“Even a blind squirrel finds a nut now and again.”
“I miss you,” I blurt out.
Logan chuckles softly into the phone. “I miss you too, Bruce. Do you have any idea how long it’s going to take to get everything in order up there?”
“Not really. I need to clean out the apartment and figure out what to do with Myrna’s stuff, and that’s alongside straightening out all the financial and legal things, which is way easier to do here in person, I think.”
“I believe you. Take the time you need to get it sorted out. You know I’ve got plenty of work to keep me buried until this project is done, and I’ll be waiting here when you get back.”
Relief that Logan understands the position I’m in sweeps through me. “How did you get to be so amazing?”
Logan laughs, and I love the sound of it. “I’m not amazing. You are, Bruce.”
“Can I call you later? I’ve gotta go buy a new phone and come up with a plan of attack for the apartment so I can work through this as quickly as possible.”
“You can call me anytime. I’ll even give you my number again.”
“Logan Brantley’s giving me his number,” I purr. “I feel so special.”
“That’s because you are. Now, you feel free to remind all those New York guys that you’ve got a man at home, and he doesn’t share.”
I laugh, but there’s something about his words that fills my chest with warmth. Gold Haven and Logan are home for me now. “He doesn’t, huh?”
“My pie. I don’t share my pie.”
“You sound like—”
“A man staking his claim?” Logan interrupts. “That’s because I am. You better not have a single doubt about that.”
“Then you better make sure all those women in Gold Haven know that Logan Brantley’s got all the pie he needs because he is taken.” I emphasize the last three words, and it feels good to stake my own claim.
“Fair is fair, but that goes without saying. Call me later, Bruce.” He rattles off his number, and I jot it down before giving him the one to my room.
I look up in the mirror after I hang up, and I’m not sure I’ve ever seen this big of a smile on my own face before.
I’m in deep.
Chapter 7
Banner
“Myrna was a dirty birdy!”
After the highs of this morning, sorting through Myrna’s apartment all afternoon has been a definite low. At least until I open her nightstand drawer and find her collection of old-lady smut. Hidden underneath her bible is a stack of bodice rippers circa 1980 with titles likeTaken by the Sheik, His Captive Princess,andThe Pirate’s Prize.
I hold them up for Sofia, who covers her mouth and laughs.
“No. Way.”
I’m sure Myrna would be rolling in her grave right now if her daughter hadn’t decided to have her cremated almost immediately and without a funeral. Grief and tears rise up at not having a chance to say a proper good-bye, but I shove them down. I’ll find a way to make a fitting tribute to her some way, and in the meantime, it’s easier for me to focus on the positives. Like the fact that Myrna had a strong love of capture romances.
Immediately my brain clicks into marketing mode ...
What if I were to market to romance readers who need a little help with their one-handed reads? I grab my phone and make a few notes about the idea. Oh, and what if I rename the products for different types of lovers—the Sheik, the Billionaire, the Bad Boy, the Real Good Man.
The handheld heroes of Blush you can keep in your own bedroom.
There’s no doubt which I prefer.