Mom blinks once, then smooths the front of her apron with both palms, composing herself with the practiced grace of someone who’s just discovered royalty has dropped by for tea. “Well, it would be rude not to welcome our new neighbor,” she says, her hostess instincts kicking into overdrive. “Would you like some lunch?”
“He just ate,” I lie, attempting to remove him from the premises before this situation spirals further into absurdity.
“I’d like that,” Logan replies, flashing her a grin and—did he just wink at me?!
I spin toward him, whispering through clenched teeth, “This is not a good idea.”
“Relax,” he says. “It’s just lunch.”
The next thing I know, we’re sitting at the table, all of us arranged like we’re filming the season finale of Modern Family, with Logan as the surprise guest star who’s about to upend everyone’s lives.
Stephanie hasn’t stopped fidgeting since we sat down. “So can I please take a selfie with you?” She holds her phone at the ready, screen already switched to camera mode.
“Actually,” I interject before Logan can answer, “Logan doesn’t want anyone to know he’s here.” I should have made it a rule in our contract that he’s not allowed to step foot in this house.
Chrissy tilts her head curiously. “Why not?”
“Just came back for a little peace and quiet,” Logan says, accepting the bowl of spaghetti Mom slides toward him. “Needed some time away from . . . everything.”
He says that’s the reason, but I can’t shake the feeling there’s more to it than that. People don’t normally hide out in small towns unless they’re running from something big.
Stephanie’s eyes grow even wider. “Could I get your autograph at least? I have all your albums—well, digital copies.”
“Sure thing,” Logan replies.
“I don’t have a picture for you to sign,” she continues, “but you can sign my blouse!” Before anyone can process what’s happening, she’s actually tugging at the hem of her shirt, preparing to pull it over her head.
I jump from my seat, ready to intervene in this madness, but Chrissy moves faster, grabbing Stephanie by the shoulders and firmly guiding her back into her chair.
“I’m sure we can find a piece of paper of our dear troublemaker to sign,” I say, trying to restore sanity to the table.
Stephanie’s forehead wrinkles in confusion. “Why do you call him that?”
“Care to explain?” I tilt my head at Logan. “We’re all very curious,” I add, unable to keep the sweetly venomous edge from my voice.
Logan clears his throat and shifts in his chair. “I caused a little trouble when I was younger,” he admits, suddenly fascinated by the pattern on his napkin.
“That’s an understatement of the year.” The memory of my glue-matted hair and ruined polka dot dress rises unbidden.
“So the rumors about you are true.” Theo speaks for the first time, his voice carrying a weight of judgment that could sink a battleship.
Logan pivots to face him. “Don’t believe everything they say about me.” Something glints behind his eyes for a heartbeat—a shadow of genuine hurt that vanishes so quickly I might have imagined it.
“It doesn’t matter, anyway,” Stephanie jumps in defensively. “Logan’s songs are the best. ‘Star Crossed Lovers’ got me through some tough times last year.
“Thanks.” Logan throws her a wink. “It’s always nice to meet a fan.”
Stephanie squirms in her chair, covering her blushing face with both hands like she might spontaneously combust.
“I wouldn’t know,” Theo says coolly. “I’m not a fan.” His disapproval radiates across the table like a cold front.
Chrissy elbows him sharply in the ribs—a clear signal to behave—and he winces, falling silent.
“I’m sorry we don’t have more,” Mom says, gesturing to the bowl in front of Logan. “We weren’t expecting another guest.”
“This is great, Mrs. Lang,” he says, practically beaming. “I haven’t had spaghetti like this in . . . well, it’s been a while.”
We all start to eat. The way he digs in with such enthusiasm suggests he hasn’t had a proper home-cooked meal in months, maybe years, savoring every bite with appreciative little sounds. There’s something unexpectedly sad about it.
