“I believe in that as much as I believe in fortune-telling,” I say.
He nods, like he hears me but isn’t entirely convinced by what I’m saying. “They drink Budweiser in the movie, but I don’t drink, so I hope it’s okay that I brought these,” Logan says, setting onto the table a ginger beer and a root beer. “You can try both and take whichever you like best.”
My heart softens at this. “Why are you always so nice to me?”
Logan sits back against his chair, which looks too small with him in it. “Do you think it’s annoying? Me being this nice?” His question comes out serious.
I almost spit out the ginger beer I’m taste testing. “Annoying? Oh my god, no. I just… no one’s ever done something this sweet for me before.”
His jaw clenches at this. “You deserve nice things, Hazel,” he says, expelling a frustrated breath. “My ex, she just always thought I was too nice. Which I don’t get. I’m too nice, so that makes me a bad person?”
“You’re the perfect amount of nice.”
Logan’s shoulders relax. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to get all intense. She even said I smile too much, so it was probably doomed from the beginning,” he says in a more lighthearted way. “What am I supposed to do? Not smile?”
“That would be a tragedy.”
At this, he smiles. Because of course he does.
“Well, cheers to nice things,” he says, holding up the root beer I didn’t choose. “Like winning the lottery.”
I slide my drink closer to me. “Cheers-ing is too celebratory. We’re not supposed to be doing that.”
“No, we’re not supposed to becallingit that,” he clarifies. “But fine. How about… cheers to other nice things. Like this.”
“This?”
“Tonight. Being here, with you, after a whirlwind of a week.” He’s still holding up his root beer. “You’re not gonna leave me hanging now, are you?”
Logan’s bathed in golden light, the diffused rays highlighting his eye crinkles and a subtle dimple in his left cheek, just outside his smile lines, that I hadn’t noticed before. He’s looking at me like I’m the one who concocted this entire magical evening. Like I’m the one who won us a fortune.
Leave him hanging? How could I possibly?
I hold my drink up to his. “Okay. I’ll cheers to that.”
I want to relax into this night. Enjoy the view and Logan’s company. But I can’t help but feel on edge. Nothing ever goes this well.
The sunset becomes more vibrant as the minutes tick on. I grab my phone and take a quick picture. It reminds me of the sunsets on the lake.
Then Logan says, “From your grandparents’ house,” and I realize I’ve said this out loud.
I’m not used to talking about my grandparents’ house with anyone as much as I have with Logan.
I nod.
“Tell me about it?” he asks.
I’ve never been asked this before. Where to even start. “It looks like a mix between a cabin and a cottage. It has gingerbreaddecorative trim,” I start, recalling every detail so easily. I tell him about the wraparound porch. The dining room set in a bay. Windows everywhere so you can see the lake from each room.
When I’m done, Logan has a faraway look, like he could actually imagine it. He finishes off his egg roll. “My mom lives in Maine now, so I’m just used to the sunsets on the bay, but I think I get what you’re saying. There’s nothing like a sunset on the water.”
“Is that where you grew up? Maine?” I ask between bites.
Logan moves a few noodles around on his plate. “No. I’m from Washington state. No one in my family lives there anymore, so I have no reason to go back.”
“What brought you to the city then?”
“What I do now. I wanted to get away from home after… I just needed to get away,” Logan says. He doesn’t elaborate. “I got lucky and found carpentry. I loved it, and that brought me here.”
