My bones are weary from the two-day drive. And I have a lot of work to do in the morning. I inhale deeply and exhale out a sigh to gather the courage to ring the small bell on the desk.
It doesn’t take long for me to hear footsteps from the back room coming my way. I steel myself for the usual awkwardness of encountering a stranger. My body tenses up just as a man strides through the doorway. It takes a second for me to meet his gaze, but when I do, my heart stops.Oh my God.
I didn’t prepare myself for this. This isn’t what I had in mind at all.
And I can see the thought registering in his warm hazel eyes as well. Seventeen years apart aren’t enough to dull the recognition I see in them.
Standing behind the counter is Logan.
CHAPTER3
The shock hits me like a tidal wave, drenching my bones with anxiety. I’d braced myself for several scenarios like I always do when I go somewhere new. The receptionist could be super rude. Or the inside of the lodge could stink of garbage. Perhaps, in some of my worst mental scenarios, a fire would erupt just as I walked in, and I’d have to save the receptionist from the burning building while avoiding certain death myself.
I can’t yet process whether the actual reality facing me is better or worse than these scenarios. All I know is that panic seeps through me as I scrutinize every detail and expression on Logan’s face at lightning speed.
How could he possibly be here? What sort of quantum universal coincidence would have brought him to Nova Scotia, of all places—and specifically, at this exact resort at the same time asme?
It’s too much at once. The glee and dread collide in my chest and erupt like a colossal volcano, and before I know it, I turn away from him to escape.
I can barely feel my feet pounding against the gravel as I run, run, run. I can’t breathe, but I keep going. My vision blurs and I’m almost certain my heart is going to rip away from my chest. I don’t know where I’m even headed.
Anywhere but here.
Before I know it, I’m standing behind the motel building, my back against the wall. There’s nothing but forest in front of me. My knees buckle under the weight of the moment, and suddenly, myI can’t breatheproblem becomes the opposite as I begin to hyperventilate.
Logan. Logan. Logan.
My entire body burns. I’m breathing as fast as my brain is chanting his name. Black dots appear in the corners of my foggy vision. Nails rake against both my arms, and I realize they’re my own only seconds later.
I sense movement from the corner of my eye. A mop of curly brown hair and a warm radiance from his body. It can’t be anyone else. Logan kneels next to me.Shit. Shit. Shit.
His hands grab mine and pull my nails away from my arms. “Avery,” he whispers faintly. Or at least, that’s what it sounds like. The thunder in my body is so deafening I can hardly hear it.
Someone’s counting.Three, four, five … one, two, three …
I don’t know how long it takes me to realize the countdown is coming from Logan, who’s trying to guide my breathing—my hands and arms trembling under his touch.
My breathing starts to slow. The black spots fade from my vision. Next to me, Logan continues to count in a velvety voice. “—four, five … one, two, three, four, five …”
My entire body still feels like it’s full of lead, and my heart is hammering away against my chest, but at least I can breathe normally.
I have no idea how much time passes like this, with Logan’s voice guiding my body back to a state of … not so much ‘calm’ as ‘not about to die.’ Slowly but surely, the panic and dread reduce to my regular levels of anxiety, although the aftermath continues to wreak havoc on my body.
Logan stops counting. He’s motionless next to me, and I sense his gaze burning through me. I can’t look at him. Not yet.
Guilt rises through me—why is he helping me?—but I can’t let my fears win again. I take another deep breath and close my eyes. This doesn’t make sense. Of all the panic-stricken people on Earth, I’m the last one who deserves Logan’s help. Not after the way things ended. After the wayIended things.
But the last thing I want to do is attack him with questions after he’s helped me calm down. I finally deign to look him in the eyes.
A pang hits my heart. He’s so familiar, yet so different. He still wears his glasses, but their thick rim is a style that suits him much better than the skinny ones he used to wear. His downturned eyes have the same spark, but there are new lines in the corners, just like mine. Long stubble now covers his cheeks and jaw, although I noticed a small patch where it hasn’t fully grown in. A worried smile occupies his lips as he catches me staring.
Yet what stands out to me most is the familiar tingle of electricity I feel where his hands meet my arms.
Even though the worst of the panic attack has passed, the aftershock doesn’t hold back. My body is weak after everything it has gone through, and without me being able to control it, the tears start pouring—his fingers reach my cheek to brush them away.
Suddenly, it’s as if no time has passed at all. I’m thirteen again, having a breakdown before Christmas exams, and Logan is wiping tears from my eyes, his touch soft like a butterfly’s wings. I’m ten, holding his hand tight as we jump together into the lake. I’m eight, alone in the schoolyard in a new town with no friends, and he’s smiling at me for the first time, asking me if I want to play with him.
Somehow, we’re still intact.
