“And surprisingly good at keeping secrets,” I say, “unlike most of the adults in this town.” It takes me a moment before I gather enough courage to speak my next words. “Logan, there’s something I need to tell you.”
His expression shifts, becoming more serious as he squeezes my hand. “Funny, I have something to tell you, too.”
My mouth goes dry. Could he possibly be feeling the same earthquake that’s rearranged everything inside me? Or is he about to tell me his label wants him back in L.A.?
“You go first,” I say, chickening out. Whatever bomb I’m about to drop, it can wait another thirty seconds.
Logan takes both my hands in his, thumbs tracing small circles on my skin that send shivers racing up my arms. “Maisie,” he starts, and the way he says my name makes it sound like poetry. “I—“
“Maisie!” Lindsey’s voice cuts through our moment like scissors through wrapping paper. Why does she always show up at the most inconvenient time?
Logan’s hands drop from mine as we both turn to see her charging toward us, her blond ponytail bouncing from side to side, wearing a smile so wide it would be endearing if I didn’t know it’s fake. My teeth clench involuntarily, a headache instantly forming between my eyes.
She slides to a stop, practically panting with excitement, her gaze fixed on Logan like he’s the last slice of chocolate cake at a birthday party.
“Oh my God,” she breathes, both hands clasped to her chest in dramatic fashion. “It really is you. So the rumors are true!”
Logan and I exchange a look—his apologetic, mine murderous.
“Don’t worry,” Lindsey adds. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
Sure. And I’m secretly Beyoncé‘s backup dancer.
“But oh my gosh,” she continues, already fumbling for her phone. “Can I please get one tiny picture with you? Pretty please? No one will believe this!”
I step between them faster than a mom catching a toddler about to touch a hot stove. “Absolutely not.”
Lindsey’s smile retreats, and she gives a cute pout directed at Logan. I’d like nothing more than to smack it right off her face. “Come on, Maisie. It’s just one little photo.”
“And one little photo becomes one viral post becomes one hundred paparazzi crawling all over town.” I cross my arms. “No pictures.”
She sighs dramatically, shoulders slumping. “Fine. Can I at least get your autograph then?”
To my astonishment, she produces from her purse a photo of Logan from one of his photoshoots and a pen. Was she expecting to run into him here?
Logan glances at me with raised eyebrows, and I shrug in defeat. One autograph won’t bring down civilization as we know it.
He scrawls his signature across the front of the photo—his penmanship exquisite—while she watches like she’s witnessing the second coming.
“Thank you so, so much,” she gushes, clutching the picture to her chest like a precious artifact. Then her eyes shift to me. “Hey, could I talk to you for a second? In private?”
Great. What could she possible want?
Logan, bless him, reads into it perfectly. “I’ll grab us some drinks,” he says, giving my hand a reassuring squeeze before heading toward a nearby concession stand.
I turn to Lindsey, arms crossed. “What do you want?”
She bounces on her toes, excitement bubbling through her like a shaken soda can. “Okay, so I know this is totally random, but I was wondering . . .” She leans in like she doesn’t want anyone to hear. “Do you think Logan would perform a song at my wedding?”
My mind goes blank. I’m so stupefied I actually laugh—a sharp, humorless bark that surprises even me. “You cannot be serious right now.”
“What?” She blinks, genuinely puzzled. “It would be amazing. Andy and I are huge fans, and people would absolutely lose their minds.”
“Let me get this straight”—each word I sputter is laced with white-hot rage—“You want Logan Humphries—who I’m bringing as my plus-one to your wedding—to perform for you and the man you stole from me?”
Lindsey rolls her eyes like I’m the unreasonable one. “Come on, Maisie. Andy wasn’t happy with you. I did you a favor. You would’ve ended up divorced anyway.”
The sound that escapes my throat is something between a gasp and a growl. “Get out of my face. Now.”
