God, what came over me to suggest it? Seven years later, and I am stillthat girl. Good girls do not invite their bosses to take a shower with them, whatever the reason. It was by far the most outrageous stunt I have ever pulled. Well, the second most outrageous. What is up with how I behave in Sagebrush? There must be something in the water here that triggers my bad-girl DNA.
Or worse, maybe Sagebrush has nothing to do with it. I have a bad habit of poking at the plentiful mottled splotches all over my legs and arms that I earn from climbing, testing to see if the obvious bruise hurts. It always does. That’s what this feels like—pressing down hard, testing to see if we still feel this attraction or not.
Shocker when, at least for me, I really,reallydo.
When we were dating before, I was the same. Prodding, poking, pushing Logan until he dragged me away to either yell or sex me up. I wanted to see what he would do. I liked how powerful it made me feel, the chaos I would spin. And now I was slipping into bad habits.
I know better. But I can’t seem to stop.
Speaking of dredging up my wanton history, I can’t avoid speaking to Emily any longer. Not after she graciously let me borrow a dress and heels for this event. Seven years ago, Emily did not mince words, and from what Seth and Logan say about her, she hasn’t changed. If anyone were to voice an opinion about my sordid past, it would be her.
I finish packing away all the candle supplies, carefully separating out the melted candles and their paper holders. Then I steel myself for approaching her and Logan, the box of candles in front of me like a shield.
“I just wanted to thank you in person for letting me borrow your dress and heels,” I say to Emily. Quick and to the point would be best. It’s hard to call someone a skank if you hit them with kindness first. “These are beautiful, and I really appreciate them.”
“Yes, thank you, Emily,” Logan jumps in.
Emily blinks, then gives Logan a look that saysreally?My heart sinks.
“You look great in them,” she says finally. “Keep them.”
“Oh, I couldn’t—” I protest as my face grows hot. Does she really think she can’t wash off whatever taint I gave these? Washing machines are miracle workers for blood stains and other grime; I’m sure they can rinse off whatever eau-de-tart scent I leave behind.
“Yes, you can. The dress looks like it was meant to be yours.” Her eyes glint with something I can’t read. Is she mocking me? “Honestly, I won’t miss it at all,” she continues, but her gaze stays on Logan. “It’s the weirdest thing—I don’t even remember buying that dress or the shoes. Or even tryingthem on—”
Logan claps his hands together. “Right, that’s settled. Let’s go check on the caterers, Sierra.” He grabs my hand and pulls me away.
“Thanks again, Emily!” I call over my shoulder as he tows me along like a tugboat.
“Well?” he asks when we’re clear. He drops my hand, and I immediately miss it. “What did you think?”
“Emily must really—oh, the event?” I correct myself at his puzzled expression. “It went so well, Logan.”
He grins, euphoria and relief easing the tension in his face. “Right? Man, I can’t believe it’s over, though. Months of planning…” He snaps his fingers. “Just like that. But I’m very pleased with how it turned out. Everything going okay for you?”
It was, but now that recklessness is rising within me again. The water—it must be the water. I need to switch to bottled Evian or something.
“Everything except for one thing.” I trace one of the half-melted candles. “You didn’t get to see the cave with the candles lit.” I scoop up a candle and light it. I am playing with fire, and I don’t care. The flame flickers tentatively, like the hope inside me that he’ll say yes.
“Oh, well…” He glances toward the teardown.
“Come on, Logan. Let’s sneak off for a few minutes. No one will notice. Don’t you deserve a moment to bask in your own triumph?”
He takes the candle, his fingers brushing mine. Feeling bold, I reach for his other hand. His palm is warm and smooth. I shiver pleasantly when his fingers twine with mine, the calluses on his fingertips rubbing against the back of my hand.
“Come on,” I whisper. “It’ll be like old times.”
He lets me lead him toward the cave entrance. The gate—a wide, iron lattice—is propped open. Logan takes the box from me and pulls another candle out, deftly lighting it before handing it back to me. He sets the box aside and gestures for me to enter first.
We step inside. My breath catches when his hand finds mine again in the dark. We move down a narrow passage, then descend a flight of stone stairs until the space opens into a vast cavern. The cave glows in the soft yellow light of the candles. Sheets upon sheets of flowstone surround us, while the limestone stalactites sparkle and shift like they’re alive. The effect creates a sense of movement and privacy, like hiding in the shade of a weeping willow made of stone.
“This is the main chamber,” Logan explains. “The Cathedral. This place always feels sacred to me. Timeless. It makes me feel meaningless in the best way.”
“What do you mean?” I whisper. Logan is right; it feels like I’m in a church.
“Sometimes my shortcomings feel so big that they’ll always control me. I spend so much time, day after day, hour after hour, battling myself and failing over and over again.” The candlelight flickers against his face, accenting the hollows in his throat as he swallows. “But here are thousands, or even millions, of years of existence right in front of us. I’m barely a blip in this cave’s history. I may never be able to overcome everything wrong with me. I probably won’t. And it’s okay.” He sighs, but it doesn’t sound unhappy. “Here it doesn’t matter.”
It doesn’t matter.I ponder that as I continue to take in the beauty in front of us. Conceptually, I think I understand what he means. Constantly beating myself up over what I did inthe past and all the imperfections I can’t seem to defeat does seem self-aggrandizing in the grand scheme of theuniverse.
