She would. But she didn’t need to bear that burden by herself. Logan would be there to help.
Taking a deep breath, she ended the call and turned around. Where was she? She’d walked a couple of blocks while talking to Stephen.
By the time she got back to the cafe, Logan was gone. Her heart raced, panic taking over for a second, before logic took over. He would be back. She could text him. He didn’t know how long she would be, and instead of sitting on his ass, he filled his time with something else. Sightseeing, shopping. She’d find him soon enough.
And then, before the panic could take hold again, he appeared at the end of the block, his hands swinging loose at his sides. He raised one in a casual wave, a smile breaking across his face.
So of course she burst into tears.
Damn it.
He picked up the pace, suddenly running, and stopped in front of her. “Tor, shit, what happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Can I punch him again?”
She shook her head. “It’s not that. It wasn’t—it was fine. He’s an emotionally unavailable mess, and it was awkward, but it was good to talk. Get that first call out of the way.” She sniffled and scrubbed the heels of her palms against her eyes. “This is…I don’t know what this is. I’ve clearly sobered up and it’s time for more beer. Or rum. Is it too early for rum?”
“It is never too early for rum in Miralinda. But first, how about a hug? Because that sounds like—” She flew into his arms and buried her face in his chest. “Ahh, Tor. Yeah, let it out.”
And that’s when she realized she was crying again.
Definitely time for rum.
***
Rum led to dancing, and maybe there was dinner in there too, lobster in a shack by the beach, but it was really just a blur by the end of the night.
The hug before bedtime, though, was crystal clear. Long, lingering. Complicated.
Her head was swimming, and her eyes refused to stay open, but still she stood in the quiet living room of the villa, leaning against her best friend.
Was it a win that they’d gone all day without talking about the kiss from the day before? And he was so warm.
Maybe she should kiss him, just a little. Just to—
“Bedtime, Tori,” Logan murmured, his arms tightening around her. “Come on, my beautiful girl. You’ve had a big day.”
“I’m good,” she protested, but then she was flat on her back, and he was gone.
Sometime around three, she woke up with a nervous jolt, worried she was going to throw up. She tiptoed into her bathroom and poured herself a glass of water.
Then she looked in the mirror and gasped.
Her makeup was running, her hair was an actual bird’s nest, no word of a lie, and she was still in her clothes from the night before.
Why she hadn’t noticed that first, she had no clue, but now her bra hurt like a bitch, and it had to go immediately.
She shrugged out of her sundress, then stripped out of her underwear. A quick face wash, toothbrushing, and a big glass of water to wash down painkillers all helped to make her feel semi-human again.
Then she found sleeping clothes and collapsed back into bed.
For the rest of the night, Tori drifted in the space between sleep and consciousness, and thought of how good Logan’s arms always felt around her. For most of her life, he’d been hugging her, and she’d taken it for granted—how easy it was, how comforting and warm. Safe.
As dawn broke, pink-gray light slowly filling her room, she lay in bed wishing that she could hit a pause button—just until she figured out how she felt about everything.
While she’d given lip service to the idea of a meaningless fling, that just wasn’t how she was built. Sex had to mean something, be an expression of the feelings in a relationship.
