Thirty minutes later we arrive back at my house. I can tell from the slow, small steps Violet is taking that she doesn't want to go home. And judging from the way Cookie paces her steps, it's safe to say that my dog feels the same.
“I made a huge chicken broccoli casserole for dinner. Would you two like to join me? There's no way I can make a dent in it bymyself tonight. If I don't have some help, I'll be eating leftovers for a week.”
Logan's lips part as he hesitates, his eyes dropping to Violet and then back to me. A strange look passes over his face, and I can't tell if he's interested or searching for a way to say no.
“Are you sure? I kinda feel like we've taken over your evening.”
I smile at him. “Logan, I wouldn't have offered if I didn't mean it.” I nod toward Violet and Cookie who are currently snuggling on the porch steps. “Besides, I think there will be some objections if we separate them right now.”
He huffs a laugh and scratches his chin. “You make a good point,” he says, turning to his niece. “Violet, do you want to have dinner with Heather and Cookie?”
“Yeah!”
I hold back a laugh as the pair jump to their feet simultaneously. “Would you like to help me feed Cookie? I'm sure she'd be thrilled if you put a little chicken in it.”
“Uh huh!” Her little head wobbles like a bobblehead.
“Good.” I stroll through the door and unhook Cookie's harness. The savory, decadent scent of comfort food fills the air.
Logan stops in the middle of the living room, closes his eyes and inhales. “Damn! It smells amazing in here.”
“It's my grandmother's recipe, so I hope you like lots of cheese. I normally use enough to constipate a donkey.”
Logan barks a laugh. “That's a great mental image before we eat.”
I chuckle as I grab the television remote. “Violet, you get to pick the first show. What's your favorite?”
She settles on the couch, and Cookie hops up to drape over her lap. I bite back a snort—my dog is such an attention whore.
“The Little Mermaid,” Violet answers before shoving her thumb in her mouth.
“We can do that.” I click to the movie and head to the kitchen. “What do you want to drink?” I ask Logan.
“Just water for both of us,” he answers, his hands in his pockets. He glances around, looking visibly uncomfortable, as if he doesn't know quite what to do. “This is a cute place. A lot roomier inside than it looks.”
“I like it. It’s plenty of room for me and Cookie, and we're close enough to town that we can usually walk anywhere we want to go. Unless we're going to the grocery store, of course.”
Violet appears in the kitchen doorway. “Uncle Logan, can I have chocolate milk?”
Logan looks to me, his brow wrinkled.
“Of course, you can!” I reply. Because every little girl needs chocolate in her life. And Violet has certainly earned some spoiling sessions. “I made chocolate milk last night for myself. But make sure you don't give any to Cookie, okay? It'll make her sick, but she doesn't care. She'll try to steal it from you anyway.”
Violet giggles, and Cookie shoots me a glare, as if she resents that I'm giving away a trade secret.
Moving to the oven, I point at the fridge. “The milk and chocolate syrup are in the door. And the glasses are in that cupboard. Spoons are in that drawer.”
With a nod, Logan gets to work. Then, without me having to ask, he also sets the table.
“It'll be at least another twenty minutes before it's ready,” I comment. “Are you sure you don't want a beer? I picked up a six-pack from that new brewery in town, The Salty Siren. They're really good, if you haven't tried them.”
He pauses for a moment, his brows lifted. Finally, he shrugs and grins. “Actually, that sounds great. Sometimes I have to remember I'm not training anymore.” There's a tinge of sadness in his voice that belies the teasing expression on his face.
The rumors of his accident had been all over town, but I haven't seen any of the videos that had flooded the internet. Apparently, it had been a brutal crash on first base with Logan’s arm moving in a direction it wasn’t designed to.
My stomach twists at the thought.
No thank you…
