Logan shrugged. “It’s okay. It’s really not that big of a deal.”
Adam studied Logan, a perplexed look on his face. “You didn’t tell me that you guys broke up.”
Logan looked back at him. “You didn’t ask.”
Adam’s eyebrows scrunched.
Logan’s eyes landed back on me. A look passed over his face, one that I didn’t recognize. Like he was waiting for something. Something fromme.
“You deserve better, anyway,” I said softly. “You deserve much better.” I noted the slight tilt of Logan’s head at my words. As if he was considering them, flipping them around in his mind to explore them from every direction.
I kept my eyes on his, willing him to understand that he deserved the best type of girl. Someone who really knew how to see him. And who didn’t take advantage of his kindness.
Suddenly, my mind was transported back in time to the young boy that he’d once been, when I’d found him out in the cold in the middle of the night. That boy—he deserved to know real, true, aching love.
My father cleared his throat, snapping my focus back to the table. I looked around at everyone’s plates and saw they’d been basically licked clean. Standing up, I began collecting all of the dishes, feeling a strong need to distance myself from the moment and the memories inside of my head.
As I turned the faucet on at the sink and poured soap onto the sponge, I sensed someone walk into the kitchen behind me. Judging from the overt awareness that prickled throughout my body, I knew who it was before he even spoke.
“Mind if I help you?” Logan’s voice was low.
I turned to look at him over my shoulder. I heard Adam roll into another college story from the dining room, still having an audience at the table with my parents. “Sure,” I responded, turning back to the dishes in front of me.
I began washing the plates, using the sponge to scrub away any remaining food, and then handed them to Logan who rinsed them on the other side of the sink and then set them into the drying rack. We worked together silently, yet comfortably—catching an easy groove together.
“How do you figure?” Logan abruptly asked, taking a plate full of soapy suds out of my hands and holding it under the running water.
I looked up at him, taking in the glow of his profile in the light of the kitchen window. The sun was setting outside, its dusty rays showering warm light upon us. “What do you mean?” I asked, not understanding the question.
“That I deserve better. How do you figure?”
“Oh.” I looked back down at the soapy water on my side of the sink, reaching down and wrapping my fingers around a fork. I took in a breath before answering. “Stephanie was . . . selfish. She didn’t seem to care about anything but herself. And you . . . you deserve someone who really cares aboutyou. Someone who sees how good you are, and who makes you feel something meaningful.”
I felt Logan’s eyes on me, but I kept my focus on the sink in front of me, suddenly feeling embarrassed. Logan stayed still next to me, seemingly frozen in place, for what felt like an eternity. I finally looked back up at him, finding his honey-colored eyes. “What?” I asked, feeling my face growing red from blushing.
A large smile bloomed on his face, and I felt something small ignite in my chest. A whisper of a spark. The quick surge of a current. It was a rare, unfiltered expression of emotion—something Logan did so rarely. He was always rather guarded in sharing his feelings, preferring to keep interactions with people as light and airy as possible. But this smile— It was raw. Genuine. And it suited him.
“Is that how you feel about . . . Paul, is it?” He looked back down at the running water.
I hesitated for a moment before answering. “Yes, his name is Paul. But . . . no. I haven’t felt anything meaningful . . . not yet.” I found myself needing to quickly add, “With Paul, anyway.”
“Mm . . .” Logan hummed.
He stayed quiet after that, finishing with the dishes that I handed over to him until everything was cleared out and cleaned up. He even went as far as wiping down the kitchen counters with meticulous scrutiny. As I leaned against the fridge and watched him, I realized—whether he knew it or not—that he was doing what he could to extend this moment, not wanting either of us to leave the bubble we’d inadvertently created inside of the kitchen.
I found myself needing to say something else, to get it out before we weren’t alone anymore.
“You know I’m still always here for you, right?” I asked.
I watched as his hands froze in front of him as he rinsed the sponge before he turned the faucet off, grabbed the towel that was hanging from the stove handle, and then turned to face me as he dried himself off.
He grinned, although I could tell he was back to his more controlled mask of indifference.
“I know, Mills,” he stated, as if nothing else was ever considered. And then he winked at me before heading back into the dining room to rejoin the others. Leaving me to grapple with the churning inside of my heart.
ChapterTen
As wastradition in our family, my mother showcased the beautiful, roasted turkey in the middle of the kitchen island as the whole family gathered around to watch my father carve it, turning the chore into quite the production. Rachel and I had been helping my mother in the kitchen, and I was positively starving after being around the aromatic food all day.
