|Home > Samantha Young > On Dublin Street Series > Echoes of Scotland Street (Page 77)|
|Echoes of Scotland Street(On Dublin Street #5)(77) by Samantha Young|
My fiancé raised an eyebrow at that. “Without having met me?”
Logan shrugged. “I went with my instincts on this one.”
Feeling giddy for many reasons, I leaned toward him. “I’ll let you two chat and get to know each other in a minute, but first I have great news.”
“Greater than that big bloody diamond on your finger?” Logan took my hand and then smirked at Cole. “Nice.”
“Focus.” I jerked on Logan’s hand, bringing his attention back to me. “Look, you remember I mentioned Cole’s family are involved in quite a bit of business in Edinburgh?”
I grinned. “Logan, Braden’s offered you a job. So did Marco. When you get out . . . they’ll have something waiting for you.”
Logan stared at me dumbly for a second and then at Cole. When he returned his gaze to me, he said softly, “Are you kidding me?”
“Nope. They know everything and they get it. They want to help you out.”
“That’s . . .” He shook his head. “Why would they? They don’t know me.”
“They know me.” I squeezed his hand. “And they’re good people.”
Logan rubbed a hand over his short hair. “I’m a bit speechless. I’ve been . . . I’ve been worrying about what would happen once I get back out there . . . This . . .” He looked at Cole. “Thanks, mate. This means a lot. Tell them thanks.”
Cole nodded. “It’s not a problem.”
Logan gripped my hand harder. “Thanks, Shannon.”
“No.” I smiled, fighting tears of happiness. “Thank you.”
Eighteen months later
L ight flooded the room. The smell of flowers and paint fumes had already become so familiar to me it was like being home. I was so comfortable there I lost myself in the art. Sometimes I had no idea how much time had passed.
Stepping back from the large piece of canvas, I contemplated the scene. It was a dystopian New York painted in gouache. It was my first time using the paint and so far I was enjoying the velvety effect of it.
“Shannon, what are you still doing here? It’s six o’clock.”
That penetrated my fog. “What?” I glanced over my shoulder at my friend and classmate Bernice. Bernie and I were both older freshman at Edinburgh College of Art and had gravitated to each other almost immediately when we started a few short months ago. I stared around at the empty classroom. “Damn.” I put my brush down. “I’m supposed to be at Joss’s book launch in an hour.”
“You can make it if you hurry.”
I nodded, grabbed my bag, and rushed past her. “Thank you! See you tomorrow.”
* * *
“You’re covered in paint,” Cole said without preamble as soon as I stumbled into our apartment. He grabbed my hand. “Shower.”
I felt a rush of anticipation but tried to squash it considering we didn’t have a whole lot of time. “I can’t shower with you. We’ll be really, really, really late.”
He pushed open the door and shrugged out of his shirt, revealing the stylized “S” he’d had tattooed on his chest. Just like Stu had predicted, Cole had not heeded Steely’s warning about getting a woman’s name tattooed on him. I’d talked him out of getting my entire name scripted onto his skin, and we’d agreed on the initial. “Then we’ll be really, really, really late.”
Laughing, I followed him, tugging off my own shirt and leaving it behind on the floor beside his. “If anyone asks, I’ll blame you.”
* * *
“You’re late,” Hannah whispered as Cole and I pushed through the small crowd in the bookstore to stand with our family.
“Cole’s fault,” I whispered back.
“What was it this time?” Marco muttered. “Testing the weight of the kitchen table?”
I grinned, staring straight ahead at Joss, who was talking about the inspiration behind her latest character. “Nope. The effectiveness of our showerhead.”
“I think I’m going to be sick.”
I laughed softly at the familiar grumble and looked over my shoulder. Logan stood behind me, dressed smartly in a dark blue shirt and black jeans.
He grimaced at me. “Do me a favor—look around the room before you share those kinds of details.”
Trying to stem my giggling, I nodded and turned back to listen to Joss.
A few minutes later she’d finished her introduction, signed some books, and was now heading toward us. She took in my still-damp curls and the high color on my cheeks. “First you’re late and then you talk through my intro. You owe me another painting.”
“Sorry. It was all Cole’s fault.”
“Stop.” Logan held up a hand. “What did I say?”
“What did you say?” Braden came to a stop beside him.
Logan frowned at his boss. “I can’t discuss it.”
“It involves me, Cole, and a shower.”
Braden winced. “Oh, don’t go there.”
My brother groaned. “I need a drink.” He wandered off toward the drinks table and I watched him lift a glass of champagne. A pretty brunette reached for one at the same time and smiled flirtatiously at him. Logan gave her a cocky smile and leaned in to speak quietly to her. I knew not to get my hopes up about anything serious happening there. My brother had made it clear he was not interested in developing any kind of meaningful relationship with a woman anytime soon. I thought that was a shame. I was convinced the right woman would help rid him of the hard aspect prison had put in his eyes.
“He’s doing well.” Braden drew my attention back to him
Logan had gotten out of prison a couple of months ago and Braden, true to his word, had given him a job as security at his nightclub, Fire. In a few short weeks Logan’s natural air of authority and leadership became quickly apparent. Braden was impressed with the changes he’d suggested for the club’s security, as well as creative ideas he had for the club itself.
“I’m really proud of him for starting over.” And as for my guilt . . . it’s nearly all gone.
“You should be.”