My phone buzzed once more.
Logan:I wish I were there
right now.
Me:Me too.
I smiled softly, and the tension I’d been carrying eased.
And this time, when I set my phone down, the silence didn’t feel sharp.
It felt like space being made.
Chapter 26
Dani
It had been a few days since Logan’s confessions.
On the surface, nothing was different, but underneath, I felt unsettled. I caught myself waiting, almost hoping for something to change, and then immediately wondering if I wanted it to. Just catching a glimpse of his smile or hearing him laugh on the phone with Harper sent a warm flush creeping up my neck, a response I couldn’t seem to rein in. Beneath that warmth, worry tangled itself around my excitement.
Was I reading too much into every look? What if I let myself fall and he’s not ready to catch me?
It was as if every moment buzzed with a tension that had been pulled taut, caught between what I wanted and what I was terrified to hope for.
We were no longer dancing around it; we were orbiting it.
Today, I had to set aside all the butterflies building in my belly for one of my routine visits to my parents.
My parents’ house always smelled the same way whenever I came. The aroma of pozole simmering greeted me at the door, mingling with the warm, earthy scent of chilies and cilantro that clung to the kitchen walls. It was the smell of my childhood Saturdays spent chopping vegetables at the kitchen table whilemy father questioned me about my activities, of my mother humming along to old ranchera songs on the radio as she stirred a pot.
It was also the smell of expectations, of a life meticulously planned for me long before I ever knew I had choices, a reminder of how love got folded into duty and the future mapped out between the simmering pots and stacks of school awards.
Harper’s hand was tucked into mine as we stepped inside. The creaking of the old door grounding me as I attempted to fight off any anxiety.
I visited my parents every couple of weeks for lunch. Regardless of the strain that often resided between us, often due to their unrelenting pressure, I always made sure to show up. Except this time, I had Harper in tow since she had an early release from school. I probably should have warned my parents, but I was honestly avoiding the questions that would inevitably come up.
Harper squeezed my hand as we stepped inside.
“This is where you grew up?” she asked, eyes wide as she took in the framed religious art, the lace runner on the entry table, the carefully placed family photos.
“Yep,” I said lightly. “Every inch of it.”
She smiled. “It smells funny,” her face twisted.
I laughed softly. “It’s good, I promise.”
My mother appeared from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel, eyes already assessing—my clothes, my posture, the child beside me.
“M’ija,” she said, the affectionate term slipping out before her tone shifted back to business.
She stood with her apron tied tightly around her waist, the way she always did when she was home. She and my father had worked long hours throughout most of my life, even with herhypertension, so when my dad finally got a promotion six years ago, she took to staying home.
“Daniela,” she said, pulling me into a quick hug before stepping back. Her gaze flicked to Harper. “And this must be…?”
“Harper,” I said. “This is my mom. And my dad’s in the living room.”
“Hola, Señora Moreno,” she said carefully, proud of the greeting she’d practiced.
