Layla’s phone buzzes. And her brow furrows as she switches apps and reads over the message. “That was fast. He’s at work, but Bennett sent, ‘Weird question, but it’s up to Logan if/when he tells her about his property holdings. Let’s just say his primary residence isn’t a typical Chicago apartment, and not something he talks about. If she’s worried, tell her not to be. He has his reasons.’”
“What does that mean?” I ask, feeling an uncomfortable tickle at the base of my skull.
Serena tilts her head, analyzing. “I guess it means you’ll have to ask Logan yourself.”
“Yeah.” I pick at the edge of my cinnamon scroll, suddenly not hungry anymore. “Yeah, I should.”
“Hey.” Serena’s voice is gentle now. “Don’t let our wild theories freak you out. This is probably nothing. Logan’s head over heels for you—anyone with eyes can see that. Maybe he just hasn’t thought about it. You know how he gets when he’s focused on the project.”
“She’s right,” Layla adds. “The man rented you a planetarium. An actual planetarium. That’s not the behavior of someone who’s keeping secrets. I’m sorry if our over-dramatic imaginings freaked you out.”
“You didn’t freak me out. I just… I wish he wanted to share his world with me.”
“I’m sure he does, honey,” Serena says. “As soon as he’s ready.”
“Yeah. You’re right.”
I know they’re right. I know Logan—know the way he looks at me, the way he touches me, the way he whispers my name like it’s something precious. I know he loves me, even if he hasn’t said those exact words yet.
But there’s a small, cold part of me that remembers what it felt like to be kept at arm’s length. To be good enough to sleep with, but not good enough to bring home. To realize, too late, that I was a convenience rather than a priority.
I thought I’d buried that part of me in Sweden, lost it entirely when Logan and I got together. But apparently, she was just waiting for the right moment to dig herself back out.
“You’re catastrophizing, aren’t you?” Serena observes. “I can see it on your face.”
“I’m not catastrophizing.”
“Your eyebrows are scrunched together and you look like a worried chipmunk. It’s very cute, but it means you’re overthinking.”
I force my face to relax. “I’m not overthinking. I’m just... thinking. A normal amount.”
“Sure you are.” Layla doesn’t sound convinced. “Look, here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to eat another cinnamon scroll because those things are expensive and I didn’t send them to be wasted. Then you’re going to go to work, be brilliant, save some lives with your fancy brain implant. And tonight, when Logan inevitably shows up at your door with takeout and heart eyes, you’re going to casually mention that you’d love to see his place sometime. Easy. Simple. No big deal.”
“And if he deflects?”
“Then you push a little. Gently. You’re allowed to want to see where your boyfriend lives, Audrey. That’s not an unreasonable ask.”
I nod slowly. She’s right. Of course she’s right. This is probably nothing—a simple oversight, a product of circumstance and chaos. Logan’s been so focused on the FDA deadline, so worried about getting everything right, that he probably hasn’t even thought about where we spend our nights together.
I’m making something out of nothing.
“OK,” I say. “You’re right. I’ll ask him.”
“Good.” Serena smiles. “Now, tell us more about the interrogation. I want to know exactly what Tony said when Logan walked out of your bedroom wearing your pink T-shirt.”
I laugh and let them pull me back into the story. The teasing is familiar, comfortable—exactly what I needed to shake off the strange unease that had started to settle in my chest.
But later, after we’ve hung up and I’m gathering my things for work, I catch myself staring at the sunflowers on my counter.
Why doesn’t he want me to see where he lives?
CHAPTER 22
Logan
“Logan.” The concern in Audrey’s voice makes me look up from my computer screen immediately. “We have a problem.”
She’s standing at her workstation, staring at her screen with an expression I’ve learned to dread—the one that means something has gone catastrophically wrong.
