Page 22 of Savior
I force a smile at one such couple as I check them out at the reception area. “Did you two have a great time?” I ask.
“The best,” the perky blonde gushes. “The absolute best. I told John here we’d have to come back this time next year.”
“We’ll see,” he says, but he indulges her with a quick kiss, and I can tell if I’m around next year that we’ll be seeing them again.
“We hope you do consider coming back,” I say by rote. “Fifteen percent off booking for return customers,” I add.
The woman squeals and they walk off, already chattering about their next vacation together. I spend the next half hour straightening brochures and wiping down counters and table tops, wondering if we have any more customers checking in or out today. I don’t think we do, but I stay close to the front just in case anyone needs me.
It’s just after two when Diane comes through the back door with her arms full of grocery bags. I rush to the kitchen to help her, taking all the bags she has dangling from her right arm.
“Thanks. It was a madhouse!” she says, shaking out her now free arm. “An absolute madhouse. I don’t know why I keep going on Friday afternoon when I know it’ll be so busy.”
“You should have let me come with you,” I say as follow her to the kitchen.
She makes a shushing sound. “Please, you do enough around here, and I’m perfectly capable of going on my own. You are certainly welcome to help me unload and put them away, though.”
“I’m on it!”
I head around the large center island and through the hallway to the garage access. Already thinking about the delicious menu for the night, I don’t notice until I’m halfway across the garage that someone’s already standing by Diane’s car.
“What are you doing here?” I ask before I can think to stop it.
Logan straightens from the trunk with his arms full of dangling grocery bags. “I could ask the same question,” he says.
I take a tentative step toward Diane’s car. “I work here.”
“And I would tell you what I’m doing here, but I don’t even know your name,” he says, and then passes by me and disappears inside.
It takes me a few seconds of frantic thinking before I remember I’m supposed to be helping. By the time I make it back inside, Logan’s helping Diane unload the bags and putting groceries away into cabinets. Wanting to question him about what he’s doing at my job, but at the same time not wanting to get involved, I bite my lip to keep my interrogation from spilling out.
To distract myself, I make two more trips back to the car for the rest of Diane’s haul, set everything on the counter, and help unload. All the while, Diane and Logan chatter in the background.
“Have you met our new hire, Sienna?” I overhear Diane say. “You’ve been away training and may have missed her. She moved into the bungalow next to you.”
My shoulders stiffen, and I pause for a second, one hand outstretched as I put a can of diced tomatoes away. There’s a moment of heavy silence while I wait for Logan to answer and then he says, “Sienna?” he repeats, and I swear I can feel him glaring at me. “Yes, we met.”
When he doesn’t add to it, I set the jar of tomatoes on the shelf, relaxing marginally.
“I don’t know what we’d do without her,” Diane continues. “I hope you don’t mind that I put her into the house next to yours. If we were further along with the renovations to the others, I wouldn’t have. I know you like your privacy.”
I hear Logan kiss her cheek and then say, “It’s no problem, Aunt Diane.”
Stifling a gasp, I take extra care setting the next few cans in an orderly line on the shelf in front of me. I never would have pegged them as related, but now that he’s mentioned it, I can’t help but see the resemblance. Well, hell, I went and insulted my boss’s nephew. I have to resist the urge to slap my forehead as I gather all the empty bags and put them in their storage container. God, I’m such an idiot.
They continue to chatter behind me, though I doubt chatter is a word many have used to describe any activity involving Logan’s deep, rumbling voice, and I pretend it doesn’t affect me at all by getting out all the ingredients Diane will need for tonight’s dinner. The kitchen seemed much smaller with him in it, though.
“You know I just worry about you,” Diane says while I gather the spices from the top shelf over the commercial-grade range.
“So you’ve said,” Logan replies, “Many times.”
“I thought your deployments were hard—”
“Aunt Diane,” he says and there’s no mistaking the warning tone in his voice.
I move to the fridge to grab the defrosted chicken, not because I’m somewhat intrigued and certainly not because I want to know more about him. When I look back at them, Diane is waving away Logan’s protests. “I don’t want to hear it. I’m allowed to worry about my favorite nephew.”
Logan smiles down at her, and it’s quite possibly the most perfect smile I have ever seen. I must have made some sort of strangled noise, because his eyes find mine. My. Good. God. He is beautiful—so much so that my whole body refuses to listen while my brain screams for me to turn away. Diane flutters about, unaware of the tension that suddenly fills the room. After a moment, he breaks the contact and pulls Diane into a hug.