George’s login still works.
I splice the video of Logan hitting a home run together with some footage of the game from the stands and find some upbeat music to go with it.
I caption it, hover over the button, and hit post.
“Here goes nothing,” I mutter.
I set my phone down, and lean back.
And somewhere between the second act and the predictable third-act breakup on screen, I fall asleep again.
I wake up to the smell of coffee and something that smells warm and buttery.
For a second, I don’t even remember where I am.
Then I see Logan in the kitchen, shirtless and cooking.
I push myself up slowly on the couch, hair a mess, still half-asleep.
He glances over his shoulder. “Morning, Sunshine. I didn’t wake you, did I?”
“What are you doing?”
“What does it look like?” he says. “Breakfast.”
I squint at the pan. “Is that…eggs?”
“And pancakes,” he adds. “Figured we’d keep the streak alive.”
“The streak?”
“Me making you question everything you thought you knew about me.”
I huff out a laugh, dropping back against the couch.
A second later the beautiful chaos begins again.
“Aunt Cassie!”
Ellie runs full speed at me.
I barely have time to brace before she climbs onto the couch next to me.
“We’re awake,” she announces.
“I can see that.”
Behind her, Hattie waddles in, clutching something sticky.
“Oh no,” I mutter. “What is that?”
“No idea,” Logan calls. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to.”
Breakfast is chaos. Syrup is somehow everywhere, and Ellie is talking nonstop about the tea party she and Logan had yesterday. Hattie is trying to feed Logan pancakes with her hands.
Logan is just rolling with it, laughing and wiping sticky fingers, and letting them climb all over him like it’s nothing.
That morning, we end up at the farmer’s market.
