While Logan helps Violet into her pajamas and brushes her teeth, I arrange Cookie's blanket at the foot of Violet's bed. Cookie immediately jumps up and circles three times before settling into her spot with a contented sigh.
“Looks like someone's made herself at home,” Logan comments as they walk back in.
“She's shameless,” I agree.
Violet climbs into bed, and Cookie immediately scoots up to wedge against her side. The little girl wraps an arm around the dog, and Cookie rests her chin on Violet's chest.
“Bedtime story?” Violet asks, her eyes already half-closed.
I sit on the edge of the bed while Logan relaxes into the rocking chair in the corner. I read from a book Violet brought home from the library, a story about a brave little girl and her magical dog who go on adventures.
By the time I reach the third page, Violet's breathing has evened out into sleep. Cookie's eyes are closed too, though her tail gives one small thump when I stop reading.
Logan and I tiptoe out of the room, leaving the door cracked open. In the hallway, we stand close together, speaking in whispers.
“That was fast,” I say.
“She was exhausted. All that running around with Cookie wore her out.” He nods toward the stairs, and we head back down.
The realization that we’re alone lands like a stone in my stomach. I can hear his breathing, feel the weight of his presence next to me. The house feels different, quiet and more intimate, full of possibility.
“Want another glass of wine?” Logan offers.
“Sure.”
He leads me out to the back patio where we collapse onto the cushioned outdoor couch. String lights sway gently above us, casting shifting shadows. I breathe in the night air, goosebumps rising on my arms. Somewhere in the distance, waves crash against the shore.
“Thank you,” Logan says after a moment. “For being so good with Violet. For letting Cookie stay. For...” He trails off, shaking his head. “For everything, really.”
“You don't have to thank me. I care about her.” I take a sip of wine. “About both of you.”
“You mean a lot to me, too, Heather.” His voice is serious now, all the earlier playfulness gone.
My pulse kicks into overdrive. “What does that mean?”
He sets down his beer and faces me, stretching an arm along the back cushions. “It means I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since the day I moved in. If I'm being honest, I haven't stopped thinking about you since high school.”
I stare at him, my jaw sagging, not quite believing what I'm hearing. “Logan?—”
“Let me finish.” He takes my hand, his thumb tracing circles on my palm. “I know the timing and situation are complicated. Hell, I just moved back and I'm figuring out how to be a parent, and you have your own life and career. But I need you to know that this,” he gestures between us, “doesn’t feel casual for me. It hasn't from the start.”
I can barely breathe. “It’s not casual for me, either.”
“No?”
“No.” I laugh, a slightly hysterical sound. “Logan, I've been half in love with you since I was seventeen years old. When you left after graduation without saying goodbye, it broke my heart. And now you're back, living next door, and you’re even better than I remembered. It’s beautiful and wonderful, and utterly terrifying.”
His finger idly twines a lock of my hair like a curling iron as the corners of his mouth lift. “Terrifying how?”
“By feeling too much or if you leave again.” The words tumble out before I can stop them, and I bite my bottom lip before I say anything else.
His face hardens. “Heather, I'm not going anywhere. I'm here to stay.”
“You don’t know that,” I whisper.
“Life happens.” He shrugs. “I know that better than anyone. But I’m here now, and I'd really like to see where this goes.”
I stare into his eyes, seeing nothing but sincerity there. And for the first time since he moved back, hope settled over me like warm sunlight, and I didn't push it away.
