Wanting—needing—to feel better about forgetting, and feeling a million miles away from my family, I dug in my party clothes suitcase and found my mom’s old Bribury tee shirt and put it on.
It was a looser style back then, and though she had been about the same size as me, it hung on me more than I was used to. But I liked that. Roomy and comfy was just what I needed right now.
And food.
Having talked with my family through when I’d normally grab dinner, I found I was hungry. Hangry, actually. But I’d deal with the hungry part first and then think about the angry.
Wasn’t that one of the stages of grief?
I heard voices through my closed bedroom door. Initially ready to ignore whoever had come home, I figured I’d better open the door in case it was Emily and she thought I was changing or something. As I turned the knob, I heard a male voice along with what I now knew was Chloe.
She’d brought a guy home.
I snatched my hand back, not wanting to interrupt what might be… something?
“You in there, Megan?” Chloe called. “You have a delivery out here. I intercepted it at the front desk when I overheard them asking for you.”
Another delivery? From my dad? But he hadn’t asked about it during our call. And why would Chloe bring up the delivery guy? I opened the door and had my answer.
The delivery guy was Logan.
Chapter11
“Sorry to ambush you.I know you said you were okay. But I thought, I don’t know, who would turn down hand-delivered pizza from Bonetti’s?”
“Nobody would,” Chloe said, taking the two boxes from Logan and putting them on our coffee table. “Why would she not be okay?” she asked, looking between the two of us.
Logan deferred to me, allowing me to tell—or not tell—Chloe what I wanted.
“Shitty day, is all,” I said, thankful that I’d brought the flowers he’d sent into my room.
“That sucks. But how would he—”
“I brought enough for all of you, but had to guess on toppings. Hope nobody’s vegan or gluten free or anything. But one half of one is just cheese to be safe,” Logan said. He swung a grocery bag that he’d been holding under the boxes. “And I took a chance on Diet Coke.” He unearthed two large bottles of pop.
“Thanks so much, Logan,” I said. “And you two obviously remember each other from the party at your place?”
Although they’d shared the elevator ride up, it was clear they hadn’t talked much. “Um, not really,” she said. “I mean, I remember he was who you… got to know better. But I guess I didn’t catch your name.”
Right. It was Emily I’d shared the details with after we got home. Chloe and Abby had retreated to their room, Abby still not feeling well. The next night we’d gone to a different party, and by then Logan had been long forgotten by Chloe.
But not by me.
And obviously I had not been forgotten by Logan Fields.
Chloe grabbed paper plates, utensils, napkins, and cups. Abby and Emily came in then, and I was able to do actual introductions between Logan and my suitemates. Emily, knowing more of the story, caught my eye at one point and did a tiny chef’s-kiss thing with her fingers to her mouth.
Hewasmouthwatering, I’d give her that.
We talked about typical stuff while we ate the pizza. At one point, Logan dropped a piece of sausage on his chest while delivering a bite to his mouth. Wiping at the grease stain on his tee, he said, “I need to do, like, occupational therapy or something. Every shirt I own has a stain right here. It’s weird.”
I looked down at my mom’s shirt and felt a jolt of panic. “I’ll be right back,” I said. I quickly left the main room, went to my bedroom, and put on a fresh tee shirt, placing my mom’s not back in the suitcase, but hanging in my closet. It was sticking out, but I didn’t take the time to separate the packed space and make room for it.
“Did you just change your shirt?” Chloe asked when I returned moments later. “Because Logan can’t balance a piece of sausage?”
We all laughed, but only now was the panic in me subsiding. “Kind of. This shirt can be pizza-ready. Just in case.”
“But it looked like the one you had on was worse. Rattier,” Abby said. She was just making an observation, didn’t really care about my attire, pizza-proof or no. But I found I didn’t want to share the protective instinct that had just come out in me over a thirty-year-old Bribury tee.
