Chapter Six
Mia
I’d just set the grocery bags on the counter when a knock on my door surprised me.
Maybe Gia was trying to feed me two nights in a row. I had food this time, but I was not opposed to her company. Truthfully, this apartment was quiet, which I normally liked, but when you were feeling down, the last thing you wanted was to be alone with only your head for company.
I looked through my peephole just in case and pulled back in confusion, my eyes darting around the foyer to see if there were any hidden cameras looking for my reaction.
Nope. None there.
I peered back into the hole and stared, dumbfounded, at Logan, who was waiting patiently for me to answer the door.
“I’m glad I didn’t already take my bra off,” I mumbled my thought but realized too late that I’d meant to keep that thought inside my head instead of letting it out.
A chuckle from the other side made my head drop to the cold wood door in embarrassment.
My fingers gripped the door handle, and I took a step back to open up for him. Blushed cheeks and all.
“Logan. Come on in.”
He was here for life coach business I was sure, so there was no point in not inviting him in. He essentially owned my ass for six weeks. He said it; I’d do it. Well, besides sexual things. I was still shocked over our conversation earlier.
He looked just as good as before. Torn jeans and sandals still worked in his favor.
“Thank you, Mia. I wanted to come by and chat. I think we can start implementing some vital changes right away and keep evaluating everything as we go. Would you like some help with putting your groceries away? I don’t mind.” He glanced at the bags of food and started to walk toward them.
“Oh no, that’s okay. I’ll put them away while we chat.”
He was a guest, and guests weren’t supposed to help.
That had been ingrained in me since birth, so I was shaking my head so fast that it might unscrew before his pretty blue eyes.
“First rule of when you’re down is, accept help if it’s truly offered. You don’t need to be the one to shoulder everything like a martyr. Yes, I see that scrunched-up face. I know it’s groceries, and you probably think I’m your guest, but I came unannounced, and I’d like to help you. So, take it.”
My face was indeed scrunched up. His logic made sense, but I swore, I could feel the stares of all Italian and Southern mamas around the world, glaring at me to host this man and make him shut up and sit on the couch while I got to work.
“A lot of people have problems saying no. You, Mia, are not one of those people. You have issues saying yes. Accept my help. It will feel strange at first, but you’ll be glad you did later.”
He walked over to the bags and waited patiently. Looking at me with soft features, hoping I would say yes and accept his help. It wasn’t really about the groceries. I mean, for crying out loud, putting them away was not even close to being an Olympic sport. This was about accepting help when offered. He was right; that was an issue of mine.
Fine.
“I’d love help. Thank you.” There might have been an extra stomp in my step as I marched to the bags and started taking things out of them.
In about five short minutes, we were done, and the bags were stashed in their proper place.
“Now, I will throw my dinner in the oven, and we can chat like you wanted.” I grabbed the salmon with veggies that was all set to go in the oven and set the timer.
Logan was leaning against my counter, watching me, and I felt nervous. Goose bumps rose on my arms, my nipples tightened, and my fingers fidgeted with the hem of my shirt. I felt like I was under the microscope. Every part of me was being dissected like some frog on a table.
“What?” I had to get out of his glare trap, so with swift feet, I walked my ass over to my comfy light-blue couch and sat against the side arm with a pillow supporting me.
Logan followed but sat on the oversize chair I used to chill in to read. It was round and snuggly.
“Nice place.” He gazed around, taking every detail in. All my pictures, home accents, and decor.
I might have money, but my home looked like a normal home, I would assume. There was no gaudy furniture here. I liked things cozy and rustic. Something you’d see in a Pottery Barn home. Most of my hotels had that theme, too, except this one. The Grande Belezza was a lot more chic and flashy.
