Lakeshore Chronicles [10] Candlelight Christmas by Susan Wiggs Page B

who worked in edible paints. He had loved each one, but ultimately, one or the other pulled back. Something wasn’t right or didn’t match up; somehow their hearts just weren’t in sync.
    At the moment, there was no one.
    It was not for lack of trying. God knew, he loved women. He loved the companionship, the rush of emotion, the sex. He wanted to be in love. Through the years, he’d watched his friends pairing up, moving in together, moving on... And sometimes in the deepest, quietest part of the night, he felt a gaping hollow of loneliness. He tried not to want more than he had—good friends and family, and above all, Charlie.
    Still, the biggest lesson he’d learned from being a dad was that he was a family man, through and through. It felt like a special kind of hell sometimes, going it alone, because he wanted to commit himself fully to someone. He wanted a family. More kids, for sure—brothers and sisters for Charlie.
    His life wasn’t stacking up that way, though. He met women, he dated them, hit it off with them, got laid. And it was fun enough. For a while. Then it would hit him that the fun had gone away, they weren’t making each other happy the way he longed to be happy. He’d wake up in the night and realize it wasn’t the girlfriend he wanted, but what he thought she could give him.
    While Logan was silently bemoaning the barren state of his love life, Darcy was engulfed in greetings. His dad was already fixing her a “morning Mojito,” his specialty, made with twenty-three-year-old Cuban rum, an indulgence supplied illegally by one of his shipping clients.
    True, she didn’t look like his type, but when she let loose with her easy laugh or dug her bare feet into the warm sand, Logan couldn’t take his eyes off her. Whatever it was—loneliness or horniness—it made Darcy Fitzgerald look like a roast turkey leg to him. And he was one hungry pilgrim.
    “A toast,” said Al O’Donnell. “Welcome to Sea Breeze.”
    “Thank you.” She took a tiny sip of her drink. “I’m thinking of becoming a professional mooch. Al, this is delicious. I didn’t think I liked rum.”
    Logan’s dad beamed. “You’ve been drinking the wrong kind of rum, then.” Al O’Donnell loved treating worthy people to fine things.
    “I’m going to have to pace myself if you’re starting the party this early in the day,” said Darcy.
    “Thanksgiving is all about overindulging,” Marion assured her.
    “My parents party harder than we ever did,” India said.
    “Aunt India says she wouldn’t have made it through college without you,” said Bernie, Logan’s know-it-all niece.
    Darcy set her drink on a table. “She’s exaggerating.”
    “Am not,” said India. “You coaxed and tutored me through comparative lit and advanced calculus.”
    “You didn’t tell me you were a brainiac,” Logan said.
    “You didn’t ask. And if you had, I would have denied it.”
    “Surf’s up,” said Logan. “Want to try surfing? Who’s up for a ride?”
    “I’ll join you,” said his brother-in-law Bilski. China’s husband was a classic guy’s guy. He and Logan were buddies.
    “So will I,” said Darcy.
    Logan was startled at her readiness to try it. “Okay. India’s board would probably work for you. It’s nice and big, for stability.”
    She nodded, but picked up a small, nimble short board. “This will do.”
    “It’s a thruster,” said Logan. “Not a good choice if you’re a beginner.”
    She smiled. “I’ll give it a shot. I have pretty good balance.”
    Logan decided not to argue. She’d find out soon enough whether or not the board would work for her.
    “I’m ready,” said Bilski. He took a piece of wax from a tub and went to work on his board. After they’d covered their boards with a thick coat of wax, Logan gave the surf’s-up sign and waded out into the ocean with his favorite board, a thruster.
    He turned back to say something to Bilski, and all the words, along with all coherent thought,