We’re safe for now.
Chapter 9
The rest of the week unfolds like a peaceful intermission after Logan’s dramatic window exit. Each morning, my phone lights up with texts detailing his bruised hip, sore back, and damaged ego. The man’s capacity for theatrical suffering knows no bounds—you’d think he’d plummeted from a skyscraper rather than a seen-foot trellis.
One message reads:Starting to think rose thorns are venomous.Left hip turning interesting colors. Please send sympathy and cookies.
I’ve been enjoying the break, if I’m honest. The breathing room gives me time to focus on what actually pays my bills—first-graders with spring fever and a stack of spelling tests that won’t grade themselves.
When I think about Lindsey’s wedding now, a strange lightness replaces the dread that’s been my constant companion since the diner fiasco. Having Logan play the part of my boyfriend feels like finding an unexpected ring in choppy waters.No more panicked Bumble swiping. No more imagining what would happen if I couldn’t find a date.
But another kind of anxiety creeps in during quiet moments. What if someone finds out? What if our stories don’t align? What if Mom figures out I’m bringing a fraudulent plus-one to a wedding where she knows everyone and their grandma?
I get the distinct feeling that the complicated web of lies we’re weaving has too many loose threads. One wrong tug and the whole fabrication could unravel around us, leaving me more exposed than before. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t excited about spending time with Logan. Whatever else might happen between us, this chapter of my life will definitely be something to brag about to my kids one day.
The days click by without incident. Thursday. Friday. And then Saturday arrives.
It’s lunchtime, and I stir tomato sauce for the spaghetti I’m making, watching the rich red liquid bubble and swirl. Mom’s working on the noodles at the stove beside me, her practiced hands dropping pasta into boiling water with the confidence of someone who’s done this a thousand times. She’s a great cook, and everything I know, I’ve learned from her.
“This needs more basil,” I say, reaching for the spice rack above the stove.
“You always say that.” Mom nudges me playfully. “You don’t need to drown everything in herbs.”
The kitchen hums with activity. Chrissy and her best friend, Stephanie, have taken over the dining table with textbooks and laptops for some group project. Theo hovers nearby, supposedly helping but mostly stealing glances at my sister when he thinks no one’s looking. The boy practically lives here nowadays.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.Bored out of my skull. Want to do something fun?
I snort and text back.Making spaghetti for everyone. Chrissy and her friends are working on a school project so today might be a bust. Stay away . . . unless you want to fall from the window again.
After stirring the sauce one last time, I grab a stack of plates from the cabinet and begin setting the table, carefully working around mountains of textbooks.
“Can you move your stuff?” I ask, holding a plate over Stephanie’s sprawling notes.
“Just a sec.” Stephanie gathers papers without looking up, her focus entirely on whatever diagram she’s drawing.
A knock sounds at the front door, startling me enough that I almost fumble a glass.
“Chrissy, can you see who it is?” Mom calls from the kitchen sink as she rinses dishes, her hands deep in sudsy water.
“Okay,” my sister replies on autopilot, her eyes glued to the textbook in front of her.
I shake my head. “I’ll get it.”
The knocking comes again, more insistent this time. I make my way to the front door, swinging it open halfway.
My jaw unhinges.
Logan stands on the porch with a smirk and a raised hand like he’s greeting a long-time neighbor. “Morning.”
Panic splashes over me like a bucket of ice water.
“What are you doing here?” I hiss, ducking my head outside and scanning the street—no dog walkers, no porch sitters, no Mrs. Henley with her binoculars across the street.
I step outside and close the door but not all the way. “What if someone recognizes you?”
“The coast was clear. I checked.” He says it with the kind of breezy carelessness that makes me want to scream at him for being so reckless.
The muscles in my jaw tighten until I can feel a headache forming. “So, what part of ‘stay away’ don’t you understand?”
