Three
Although flying had long since ceased to be a novelty for Callie, she was thrilled to step across the threshold onto the plane. Even the dry, cold air felt refreshing against her face. Amy had purchased her a business class ticket, and as she sank into the leather seat, Callie couldn't wait to put as much distance between herself and Washington as possible. As the plane started to fill, the seat next to Callie stayed empty. She looked across the aisle at the large man who spilled over his seat into the next. His head was titled back, and he was already snoring. Whoever had to sit with him was going to have quite the uncomfortable ride. Maybe they'd both luck out and the seats would remain empty.
Then Callie watched an old couple approach the row. The husband's shirt and shorts were perfectly ironed. Callie noticed that his legs were pale where his shorts cut off. An office worker, she thought. She looked at the wife, who had long silver hair, and eyes so blue they were almost purple. The husband had his free hand on her shoulder as they walked down the aisle. They looked like one of those couples that you read about in the paper, when one dies and the other dies of heartbreak the next day. They had most likely been married for longer than Callie had been alive.
As the wife turned to say something to her husband, Callie caught a glimpse of their luggage. It was brand new. Either this was an important occasion or it was their first vacation in a long time. The woman turned to her and asked, "Is this row four or five, dear?"
"Four," Callie said. "These are seats A and B."
"Ah, then this is it," the woman replied. "Henry, which seat am I in?"
Callie watched Henry fumble with the tickets as he looked for the seat number. "They have you in C, Honey." He looked over at the snoring man and quickly added, "But I think you should sit next to this young woman instead."
As the woman looked at her, Callie did some quick math in her head. The flight couldn't be longer than an hour and a half. Most of it would be take off and landing. Surely the two of them could sit across the aisle from each other for that long, but Callie knew she couldn't let them do that. Something deep inside compelled her to stand up. "I'm sorry," she said. "I think I'm in the wrong seat. May I see your tickets?" After Henry handed her the ticket, she read aloud, "Evelyn Rhodes, row four seat A." She winked at them and slid across the aisle and sat down next to the snoring man.
After Henry and Evelyn sat down, Evelyn held Henry's hand and leaned against his shoulder. They looked like they were built to fit together like that. Henry reached across the aisle and tapped Callie on the shoulder. "Thank you," he said, his voice barely rising above a whisper.
"No, thank you," Callie said. "Seeing the two of you made my day."
"Well, we've been waiting for this day for over thirty five years," Henry said, "so thank you for making it better."
"Is today your anniversary?"
Henry nodded. "Thirty five years ago we eloped at city hall, and for thirty five years, I've promised Eve that I'd give her the honeymoon she deserved. We had kids, and a mortgage, and, well, you know how things go. We took so many trips with each other and with our kids over the years, but none of them were that honeymoon I promised her. When I decided to retire this spring, I knew the time was right. Thirty five years later, and we're going on our honeymoon."
"Sometimes I can't believe I made him propose three times before I finally said yes."
Callie's eyes widened. "Really?" Maybe this couple was more interesting than she had guessed.
"Yeah, I was wild about him, but I wanted to know that he felt the same way about me. It took some time, but he eventually got it right. And now look at us, we're on a plane to Providence. Well, it’s not Florence, but it will do.”
"Well, I hope one day to have what you two have."
"You will. You'll meet a wonderful man and fall in love. For a while you'll wonder what all these strange emotions are. He'll drive you nuts, and then he'll drive you wild, but then one day it will click. And when it does, you'll wonder how you ever existed without him."
"I'll let you know when I find him," Callie said.
"Who knows, maybe you already have," Evelyn said, motioning toward the large man snoring next to Callie. The plane's engines kicked to life as it started to taxi onto the runway. Within a few minutes the plane lifted into the sky, and the large man shifted his weight, and leaned against Callie. No good deed goes unpunished, she thought. She looked back at the old couple as they held hands and talked quietly. It was like they were in their own little world, like everyone else on the plane was just background noise. She envied that.
She was glad to have moved over for them, even if it meant a dirty look from the stewardess later on. It seemed like only the Henrys and the Evelyns of the world found love, people who could stay in one place and devote their lives to each other. Callie had been on four flights in the past week and a half, and she had worked about a hundred hours in that time. How would she ever find the time to meet someone good and decent and worth the sacrifices? Amy had lucked into it, but Callie had a feeling that she’d have a much harder time finding someone she could share her life with. Why was she even thinking about this? She didn’t even really know what she wanted in a man. As soon as this trip was over, she’d start looking for someone, but for the moment, she needed to focus on her job. She looked down at her watch and started to count down the minutes until arrival.
***
Callie parked her car and stepped out onto the cobblestone street. Despite a breeze, heat radiated up from the stones under the summer sun. Still, it was cooler than DC, and the uneven, narrow streets and clapboard houses overflowed with New England charm. Here and there a family or old couple meandered down the sidewalk. Callie couldn't see the harbor yet, but she could smell the fresh brine in the air. She stood still for a moment and strained to hear the dull murmur of the ocean in the distance. She wanted to see it. She left the car behind and started walking, winding her way down the crooked streets, following that sound.
Newport felt old in a way that DC did not. It felt like it had been preserved in time. As she walked, she admired the single paned windows with their wavy glass, and soon, she forgot all about the noise, and her desire to see the ocean, and she simply wandered, admiring the houses and the warm summer air, until finally, she realized that she had no idea where she was, and that for the first time in weeks, she wasn’t thinking about work. Maybe this place would be good for her after all. All she had to do was keep Logan Harris in line. She had dealt with worse than him before. Of course, first she’d have to find her way back to the car. She had succeeded in losing herself for a while. Now, how hard would it be to find her way back?
***
Logan hadn't meant to be in his father's house, not that late in the afternoon anyway. He was already three hours behind schedule. Traffic back from his morning meeting in Boston had been a nightmare, and he knew he wouldn't have time to head back out to his yacht to shower. That was fine anyway; the water pressure in the century old house was better than anything he could get on the boat. Logan just didn't particularly care for the way the bathroom looked out over the yard. The last thing he needed was some paparazzo sneaking over a fence and snapping a picture of him toweling off.
The morning's meeting had ironed out the final kinks with Logan's primary supplier for the restaurant. Now, he just needed to shower, throw on a suit and head to the brewery to take care of the last bit of publicity before he handed the reins over to the manager and started thinking about his next endeavor. With any luck, he'd be able to set course for a new destination by the next afternoon.
After jumping out of the shower, Logan quickly shaved. He looked at himself in the mirror as he wondered what he'd do next. He ran the water hot and took his time as he trimmed away the three-day-old stubble on his chin. After completing the process, he splashed water on his face. How did I get here? he wondered. He looked almost the same as he had when he was twenty-five. His short blond hair still fell in just the right way to look both neat and unruly. His eyes were as bright blue as ever, but now he could see the first hint of age, the crow’s feet starting to form from all those late nights and early mornings.
As Logan looked in the mirror, he caught a glimpse of something in his peripheral vision, someone walking down the path toward the guesthouse. When he turned his attention, he realized that the flash of motion was a woman, pulling a suitcase down the back walkway. He watched as she stopped for a moment and looked out over the rolling grounds of his father's mansion.
The woman looked familiar, and had the kind of face he felt like he had seen a thousand times before, too pretty for her own good. But there was something else, He watched the way the afternoon light fell across her cheekbones, the way it accentuated the little dimples she had to the sides of her smile. He liked the way the light seemed to float around her fair skin. There was something about this woman, something different, something that reached down inside him and slowly unlaced the ties that held him together. "You are Logan Harris," he whispered to himself, "and you don't let women get to you. You get to them. Stop this mushy bullshit at once."
Despite his pep talk to himself, Logan couldn't look away from the woman walking down to the guesthouse, couldn't help but notice the way her dress clung to her thin frame in the light summer breeze. Why does she look so familiar? he thought. You're just curious. As he stood there in the window, Logan watched the woman turn. He watched her raise her beautiful face to look up at the mansion. He watched her eyes as they met his gaze and locked onto him. Logan felt a jolt of surprise leap through his body as the woman stared at him. Her expression turn into a glare.
Logan was used to women hating him once they got to know him. But this? Was it hate at first sight? Whatever it was, it was new and exciting, something he'd have to learn more about. Maybe this was why his father had left him two voicemails that morning. He had ignored both calls. As he looked across the lawn, Logan realized that the woman was still staring at him, and his heart skipped a beat as she dropped her luggage to the ground and stepped onto the lawn. The woman was heading straight toward him. He reached for his clothes and scrambled to get dressed.
***
Callie walked up to Logan and held out her hand. He was taller than she had expected. The afternoon light glinted in his deep blue eyes, giving them a warmth Callie hadn't seen in Logan's pictures. His blond hair was tousled and half wet. He had a kind of wild indifference only the rich and the gifted could pull off. She knew he was rich, but was there something more there. She was so used to men in suits and ties, every hair on their head perfectly sculpted and placed. Logan, with the top buttons on his shirt undone, was a pleasant departure. Of course, she couldn't say that. His suit looked expensive but hardly worn, and was he wearing cowboy boots? She was here on business, and she couldn't start blurring lines just because she thought a boy was pretty. Remember why you're here, Callie. This isn't high school.
"Hi, I'm Callie. I'm staying in the guesthouse. You must be Logan." She tried to hold her hand steady, but she was already sweating. So much for bowling him over with her confidence.
"I am," he said. He looked at her for a moment, scratching his head as he pulled her face from his memory. "You're Amy's sister, right? We met briefly at her wedding.”
“Yes, I am" she said. After waiting a moment for Logan to respond, she added, "Is that a problem?"
"As long as you don't have a jealous husband too, we should be fine."
"Unfortunately, Ethan Cole is already taken, and no one will fight you over me.”
“I’m sure many men would trip over themselves for the pleasure of fighting for you,” Logan replied. Callie was beginning to see why Ethan had seen Logan as a threat to his marriage. “And who knows, the night is young," he said, “and I can’t seem to walk down the street without getting myself into trouble.”
"Seems like a rather dumb thing to do."
"Beautiful women inspire men like me to think all kinds of bad ideas."
"Is that so? I'd rather inspire a few good ones."
"And that's another reason why I'll be careful to keep my distance,” Logan said. He took a step back, cultivating a safe distance between himself and Callie. The two of them had been gravitating toward each other, and only now that Logan had stepped back did Callie realize how close she had been to him. Logan crossed his arms and continued. “I have a feeling that I'll get an earful from your sister and my father if I do much more than think."
"Then why do I get the feeling that that still won't keep you away? I’ve heard you aren’t exactly famous for your thinking.”
“I see my reputation precedes me. How about I help you bring your luggage down to the guesthouse before I head on my way?" Logan said with a laugh. He opened his arms back up and reached forward. He placed his hand over Callie’s, and she felt a little thrill at his touch. She smiled and fiddled with her hair.
Callie turned her attention back to the suitcase that stood halfway between her and the guesthouse door. She had already forgotten about it, and she wondered if Logan could sense her nervous excitement. Quick, say something playful! “Already inviting yourself in?" she asked.
"Nothing like that, at least not yet. I have to be back at my restaurant."
"What kind of restaurant?"
"It's a microbrewery on the harbor. You should stop by if you're hungry. It's right at the end of Thames Street on the wharf. Like I said, I'd love to give you the full tour, but I have to be back into town soon. At least let me show you to the guesthouse."
"I'm sure I can find my way there."
"I'm sure you can, too, but it's on the way, and you'd pick the wrong room anyway. Let me show you. You'll thank me later."
"Are you always this dismissive of your guests?”
"Only when I have an escape route if anything goes wrong." Logan pointed to the boat tied up at the dock beyond the guesthouse.
Logan's boat was one of those low-slung, old-fashioned wooden motorboats. The sun shone off of its lacquer finish, making the wood glow a deep red. To Callie, it looked like an instrument, like a fine violin or cello. It suited Logan. After all, his main talents seemed to be an effortless style and a certain recklessness. Callie was sure that to him the hum of its engine was like a symphony. "That's how you get around here?"
"If I'm going home or to work, yes. I have two cars and a bike in the garage for fun. I was just coming back from a drive when you got here. My current residence doesn't have much off-street parking."
"Because it's a yacht?"
"Yes," Logan said with a laugh, "because it's a yacht.”
Logan grabbed Callie's suitcase and led her to the side door. She wasn't sure why she had expected the guesthouse to be anything other than charming. While the scale of the main house was overwhelming, the guesthouse looked more like a cozy cottage. Once Logan ushered her inside, though, Callie saw that cozy was a relative term. The side door led into a large and airy kitchen, with white cabinets and butcher-block countertops. Callie took note of the large fridge and stove, and wondered if she'd even bother to cook for herself while in Newport. Her aunt and her sister had a running joke that Callie could burn water if it were possible.
Turning away from the kitchen, Callie saw the breakfast nook and the small living room. The far wall, the one that faced the ocean was almost entirely windowed. Each window was made up of several panes of glass, adding to the character of the space. "Right this way," Logan said, cutting across the living room and pushing open a door. "You'll want to sleep in this bedroom."
Callie looked at the staircase that headed up to the top floor. "What's upstairs?" she asked.
"The master bedroom and another large living space, but trust me, you want this one."
Something in his tone set her off, but she couldn’t place it. He wasn’t exactly condescending and not exactly arrogant. Cocky. That’s what it was. He was cocky. Well, she wasn’t going to roll over just because he said so. Callie reached over to grab her suitcase from Logan. ”The master sounds nice."
"Have it your way," he said. He tossed the suitcase onto the couch and smiled at Callie. “Good to see you. There should be food in the fridge. If you're bored, feel free to stop by the brewery. It’s The Independent, right off of Thames. It was great to meet you, Callie, but I have to run."
"What, do you have a hot date or something?" Callie said, probing for more information.
Logan grinned as he headed to the door. "Yeah, something like that. Maybe we could meet up after,” he said as he headed out.
“I don’t think so,” Callie said. Logan shrugged and headed on his way. Her response had been automatic, a defense mechanism. Guys like Logan were trouble, and normally she’d do whatever she could to keep her distance. She was shooting him down out of habit, but she knew she had to go to the bar and that accepting his invitation would be the easiest way to keep an eye on him. She walked over to the door and leaned out. “I’ll see what I can do though,” she called to him. Logan gave her a thumbs up as he kept walking. He didn’t even stop. The nerve. Callie shouted after him, “Must be a pretty boring date if you’re already looking for something else.”
Logan didn’t acknowledge that last part. He was already climbing into his boat. Callie stood there in the doorway, watching Logan head off across the water. What was she getting herself into? It was her first night in town and she already had to play interference.