His grin deepens with pride over his son’s bravery, and it makes my girl bits achy in the most delicious way. It’s a cliché, but it’s accurate: doting single dads light a fire in your ovaries.
“I’ve never been tobogganing,” I say.
He tilts his head just a little to the left and his right eyebrow quirks. “Not really a thing in Hawaii I’m guessing.”
“Yeah, but it’s probably for the best. I don’t have the best luck with winter conditions, what with all the falling over and barfing on a cute guy’s shoes,” I say and once again want to dissolve into a puddle of embarrassment. Why did I just blurt out he was cute? The cool and casual section of my brain must have fallen out when I hit my head last night and is on the stairs somewhere. If he wasn’t still standing there, I’d drop down on my knees and start searching for it like a lost earring.
“Oh, speaking of that,” Logan says, totally and blessedly ignoring my cute comment. He walks around the car and does a little wave towards his feet, which are clad in brand new, dark brown leather boots. They’re exactly like the old ones. That would make me think he’s a man of habit who doesn’t change his ways often or at all. But then the twinkle in his eyes when he smiles and the cheeky, bold way he talks sometimes, not to mention his high-stress, unpredictable job, says there’s more to him.
“Nice. I really feel like I should pay for them though,” I say as I notice he’s got a Hawkins' Lobster Shack paper bag in his hand.
“It’s fine. Honestly. They were almost falling apart anyway,” he shrugs. “I’m just not one to fix things sometimes until they’re broke, you know? It’s a bad habit.”
“There are worse bad habits to have,” I say with a little shrug.
“Oh, I’ve had those too,” he replies and there’s an air of seriousness around him suddenly. Yeah, there isa lotto this guy. He’s got a lot of layers, and I kind of want to start peeling them back and discovering more. He holds up the bag. “But right now my worst habit is stealing extra lobster meat from the restaurant. Want some?”
“After I ruined your shoes, you’re going to offer me free lobster meat?” I say smiling and trying not to salivate at the thought. I haven’t been able to afford fresh lobster since… well, ever.
“You barfing on my shoes pushed me to get rid of them before the soles wore through, so consider the lobster meat a thank you,” he tells me. “And it tastes better when it’s stolen. I swear.”
“I’ve never been rewarded with stolen seafood,” I laugh at the absurdity.
“Like I said this morning, this thing between you and me is unique,” he says, laughing with me. He climbs the stairs and I meet him halfway and take the bag from him.
“Thank you, Logan.”
“You’re welcome, Chloe.”
We just stare at each other for a long moment and even though there are no words, it feels like things are being said. His smile softens and he runs a hand through his hair. “I’m going to go grab a cat nap before I have to head off to work in a couple hours.”
“Okay. Sweet dreams.” I watch him walk down the steps, and he keeps his eyes on me until he physically can’t anymore because the side of the house gets in the way. Despite having been outside without a jacket on, I feel warm after that conversation. It was easy and fun. I haven’t felt easy and fun with a man in forever.
Smiling, I decide to busy myself in the kitchen, stashing the lobster meat in the fridge and pulling the cauliflower pizza crust out of the freezer, and start prepping the veggies and shredding the cheese. About an hour later, as I’m spreading my homemade pizza sauce on the crust, I hear another car in the drive. It’s followed by a door slamming and then Aspen’s distinctive laugh a couple minutes later. Wiping my hands on a dish towel, I walk to the door. Boss has already jumped up on the back of the couch and is growling but wagging his tail at the same time. Conflicted little nugget.
I pat his head and glance out the window and freeze. Aspen is beside her car, and Logan is beside his. His navy paramedic uniform is visible through his open parka. I can’t hear what she’s saying, but her lips are moving a mile a minute and she flips her wild blonde curls when he chuckles at whatever it is she said. My stomach flips in a not-so-good way. Is she flirting with him? Is the nausea I’m feeling at that thought caused by concussion syndrome or jealousy? I don’t know what answer would frighten me more, to be honest.
I walk to the front door, open it, and pick up Stevie before she can escape. I let Boss make his way down the steps. He barks once at Aspen and Logan and then runs into the yard to pee. I slip into my sneakers again and step out onto the porch. They both smile up at me.
“Just heading to work,” Logan says with a casual smile. “You still doing okay?”
“Fine. A little wave of nausea earlier but fine,” I say and regret it instantly. His face grows serious.
“If that gets worse, text me,” he says.
“I’ll make sure she does,” Aspen tells him with a smile.
“Okay.” Logan opens his door but pauses before getting in. “They’re calling for more snow tonight, but do me a favor and let me shovel the steps when I get home.”
“That’s not your responsibility, Logan,” I say, flustered.
“Doctor’s orders,” Logan replies, and when he winks after the comment, the butterflies in my stomach flap their wings. “Seriously. I don’t mind. In fact, I’d prefer it.”
“You’d prefer shoveling snow after a twelve-hour shift?” I say with an arched eyebrow, but he just nods emphatically.
“You think I looked good in a swimsuit last night because of paramedic work?” he asks with a cheeky grin. “Shoveling is where it’s at for tight abs and developed pectorals.”
He gets in his SUV and drives away. Both Aspen and I stand motionless, staring after him for a good forty seconds. Finally, very slowly, Aspen turns to face me, and I shake myself mentally and start down the stairs so Stevie can have a wee. Aspen’s blue eyes are wide with amazement. “How do you know what he looks like in a swimsuit?”
