I’d never even thought about it. My time was spent searching the world for treasures. It was odd, but it wasn’t until Logan entered my life that I thought about the person I was before him as being a nomad. A gypsy. Traveling around in search of nothing yet never stopping.
Sure, there were times I’d watch romantic comedies and get that little high that comes with happy endings, read chick lit for the sheer pleasure of smiling, and once I think I might have thought the idea of ice-skating in Central Park while holding someone’s hand could be fun, but in all honesty that was as far as my romantic thoughts had ever gone.
Until now.
While I lived with Clementine at Michael’s house, Logan stayed at my place. We had both agreed that easing Logan into Clementine’s daily routine was the best way to move forward. Also, with Michael’s absence, I didn’t want to compound her confusion by moving her out of her home right away.
Small, baby steps, we both agreed.
A saying that never could be applied to our relationship. We’d started full blast, but over the past several weeks we’d learned how to temper the inferno that lived within us both. It was fun. We actually went on the most incredible dates. Real dates. He picked me up and we went out to dinner, sometimes to the movies, and other times we went sightseeing. We double-dated with Peyton and Declan, something I had never done nor had Logan, and sometimes we brought Clementine on our dates.
We also indulged in classic movies from the eighties that for most kids were a rite of passage. Neither of us had a normal childhood, so this was all new to us. Logan bought a Best of the Eighties DVD complete set and it included The Breakfast Club, Pretty in Pink, Back to the Future, Sixteen Candles, and so many more favorites of that decade. At the end of each date, he would drop me off and kiss me good night. The kisses were never soft and sweet, though; they were much more reminiscent of the very first night we met.
Hot and heavy.
Breathtaking.
Unforgettable.
Mrs. R had stayed on, which allowed me to go to the boutique and work on transitioning it over to Peyton. The plan was that I’d remain the owner, but she’d be my managing partner, and once she was ready to be independent, I’d sell her the boutique. And since I was easing out of my duties, I had the luxury of sneaking off during my lunch break and meeting Logan at my place, but today we had a completely different agenda.
Today was the start of our new life.
Logan and I would be saying our goodbyes to everyone.
And leaving Boston.
It was early, around eight, and he was waiting for me on the stoop to my townhouse. With a kiss, he took my hand. “Morning.”
Butterflies bounced within my belly. “Good morning.”
“Come on, we have a lot to do today, so let’s get started.”
I followed him, and as I watched him open the door, I thought, I’d follow him anywhere.
He turned back before entering. “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked tenderly.
I nodded and let my gaze devour him. The soft tone of his voice was such a sharp contrast to the strong man standing before me. Logan was wearing a black T-shirt that hugged his torso and faded jeans that hung low on his hips. His arms were chiseled in such a way that didn’t make him appear bulky in the least. He was all long and lean and hard. Powerful. Strong. Competent. There was no one else in the world I trusted more than he to help me raise Clementine.
“It doesn’t matter to me. You know that, right? I will love her no matter who her biological father is,” Logan said.
I nodded again. My heart in my throat, because I knew he meant that with all his heart and soul.
The envelope marked Clementine’s Paternity that had been in the panic room was in my hand, and Logan and I were standing in front of the fireplace in a home that was soon to be owned by someone else. I’d be turning over the key today at noon to the real estate agent. The townhouse was completely bare, except for him and me, and a fire in June.
With trembling fingers, I tossed it into the flames. That envelope contained DNA results that Michael had run. Logan and I both knew there was a very likely chance Tommy Flannigan was Clementine’s father, but it was equally as likely to have been Michael, or someone else entirely.
We both watched as it went up in flames.
Blood isn’t thicker than water. It took me seeing the way Logan interacted with Clementine and seeing the sacrifice Michael made for his daughter to really believe it. After all, I’d grown up in such a completely different environment. A place where carrying on the bloodline was all that mattered—no matter what the risk.
Logan pulled me close. “Are you sure you’re ready to leave Boston?”
I smiled at him gleefully. There was no hesitation in my voice at all. “Yes. Yes. Yes.”
His laughter was such a beautiful sound. “Say that again,” he whispered.
“Yes. Yes. Yes,” I said with even more excitement in my voice.