“Oh,” the girl murmured, handing the note to Daisy, bewilderedly. “This is for you.”
She rolled her eyes but read it anyway.
We should do dinner. Tonight?
She stared at it for a moment before scribbling a response in bold capital letters:
Not a chance.
Seconds later, another note arrived, much to the girl’s continued confusion.
Why not?
Because, she wrote,we aren’t friends.
“Are you sure you guys don’t want to sit next to each other?” the girl asked, handing Logan the reply.
“No,” Daisy said firmly. “You can ignore him now.”
Yet another note followed.
If we aren’t friends, then what are we?
She pulled a face, shaking her head at the absurdity of it all.
Not friends.
He rummaged through his bag, and Daisy struggled not to laugh when he pulled out a small, well-worn dictionary. He peeked at her over the top of it before sliding another note across.
The definition of ‘friends’ is a person with whom one has a bond of mutual affection, typically one exclusive of sexual or family relations. Considering we aren’t family and haven’t shagged, I think it’s safe to say we are friends. Don’t you think? Therefore, dinner is perfectly acceptable.
She apologised to the girl once again, and, as if sensing the tension between them, she excused herself to the bathroom.
“Look what you’ve done,” Daisy hissed at him. “And why on Earth do you have a dictionary?”
He grinned. “Note to the wise. Always be prepared.”
“Prepared for what? A Scrabble tournament?”
“I sense judgment here,” he replied with a laugh. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you, when it comes to life, be prepared for everything and anything?”
After pausing to check the aisle, he unbuckled himself. “Since she so kindly offered to change seats, it would be rude not to.”
He moved beside her, and her heart began to race. She hated the hold he had on her, the hold he’d always had. No matter how far she ran, how much time passed, it never really loosened.
“We aren’t doing dinner,” she whispered. “I have a full itinerary.”
He let out a laugh, unconvinced. “Oh, come on, just one meal. It won’t kill you to be nice.”
“One dinner,” she relented. “That’s it.”
XXXVII
LOGAN
After dropping her bags at the hotel, they made their way back to Logan’s apartment. Logan excused himself to the bathroom, where he stood staring at his reflection. Fine lines traced the corners of his eyes, and his hair had started to thin in places. Time had passed, relentless and indifferent, like spokes on a wheel that neither of them could steer. And yet, here they were.
It had been over a year since they last saw each other, and now, somehow, their paths had crossed again. He couldn’t make sense of it. Sure, there was that theory about everyone being connected by six degrees of separation, but this didn’t feel like coincidence or some quirky law of probability. She was here, in New York, on the same flight, on the same day. It had to mean something.
