???
The next evening, with Logan back in Florida and the condo back in its usual pace, I couldn’t stop thinking about that night.
About the way his hand had felt on my waist.
About the way he’d pulled away, like my lips were poisonous.
My phone buzzed while I was working at the dining room table next to Harper as she finished her homework.
My pulse spiked.
Logan:About the other night…
Three dots appeared, then disappeared.
I tried to wait out his response but the anxiety bubbled low in my belly so I responded.
Me:You don’t have to explain.
I meant it. Or at least, I wanted to mean it. I didn’t want him to feel cornered or obligated or pushed into something he wasn’t ready for. I’d spent too many years being on the other end, and I refused to be another reason someone shut down.
The dots appeared again.
Logan:I kind of want to.
I leaned back in my chair, heart pounding out of my chest.
Me:Okay. I’m listening.
The response didn’t come right away.
Minutes passed. I glanced at my phone, thumb hovering above the screen, each ellipsis stretching my anticipation like a tightrope. I told myself not to spiral – that he was probably working, or thinking, or just being Logan. Still, my chest stayed tight, like I was braced for impact.
Finally:
Logan:I’m not good at
wanting things halfway.
Logan:And I’m scared that if I let
myself want you the way I do… I
won’t know how to stop.
There it was. Raw. Unpolished. Exactly what I’d suspected and somehow more than I’d expected.
I closed my eyes for a moment, grounding myself, then typed.
Me:Wanting someone isn’t
the same as losing control.
Logan:It is for me.
Logan:I haven’t been with
anyone since losing Elena.
