Heat flares down my chest. I look away, suddenly very interested in the material this deck is made of. There’s something hanging in the air, and I don’t know what’s going on, exactly.
But it’s obvious Logan and I are still connected in some way.
CHAPTER5
The sun has fully set, and I find myself with aching cheeks from smiling way too much. We’re still sipping our drinks, surrounded by the soft glow of lanterns that illuminate the patio. Most of the other folks are gone; only Logan and I, plus two middle-aged women, remain. The sound of waves crashing against the shore creates a soothing symphony, while the scent of salt in the air fills my lungs with each breath.
God, I love it here already.
And I just can’t get over how easy it is to be with Logan. It feels like I never left.
Well, sort of.
He’s very obviously a man now. I skipped out on his awkward teens and that early twenties phase when men are still growing into themselves. And I’m kind of disappointed I did because I’m reminded of exactly how much he mattered to me. We weren’t best friends by accident.
It was a good thing we found each other when I arrived in Red Lake with no friends and no knowledge of the English language. Logan didn’t care if I couldn’t speak English yet, or if I had weird tendencies like singing to myself in the playground or staring at the clouds in silence for long stretches of time. He was immediately drawn to me, and I to him.
Learning English was much faster when I could practice with a friend, and I was always there to scream at the bigger kids who constantly picked on him. And even though he’d tell me to stop sticking up for him, there was no way I’d leave him defenseless. Just like there was no way he’d leave me to fend for myself if our roles had ever been reversed.
I still remember the devastation in his eyes when I’d told him about our move back to Montreal. Bringing up this image twists my insides like a vice. Jasper dumping me felt horrible—it was one of the most painful experiences I’ve ever gone through—but it still doesn’t compare to being ripped away from Logan back then.
If only we’d have stayed in touch. Instead, I went ahead and ruined it.
As the warm evening air turns cool, the familiarity of our conversation wraps around me like a heated blanket despite the bitter taste these memories bring back. I can’t help but be proud of this man who used to be everything to me. He’s living his dream career, and apparently, his performance has been impressive enough that they’ve granted him this summer sabbatical.
Not that it surprises me. He was always whip-smart.
“Your hair’s gotten longer,” Logan observes, reaching out and gently running his fingers through the ends, which are now long enough to touch my hips. His touch sends a shiver down my spine, and I can’t help but hold my breath.
“Yeah, I’ve been letting it grow,” I reply, suddenly aware of the electricity in the air between us. I want to ignore it because the last thing Logan probably needs right now is to become a rebound to a stressed out, just-about-to-turn-thirty mess of a woman.
“Looks good on you,” he says with a smile, his gaze lingering on me for just a moment too long. I swallow hard, trying to brush off the flushed look on my face.
“Meh, it kind of washes me out,” I deflect, bringing my eyes down. “I’m thinking of cutting it back to how it used to be.”
He laughs, which isn’t the reaction I’d been expecting.
“What?” I ask.
“It’s just …” He chuckles again. “Some things don’t change.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, you could never take a compliment, even today, when you’re arguably the most beautiful you’ve ever been.”
Forget being flushed. Now, the entirety of my body’s blood supply rushes to my face. I must look like a red tomato. My lips squeeze together as my heart rate picks up. I push through, trying to find a way to shift the focus from me to him. “Well, you’re not looking too bad yourself.” I steal one glance at him and realize how much I mean it.
Logan is definitely not what some women would call a ‘hunk.’ And that’s a good thing because that body shape has never been my type. I like my men strong but slender, with dark features and glasses, and that’s exactly what I’m looking at right now. There’s something endearing about his scruffy style and thick, curly locks. He’s not tall, but he’s filled out enough to have me imagining what it would feel like to bury my face into his neck and drown in his arms.
Yup. This grown-up version of my childhood best friend is definitely my type.
Oh, I’m in trouble.
“If you say so,” he responds shyly.
“Well, well, well, now who can’t take a compliment?”
“I guess neither of us have really ever been champions at that, huh?” He sighs and finishes his beer in one final swig.
