Page 72 of Real Good Love
“Okay. Let me give it some thought, and I’ll get back to you on that.” I reach across the center console and squeeze his hand.
Everything is going to work out.
I hope.
* * *
One thing I don’t miss about living in the city is the ridiculous traffic. As we slow on the highway, I look over at Logan.
“I’m so sorry I didn’t realize how big of a pain in the ass it would be to maneuver this big-ass trailer through Manhattan.”
He shoots me a smile. “It was worth it, babe. More than worth it.”
“I’m glad you feel that way, because I would’ve wanted to strangle me for being so clueless.”
Nashville traffic slows to a crawl as we get closer and closer to downtown and the arena.
“Are you sure we’re going to be able to get in there?”
“Boone says he told them we were coming.”
As if the man knew we were talking about him, Logan’s phone dings from the cupholder with a text.
“Wanna check that?”
I grab it and read the text, then send Logan’s reply.
BOONE: Security says they haven’t seen you yet.
LOGAN: Almost there. GPS says 10 minutes.
BOONE:Good. Everyone’s waiting.
“Nothing like a little pressure,” Logan mumbles as he signals to change lanes for our exit.
“It’s all good, babe. He’s going to love the car, and you’re going to have more business than you can handle.”
“Which is great, when I don’t have a shop.”
It’s something I’ve been thinking about since he brought it up earlier. “I did some googling while we stopped for gas, and there’s commercial space available in Gold Haven. I found you two buildings I think could work. You’d have to move the new equipment you buy back to your permanent location after you rebuild, but it would be good for now.”
Logan changes lanes and glances at me. “Seriously?”
“What can I say? I wanted to help.”
“Thank you, babe.” He reaches over and squeezes my thigh with a smile before making the next turn.
Finally, the arena comes into view. We’re only five minutes behind schedule, so I count that as a win.
When we turn around the back side of the building, two huge tour buses are parked inside a fenced area. Security stands in front of the gate.
Logan stops before opening his window. “Logan Brantley for Boone Thrasher.”
“We’ve been waiting for you.” The security guard pulls a pass out of his back pocket. “Hang this from your mirror so it’s visible at all times. Pull right through here and park off to the left next to the buses.”
He steps back and waves for someone else to open the gate. People are milling around outside the fence, and security keeps them from running inside the fenced-off area.
Crazy fans, I guess.
