When I finished, we ended up back at the vintage cash register stand and near the sex toys I’d locked away in the drawer beneath it.

He glanced into the empty cabinet meant to house them. “I’m telling you, I’d put those items out for opening day.”

I tilted my head. “You would, would you?”

His gaze was bold. “Trust me.”

The key was on the counter and I unlocked the drawer. “Maybe you’d like to buy one? For someone in your life, I mean.”

“Wh-what?” he stuttered with a laugh.

A shyness lingered in his eyes that made me yearn for him.

He stepped closer to me and I breathed him in.

With shaky fingers, I opened the drawer.

Logan leaned even closer and whispered, “If I had someone to buy one for, I would.”

I chewed my bottom lip as I hurried to transfer the items, secretly ecstatic I now knew for sure he didn’t have a girlfriend. “Okay, done.” I sighed with relief.

His eyes were warm as he looked around, taking everything in. “Elle, this is really incredible. And I’m not just saying that.”

The compliment moved me and I searched for how to respond.

“How long did you say you’ve been in Boston?”

Um . . .”Three months,” I answered, not certain I had mentioned that and if he’d make the connection to or knew that my sister wasn’t really in rehab . . . that she was missing. That she had been . . . for three months.

Logan casually leaned back against one of the display tables, his palms flat on the wooden surface. “Where were you living before you moved here?”

Feeling more at ease, I leaned back against the counter behind me. “Nowhere.”

Curiosity glittered in his eyes.

I shrugged. “I was somewhat of a nomad. A gypsy, is what Peyton calls me. I had a small place in San Francisco but I rarely ever went there. For the last five years, I’ve just traveled the world and sold my treasures on the Internet.”

Logan picked up a silk scarf that lay on the table and ran his fingers over it. “You liked moving around so much after your childhood?”

“It was the only life I knew until I came here.”

“Weren’t you lonely?”

I shook my head and gave him a forced smile. “Isn’t everyone in their own way?”

Forcing his own smile, he said, “Well, I think what you’ve done is really impressive. And I can see you really love it.”

Things seemed to be getting serious between us again and I felt myself needing to push him away. “I don’t want to keep you. I can walk home. It’s less than a mile from here.”

He stepped forward and tugged my hat off. “I said I’d see you home and I’m a man of my word.” He glanced over his shoulder out the window. “And besides, this,” he held my hat up before setting it on the counter, “isn’t going to keep you dry. Nor is your trench coat with the winds as high as they are.”

He had a point.

I laughed. I’d laughed a lot with Logan. “Okay, then would you like to help me move these boxes downstairs?”

Logan looked at the stacks of cardboard boxes, some empty, some not. “Sure, I’ll get the heavy ones.”

“So chauvinistic,” I teased.

He pretended to be pained and placed his palm on his heart. “And here I thought I was being chivalrous.”

I clapped my hand to my forehead. “What was I thinking? Of course you can carry the heavy boxes.”

Logan moved closer to me still. “Are you mocking me?”

I squeezed his biceps. Electricity struck and my flirty voice fell. “No, not at all. Just testing your strength.” Breaking the connection, I bent to lift a box. “I’m much stronger than I look, you know.”

He raised a brow and then purposely shifted his gaze down my body. “I bet.”

The heat between us was palpable and I found myself setting the box back down so that I could take my coat off, but then feared I might have looked weak. “I am. Yoga, Pilates, kickboxing, boxing, Tae Bo. You name it, I’ve done it.”

The corners of Logan’s mouth tipped up. “I don’t doubt your abilities. Something tells me you have mad self-defense skills and can hit your target as well.”

I tilted my head to the side. “Wing Chun and point blank.”

It seemed like I was boasting as soon as the words left my mouth. “Not that I’m bragging,” I added.

He ran his fingers up the sleeve of my blouse. “Not at all. I respect the fact that you know how to protect yourself.”

“I didn’t have much choice.” My expression must have portrayed my anguish, even though I hoped it hadn’t.

Immediately, Logan asked, “Why? What happened?”

With a shrug, I dislodged myself from his hold and nudged past him to the boxes. “Too long and too sad of a story to share now.”

There was no way to explain my life easily. That since I was fifteen, I’d basically been on my own. And that I’d had to learn to protect myself because I didn’t know what to expect. That since then, I’d only ever relied on one person—Charlie. And that didn’t end well. So ever since, I’d believed the only person I should rely on is myself.

Logan seemed impervious to my mood. Either that or feelings weren’t his thing.

Not that they were mine.

He removed his jacket and moved his head from side to side as if preparing for a workout before rubbing his hands together. “I think I’m ready. Where do you want the boxes?”

Okay, definitely impervious.

Our conversations were up and down. They went from brutally honest, to serious, to funny in the blink of an eye. And as I looked at him now, I had to laugh. In fact, I couldn’t stop laughing. He was easy that way. He made things easy. I liked that.

“Downstairs.” I pointed.

He hefted the box I’d just set down. I went for the empty ones.

Just because.

Boxes at my sides, I saw the metal tucked in his waistband as soon as he stepped in front of me. His shirt mostly covered it, but I was good at catching things like that. I didn’t say anything. After all, I, too, carried protection everywhere I went—it wasn’t tucked in my pants, but it was zipped inside my purse.

We made almost a dozen trips up and down the stairs. Our conversation was light. We talked about Boston, the weather, and baseball. Once all of the boxes were out of sight, he helped me break down the ones that were empty and restock the items into inventory that I didn’t need upstairs. Finally, I made one last lap around the boutique. “I think it’s ready.”

He followed the path I had taken. “I think you’re right.”

The cuckoo clock from Germany started to go off. The little bird popped its head out and as soon as the music started to play, the dancers spun with the music and the bell ringers rung their bells. Nine times this cycle continued.

Logan stared at the clock. When it finished, he looked at me. “I hope to fuck that sells right away.”

I crossed my arms and tried to look insulted, but I couldn’t fight the smile.

He snapped his fingers and pointed one at me. “See, you feel the same.”

Knowing exactly what he meant, I moved toward him and lowered his finger. Sparks flickered when I touched him. I dropped my hold and recovered. “I refuse to speak ill of any of my treasures, but I do hope the clock finds a home quickly.”

Logan smiled softly. “Speaking of homes, it’s time I take you there. I’m sure you have a long day ahead of you tomorrow.”

I did.

Still, I couldn’t help but think about him in ways I knew I shouldn’t for so many reasons. And the main reason wasn’t even the gun he was carrying. I glanced out the window, pondering what was going to happen when he got me home. I noticed the rain had let up, so while I put my coat on, I left my hat behind.

Logan and I had spent only four hours together, but it felt like so much longer. I felt like I knew him. Not well, but I’d gotten closer to him than I had to anyone in years. Michael and Peyton didn’t count—they were people brought into my life by circumstance.

But then again, if I thought about it, I supposed he was, too.