“Just act like we're supposed to be here, and nobody will be any wiser.” Logan slung his arm over her shoulders, waving at the workman on top of the gym roof.

She matched her steps to his, the heels of her boots tapping against the asphalt. “We're alumni—of course we belong here.”

“That's the spirit. Where to first?”

“The lockers—I want to see my locker.” She ran ahead of him. “And then I'm going to all my classrooms.”

“You think you can remember your schedule from senior year?”

His question caused her to stop in the middle of the hallway. She closed her eyes, appearing deep in thought. And during those moments, Logan allowed himself to stare at her face—and remember when he had the freedom to touch her thick hair, to kiss her mouth, to watch her brown eyes light up with laughter or soften with the first moments of passion . . .

“I've got it— What?” Vanessa's question interrupted his perusal. “What are you thinking?”

“Nothing.” Logan tucked his hands into his jean pockets. “You remember your schedule? Prove it. Take me to each one of the classrooms—in the proper order.”

“But we weren't in all the same classes. You won't know if I'm right.”

“Vanessa—I knew your schedule senior year. I'll know.”

“Oh.” A faint tinge of pink stained her cheeks. “Okay. Here we go: Honors English—I had that with Mindy. And then you and I had math class together . . .”

By the time they recalled both their class schedules and found their lockers, reminiscing about teachers and classmates, the empty hallways echoed with their laughter. Then they found their graduating class photograph framed among all the other graduating classes—their faces side by side.

“My mom had to do some sort of special order to get me senior photos, since we moved two weeks after school started.”

He'd never really thought of all the challenges Vanessa faced moving during her senior year.

“Do you ever regret not going out for swim team during senior year?”