Sex in the Sticks by Sawyer Bennett
Jesus. It will take me forever to go through them.
Well, food will take at least an hour to get here, so I take a deep breath, sit down on my island stool, and pull up my email. As expected, most of them are from fans of Valentine's Couch, wondering where my blog went and expressing serious concern about me. This makes me feel bad, and I should at least send out an announcement to my newsletter database that I've retired the blog.
I read each email, some causing me to get a little misty-eyed, but the hateful ones I delete.
Doesn't bother me, though. I learned in this business you have to have a thick skin.
I open the next email, noting it was sent just four days ago, and my hand freezes over my laptop at the subject line. There's just one word: Logan.
I then see the email is from his sister Tabby Burke. I obviously didn't get to meet Tabby, but I sure knew about her. Logan told me all kinds of stories about his entire family, and one of my regrets from all of this was that I didn't get to meet them. Still, I hesitate to read the email, because I suspect it might not be nice.
But then curiosity gets the better of me and I give in to it.
Dear Valentine,
I'm sorry we didn't get to meet a few weeks ago. Things just got really crazy, in a really bad way. They say hindsight is twenty-twenty, and right now I'm really regretting having told Logan about your blog. I should have waited until you came to Seattle with him so I could meet you. I should have given you the benefit of the doubt, and judged you for myself. For that, I'm really sorry, because I'm the one who showed Logan, and well...as you know...he was extremely pissed off.
In case you're wondering, he's not mad anymore.
And if you're still inclined to read on, I want you to know...well...he's not anything anymore. He's not my funny brother who texts me throughout the day. He hasn't called in to check on our parents since his visit. And he won't answer his phone. He will, however, respond to my emails and they're short, terse, and frankly...assholish.
I'm afraid my brother is taking this really hard.
I know you think that might not be your problem, but I kind of hope you will think it is. I personally believe Logan is acting this way because his heart is broken that you're not there. I'm going out on a limb and guessing yours is the same way.
I believe this can all be fixed.
I really hope you get this email. I obviously did some research on you and found out you shut your blog down. That tells me a lot about you.
I really want my brother to be happy. I think you're the one to do it, but we have to get his head out of his ass first.
Want to help me?
If so, give me a call. My number is below.
Sincerely,
Tabby Burke
I stare blankly at the laptop for just a moment, then I read Tabby's email again.
Then I read it one more time.
Then I call Jeremy, and I read it to him.
His advice: hurry the fuck up and call Tabby.
I wait for my dinner to arrive, then hurry up and wolf it down. I pace around my apartment, letting the food digest and working up the courage to call Logan's sister. She seems so positive, but I'm afraid to have hope.
Finally, I sit down at my kitchen island, take a deep breath, and dial the number she gave me.
She answers on the second ring.
"Hi, Tabby? It's Valentine...So, what's the plan?"
She laughs into the phone and it's a delightful sound. "I am so glad you called me. Now...here's what I think you should do."
Chapter 24
Logan
I step into The Wounded Caribou and shake some of the rainwater from my head. I take my jacket off and hang it on a hook by the door. It had started raining a bit ago and I've always felt carrying an umbrella was a bit of a sissy move for a man. Sadly, I didn't have a hat in my truck, so even though I pulled up the lapels of my jacket to give me a bit of protection against the rain, it left my hair quite wet. I run a hand through it, slicking it back from my forehead. It will dry in short time and fall back forward again.
A tiny jab of pain hits me in my gut, as I remember how Valentine would always push my hair back when I was hovering over her. Usually while in bed while I was fucking her, but sometimes if we were just standing face to face, and I was bending down to kiss her. She'd take her hand and brush that lock of hair back, and--
Fuck...stop thinking about her for Christ's sake, Burke. She's been gone for three fucking weeks. It's time to move on.
The restaurant seems crowded, which is odd because rain normally keeps people indoors. I see Sarah in a booth having dinner with Leslie. April and Jorgen in a different booth, holding hands across the table and laughing. Most of the tables are full and there's only a few barstools left. There's one on the end, and three in the middle.
I choose the one on the end so I can eat in peace.
Ted meets me with a beer before I can even sit down, and gives me one of his sad looks. He's been watching me closely the last few weeks like I might do something crazy.
"Know what you want to eat?" he asks softly.
"Just a burger," I tell him. "Fries on the side."
"Got it, buddy," he says, and the overtly soft affection on the word buddy grates on my damn nerves.
"Will you just fucking cut it out?" I snap at Ted. He blinks at me in surprise but doesn't respond. "I'm fine. She was just a girl. It's over. Can everyone stop walking on eggshells around me, okay?"
Ted grimaces but nods his head. His voice is apologetic. "Yeah...sure, Logan. You're good. I'm good."
"I'm good," I reassure him, and then give him a smile that is so fucking forced my jaw hurts. "And hungry. So hurry up on that burger."
Ted leaves to put the order in but doesn't come back to chat with me like he normally would. I think I may have hurt his feelings, but so fucking what. Got my own issues to deal with.
So I huddle over my beer and try to process where everything went wrong for me.
At first, when I started trying to analyze this shit with Valentine, I placed the blame right on her shoulders. The minute she wrote that first article after coming to East Merritt, that's when things went wrong. Of course, Tabby told me I was full of shit when I floated that theory by her, but what the fuck does she know. She wasn't the subject of those blogs, nor was she betrayed.
But sometimes...like now at the end of a long day when I'm lonely and I know my bed is cold, I think about it some more. Perhaps there was something else that I missed that could have averted all of this. I search my brain, consider every angle, map out options.
I come up with fucking nothing, other than what is meant to be will be.
I'm halfway through my beer when Ted slides the burger before me. He's gone before I can say thanks. I pick up a fry, nibble on it, and look down the bar. Most of the stools are filled with my friends and residents that I protect. I used to come in here and be deep in discussion with any one of these guys, but now we hardly talk.
Probably because I've been a bit of a closed-off asshole.
At least that's what Ted suggested to me, and Sarah also confirmed that when I snapped at her one day.
I pick up my burger, open my mouth, and prepare to take a bite when I hear a woman--April, I think--exclaim in an excited sort of shriek, "Valley!"
Then several people are calling out, "Hey...it's Val."
Or, "Look who dragged herself back into town."
Then I hear Sarah say, "Get your butt over here, honey, and give me a hug."
I set the burger down and twist on my stool, and fuck me ten different ways...Valentine French is standing inside The Wounded Caribou. I totally disregard the sudden and overwhelming feeling of elation that courses through me, stuffing it down deep as I watch her make the rounds. She hugs people, pauses at tables to say a few words. She hugs Jorgen when he comes to stand beside April, and then I watch as she walks up to the middle of the bar and plops down on an empty stool. Ted is there in a nanosecond, leaning
She hasn't looked down the bar at me once.
And, God, she looks perfect.
Utterly fucking perfect.
She's not wearing her designer clothes and her face is free of makeup. In fact, she's got on a pair of faded jeans, hiking boots, and a thick gray sweater. I assume she must have ditched a rain jacket at the door. Her hair is pulled back into a high ponytail and she looks absolutely fucking edible.
My burger goes ignored, my fries get cold, and my beer goes flat.
I watch Valentine down the bar and she doesn't look at me once.
A few guys come up to talk to her, some I can tell in a flirty way. Monte Plume pushes his way in beside her stool and leans an elbow on the bar. Now why the fuck would he be talking with her? She wasn't kind to him in her blog. I watch as he says something to her with a smarmy grin, and she laughs while shaking her head no. He shrugs with a good-natured smile and ambles off.
April comes up to sit beside her, and they bend their heads close together to talk. Ted stays on the other side of the bar, and they include him in the conversation. Valentine does most of the talking, her hands animated. Ted nods along with serious eyes, but April seems really excited by what she's hearing.
And I have no idea what in the fuck is going on.
Then to my surprise, Valentine stands from the stool. She blows a kiss at Ted, gives April a hard hug, and walks over to the booth where Sarah is. Sarah reaches into her pocket and hands Valentine a set of keys, so I'm guessing that's where she'll be staying. I'm also guessing Sarah knew she was coming back to town and didn't say a fucking word to me about it.
Again, without even looking down the bar at me, Valentine makes her way through the restaurant, waving goodbyes, handing out a few hugs. She grabs a brown jacket from a hook right next to mine, and also an umbrella leaning up against the wall.
And then she opens the door and she's gone.
I watch the closed door for all of two seconds before I'm scrambling off my stool and running out the door after her.
When I hit the concrete sidewalk, I vaguely note it's still raining, but it's tapered off to more of just a mist. I immediately look in the direction of Sarah's place, and sure enough, Valentine's walking that way.
"Hey," I call out, not able to even say her name.
She freezes in place, and then turns around to look at me. She doesn't seem surprised to see me there, but she doesn't look happy either.
Doesn't look sad or pissed.
In fact, she looks at me with a polite smile, her head tilted to the side. "Hi."
Just...hi.
How nice.
"What are you doing here?" I ask impolitely, feeling like my entire insides are vibrating with some weird urgency.
Valentine's gaze sweeps back and forth along Main Street, and then she looks back to me with a shrug. "Guess I just missed this place."
"Missed this place?" I ask in disbelief.
"Yeah," she says with a bright smile. "It grew on me. And so I decided to come back and try to make a go of it here."
A mix of emotions slam around inside of me. Incredible, giddy happiness Valentine is here and going to stay, to extreme anger that she'd dare come back to this place to rub my nose in her duplicity, to absolute confusion over what any of this means.
My feelings are so fucking discombobulated I can't help but attack. "Let me guess...going to start dating all the men around here again and write about it?"
Valentine just looks at me...almost with sympathy. A knowledge that I'm fucked up in the head over her, and she feels bad about it. But she just shakes her head and says, "Nope. That's not what I'm going to do."
Then she turns away from me and walks off toward Sarah's. I fight the urge to go after her.
Not any of my business really why she's here.
Chapter 25
Valentine
"This property is stunning," April says as we walk around the exterior of the house.
"Well, the house needs a lot of work but that's part of the fun of it, right?" I tell her as I admire my new home. It sets just about two miles south of East Merritt and is nestled back in the woods. The prior owners didn't take the best care of it and it was built over twenty-five years ago so it needed some updating, but the bones of it are perfect. It sits in an L shape with the porch right in the crook of the L. It's a single story except right in the middle. From the foyer, a spiral staircase leads to the circular loft master bedroom with an en suite bath--although it's quite small--and a tiny dry sauna. My favorite part, though, is the gorgeous wood-burning stove tucked into the corner in the living room.
We walk into the backyard and climb the four steps to the back deck. The woods around my house are thick, but they make the back deck private and secure feeling. Not going to lie and tell you I'm not afraid of bears, because I am, but at least I don't have to worry about Sassy. She's a city dog and I left her in the loving care of Jeremy and Aubrey, who I will admit dotes on her more than I did. I guess I can grudgingly say I've come to like Aubrey, particularly since it was mostly her pain-in-the-ass visits that got me up and out of bed.
"Boy, when you decide to do something, you go all out," April says as she follows me onto the deck, referring to the fact I've up and moved to Alaska, purchasing property, all with the hopes of getting Logan back. We both settle into a double-seater swing screwed into the deck overhang with thick bolts.
"Well, my gesture had to be grand, right?"
"Have you two talked?" she asks.
I shake my head. The only problem in my grand plan is that he's not giving me the time of day. Or, at least the time I need to have some meaningful discussion with him.
"I still think he's a little sore," I murmur as I let my gaze sweep the thick forest that creeps right up to the back of my little house. Last night I heard something big walking around, which April told me was probably a moose. Which is why one of the first things I did when I moved here was insist she teach me how to handle a shotgun. I've got two in my house now. One mounted above my bed, and the other in my foyer coat closet.
I've been back in East Merritt for little more than a week, although I just moved into this house two days ago. I still have a ton of unpacking to do, but I've been working on it when I can get the chance because since I've moved here I've been really, really busy.
You see...I started up a new blog.
Valentine's Couch is dead, and I still have moments of tremendous shame when I think of it, but last week I opened up Valentine's Back Deck, and I will be chronicling how a big-city girl becomes an Alaskan wilderness woman. I've got all kinds of awesome stuff set up. I'm going to learn how to fish, which also includes tying my own flies, cleaning said fish, and even smoke curing them. Of course, that's going to come after I build my own curing house on my property. That's right...I'm going to build it myself, as I have found that there isn't anything you can't learn on YouTube. I'm going to learn how to hunt and clean my own game, and I'm going to get into hiking. This came only after April assured me there was bear spray I could use as a deterrent and that she'd teach me how to use a GPS unit. Tomorrow she and Jorgen are taking me camping, and that will be an awesome blog article. In addition to the upgrades I'm going to make on my house all by myself, I've got plenty of stuff to blog about for years to come I'm sure. I'm certain this type of blog will be a relief to my parents--focusing on home improvements and gutting fish versus how to give the perfect blow job. I don't know for sure, since they didn't really care that I left New York City to move to Alaska, but that's okay by me. I moved toward what I hope is my new family.
In fact, one of the first things I'm going to blog about is how I've learned to drive--not all that well to be honest--and getting my driver's license.
Which is really why April is here today.
"You ready to go?" I ask her as I push up off the swing.
"Ready as I'll ever be," she says as she follows me. "But honestly, you should just drive yourself
I laugh as I trot down the steps of the deck. "Let's see...I show up to take my driver's test while driving a car without a license. Logan would probably arrest me."
April gives an evil laugh. "I don't think that could be a bad thing."
--
April pulls up and parallel parks outside the police station, right behind Logan's truck. She jumps out, tosses me the keys, and says she'll meet me at The Wounded Caribou after.
I take a deep breath, tell myself I can do this--face Logan and pass my driver's test--and pull open the door. I immediately see him sitting inside his office on the other side of the lobby. His head rises, he looks at me shrewdly for a moment, and then he stands up from his desk. He rounds it and comes out into the lobby to face me.
"If you've come to apologize to me for what you wrote, I really don't need to hear it," he says, and it's not in an unkind way, but it's still off-putting.
"Actually, I believe I've already apologized," I say simply.
He blinks at me. "You have?"
"Yes, Logan," I say softly. "That day you found out about the blog and confronted me, I gave you a genuine, heartfelt apology that was from the bottom of my soul. Clearly you don't remember it, which I totally understand. Emotions were high. So let me assure you again, I'm very sorry for what I did."
"Well...okay then," he stammers. "What can I do for you?"
"I want to take my driver's license test," I tell him with a nervous smile. "I think I'm ready. No...I know I'm ready. I can do this."
If I thought he'd give me a reassuring smile or words of encouragement, I was wrong. Instead he just nods toward the reception desk in the middle of the lobby that's always been empty every time I've walked in here. "Sit there and I'll get the written test for you."
"Then we have to do the driving test, right?" I ask, just to make conversation as I sit where he indicated.
"Yup," he says over his shoulder while he walks back into his office. I watch as he pulls open a lateral file drawer, fishes inside a folder, and pulls out a document. My stomach flip-flops with nerves. I really need my license so I can maneuver around this area, particularly since my home is outside of the town.