“What about the highs?”
Logan shakes his head. “Nah. We don’t want to betoohappy.”
I shake my head, playing along.
“I’ve been living in muted shades,” I say. “But it’s like ever since meeting you—”
Ever since meeting Logan, everything’s been a bit brighter. More vibrant.
Oh.Oh.
He’s still looking at the road, focused on our safety. Which is good. I need the moment to collect myself.
“Ever since meeting me…?” Logan asks. His hand slips from mine to my leg, right above my knee.
“Ever since meeting you…” I say slowly. “I guess I’ve… I’ve felt a wider spectrum of emotions. It’s like meeting you has cracked me open, just a little.” It’s a lie. He’s cracked me wide open.
I’m shallow breathing now, my chest rising and falling faster at this admission. It’s scary, being vulnerable.
Logan gives me a small grin. “Toffee did most of that.”
I laugh. Out loud this time. I catch Logan stealing a glance as I do, like he wants to capture my pleased reactions.
I trail my finger down my forearm where the two long scratcheshave faded. My fingers land on my charm bracelet. I find the cat and rub my thumb over its nose and ears.
“What kinds of emotions do you have?” he asks.
My fingers drop from the charm. “What?”
“Tell me what you’re feeling, good or bad. Let’s start with the good.”
I see what he’s doing. He’s creating his own version of what I did to him at the theater.
I look around at the car’s dashboard and cupholders, as though I’ll find my response there. Out the window, there’s nothing but highway and trees and signs. In the distance, gray clouds loom. We’re driving straight toward them.
I spot the Wendy’s logo on an exit sign. “I feel good about Frostys.”
“I like those, too,” Logan says. “What else?”
I note the eighty degrees I’ve set the heat to on the passenger side. In my defense, I’m always cold. “I feel good about the temperature.”
“You feel good about the temperature? Like outside or in the car?” Logan clarifies. He’s taking this more seriously than I am.
“In here. It’s comfortable.”
“Well, your limbs are always cold so that makes sense,” he says, waiting. “Is that it?”
Of course that’s not it. Lately, there’s been so much to feel good about. Mostly because of him.
“I don’t want to say it out loud,” I finally say.
“Why? What will happen if you do?”
I wait a few beats before saying, “It might go away.” I shift against the leather seat. “Speaking the good into existence feels risky. When my dad won bets or when certain teams won, he’d talk about his luck and how good he had it. How on top of the world he was. Butthe high never lasted, and that only led to disappointment. Even when we first met, you were so confident about how you always won games and how things worked out for you. And then they didn’t. It feels like jinxing.”
“I knew you were a little superstitious.” He squeezes my leg. “You know, Hazel, when something good happens for you, you’re allowed to enjoy it. You’re even allowed to say when something makes you happy. Doing so won’t take that truth away. I’m not going to say something cliché like you have to know the bad to know the good. I want to, but I won’t.”
“You literally just said it.”
