by Liz Durano
9
Logan
"I forgot all about the bed," Mariah says, biting her lip. "Do you think we'll be okay?"
"Yeah, we should be okay."
Mariah tucks a lock of her hair behind her ear. "I'm really sorry about this, Logan. I really thought Mom would put us in separate rooms."
"Maybe she didn't want to jinx the engagement."
Her brow furrows as a thought comes to her. "If that's the case, then wanna bet she put crystals under the bed, too."
After a brief pause, our curiosity gets the better of us and we get down on our knees next to the bed. She lifts the bed skirt and sure enough, there's a grouping of crystals of various sizes and colors on the floor underneath the bed.
"I knew it."
"Wow! You weren't kidding, Mariah."
She points to each stone as she continues, "Rose quartz, rhodochrosite, garnet, carnelian, Amazonite... and I think that last one is malachite. Don't ask me what they do exactly but I think they're known as relationship stones."
"Your mom's definitely not taking any chances. Do those things even work?" I ask as we get up from the floor. I sure hope there aren't any stones designed for sex because I'd really get into trouble if there were. My self-control to kiss her again may not hold up till morning, not if we have to sleep on a twin-sized bed at that.
"I have no idea," Mariah replies. "I only know what they are because I used to be in charge of the gift shop and we sold tons of them. Necklaces, bracelets, and just the stones themselves, unpolished. They were also fun for wire-wrapping projects during nature camps."
"Mariah, I can sleep somewhere else if that makes you feel–"
"No! Don't be ridiculous, Logan. We'll be fine," she says, chuckling. "At least, you can't say my parents are predictable."
"No, they're definitely not."
"The last time Elliot spent the night here when their house was being renovated, she told him to sleep in the..." Her voice fades, as if she just realized what she just said. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't bring him up all the time."
"Don't be." But even as I say it, I can't help but remember what Brad told me, about how Mariah had kept it all together after discovering her fiancé and best friend's betrayal. Looking back, Liam and I had already known her then. We even knew about the engagement because Mariah wore a ring—a huge rock at that. And then one day, the ring was gone and there was no mention of a wedding. Liam and I were still reeling from our mother's loss to do or say anything. If Mariah had wanted us to know what had happened, she'd have told us, but she didn't. And I can't blame her. Some wounds are just too deep to share.
As we stand in front of each other, I want so badly to cup her face in my hands and kiss Elliot out of her system. But I can't do that. She's vulnerable... and judging from the turmoil of emotions I'm going through, so am I.
"Guess we better get to bed," she says quietly.
"I'll use the bath in the hallway." I grab my backpack and step out of the room, my heart racing. Today has been a day filled with new experiences, from being around a family that unabashedly love each other to the practice kiss on the bridge that takes the top spot. But at the same time, I've never felt so conflicted. I want to give Mariah everything yet I know I can't, not right now. I need to focus only on what she needs me for and wait until everything is over before we can take any of this further.
But that's only if I survive sleeping with her on a twin-sized bed.
Mariah's already under the covers when I return into the bedroom.
"Hey," she says as I shut the door behind me.
"Hey."
"Is my sister still out there?"
I nod. "Yup. She's editing on her laptop this time."
"She'll probably be up awhile then," Mariah says as I make my way toward the bed. With her hair splayed on the pillows, she's breathtaking.
Too bad I'm slipping under the covers as her friend because it's the last thing I want to be right now. Thank god, I managed to grab a pair of lounge pants and a t-shirt for bed before I left the house this morning. I usually sleep with only my boxers—or sometimes nothing at all.
As I slide under the covers, it's hysterical seeing the ocean of space between us as she clings to the side of the bed for dear life.
"You comfortable over there?" I ask.
"Not really. I might fall over if I fall asleep."
"Then come here. I don't bite... well, unless you want me to."
She arches an eyebrow. "That's not helping, Logan."
"Come here," I murmur, serious this time as I shift away from my edge of the bed and she does, too, sliding her head over my arm on the pillow. I can feel my body tingling the moment I feel her body press against mine.
"Just know that I'm not going to touch you... not in that way," I murmur. "Well, not unless you want me to, but we know that's not on the table."
We don't talk for the next few minutes even though it feels as if there's so much that needs to be said. I can feel her warm breath against the hollow of my neck where her head is nestled against my shoulder, her hair smelling of lavender and oranges. When she begins to run her fingers along my chest, I wonder if maybe this wasn't such a brilliant idea after all.
"You feel good," she murmurs. "Your pecs are so hard–"
"That's not helping, Mariah."
When she pulls her hand away, I wish I'd kept my mouth shut. "It's just an observation."
"Why, thanks," I say, grinning. "You feel really good, too. Soft and–"
"That's not going to help us either, Logan."
I chuckle. "It was just an observation."
As Mariah makes herself comfortable in my arms, I force myself to think of other things like truck engines and motorcycles. Anything to keep my mind off the fact that there's a gorgeous woman in my arms and all I want to do is kiss her and make love to her. The signals have all been there, the push and pull between us, the clenching of my belly and the rush of blood where it shouldn't be going if I'm to remain just her friend. But that's the problem—I don't want to be just her friend anymore.
But what if I've been reading the signals all wrong? What if Mariah just wants us to be friends after this?
How'd I go from having full control at the beginning of the day to this? But I also don't want to trade this moment for the world even if it may end up being an uncomfortable night sleeping on a bed that's too narrow for two people who aren't exactly sleeping together. I clear my throat and she looks up. "If, some time in the night, my hand ends up where it's not supposed to be... just a brush or something, just know that it's not intentional."
"No problem," she says as she shifts positions, doing her best to position her upper arm comfortably. When her hand brushes against my thigh, she freezes. "Sorry. Not intentional."
"That's okay."
"Maybe if I just turn the other way?"
As she rolls onto the other side, facing away from me, the scent of her hair and the feel of her body pressing against mine assails my senses.
"Is that okay?" she asks and I grunt yes. It's the only thing I can say for her new position means we're now spooning.
Great.
10
Mariah
I've forgotten how it feels to wake up in someone's arms but this morning, I'm reminded of how good it feels. Considering that it's Logan, it's even better than I ever imagined. With his arms circled around my waist, his face nuzzled in my neck, his breath warming my skin, it feels... amazing.
I probably haven't moved an inch since I closed my eyes last night, afraid that if I did, he'd pull his arm away or worse, one of us would roll off the bed. But we're still here, nestled under the covers and in my case, pretending to be asleep even as my body yearns for more of his touch. Maybe a kiss, just like the one yesterday.
Stop it, Mariah. Yesterday was a practice kiss, nothing more.
But as the sun's rays slip between the curtains, casting the bedroom in a soft ethereal glow, I also know that practice kiss or not, the sensations that c
ame after had nothing to do with the charade we both find ourselves in. Why do I keep denying the truth, that I've liked Logan for some time now? That I anticipate seeing him walk through the door of my shop every Friday morning to pick up the hand-tied floral arrangement I make for his mother, the one with her favorite flowers I know by heart? Pink Asiatic lilies, purple daisy poms and alstroemeria with white waxflowers and purple statice.
Logan stirs behind me, his arms tightening as I press myself against him. I feel his body respond, the warmth of his lips brushing against the back of my neck, his stubble tickling my skin. There's another reaction, too, pressing against the back of my thigh.
Suddenly Logan stiffens and he shifts his body away. "Sorry."
I grab his arm, leaving it where it lay over my waist. "It's okay, really. You feel good." It's also been more than two years since I've been really held by someone like this, I almost add.
"You sure?"
"Yes, I am."
"Hang on," he murmurs, shifting his shoulder underneath my head. "I'm afraid my other arm's asleep."
"Oh no!" I lift my head up and Logan slides his arm from under my head and straightening and bending it between us. "You could have just removed your arm last night, Logan. No sense in giving up an arm for me."
He opens and and closes his fist. "Nah, you're worth it, Mariah."
His phone buzzes on the bedside table and I hand it to him. He slides his arm under my head again while his other hand holds the phone. "It's Liam wishing us a Merry Christmas. I'll text him back later."
"You can text him right now if you want."
Logan stares at me for a few moments, then he shakes his head. "I see the guy everyday."
He hands me his phone and I set it back on the bedside table. "What are you looking at?" I ask when I turn to face him again and he's still gazing at me.
"Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are?"
"Not recently."
"Then I'm telling you right now. You're beautiful, Mariah Peters."
"Thanks." I lower my gaze, my cheeks burning. "Be careful though."
"Why?"
"I just might believe you're serious."
My heart drums in my chest as Logan strokes my cheek. There's almost a sad look in his eyes and I wish I hadn't said what I'd just said. "Don't let one man's betrayal ruin the power of an honest compliment, Mariah."
Like a spell broken, Logan leans back against the pillows as we hear my parents walk past my door, saying good morning to Jonathan who's happily babbling downstairs.
"We should join everyone downstairs." I slip off the bed and hurry into the bathroom, staring at my face in the mirror as if hoping to see what Logan sees. I've always been called pretty... beautiful even. With my blonde hair and blue eyes, Minerva once said it was like owning a permanent Fast Pass through life. But if that was the case, then why did Elliot cheat on me with my best friend?
I close my eyes, remembering how Logan's arms felt as he held me, how his words felt so sincere.
Because they were, Mariah. You just refuse to believe it just like you've refused to believe every man who came along after Elliot.
I open my eyes, the truth right in front of me. Have I really been holding on to Elliot and Minerva's humiliation for the last two years? Have I been carrying it like a badge of honor all this time, a convenient piece of armor to protect me from falling in love?
I don't even have to answer that question. Of course, he's right. It's why I can't even accept a simple compliment, too worried that people only see the jilted bride from two years ago even though they probably don't even remember... or care. They probably just want me to move on and be happy. Isn't that why they're truly happy that I'm engaged again?
When I emerge from the bathroom, Logan is no longer in the bedroom. I hear him outside the hallway talking to Harper downstairs about joining everyone as soon as I'm ready. When he returns to the bedroom, I see that he's wearing a t-shirt under a red plaid shirt and blue jeans. Day old stubble has now turned into two and I love the way it makes him look dangerous.
"You ready?" he asks, holding out his hand toward me. I'm ready as I'll ever be in a pink knit top with jeans even when there's really no need to get dressed up on Christmas morning, not at our house. Everyone will be wearing their PJ's to open their presents anyway, but with Logan being my fiancé, I also need to look presentable especially if Harper will be filming.
We make our way down the stairs, my two sisters sitting on the floor in front of the tree. Little Jonathan is surrounded by presents of different sizes, and judging by the toys scattered around him, he's gotten a head start opening a few presents already. There's a red ribbon stuck to the top of his head.
"Who's Cooper?" Emily asks as my heart skips a beat.
"What?"
"Your presents all say, From Mariah and Cooper. Who is he?" She holds up one of my presents and as I stare at Logan, I realize I'd forgotten to change the labels.
"It's my middle name," Logan replies. "Logan Cooper Garrison. That's my full name."
"So what do we call you?" Harper asks. "Logan or Cooper?"
"Logan," he replies. "Cooper was a... a phase for Mariah. But that's over now."
"Logan Cooper Garrison. It's such a biker name," Harper says out loud. "I did find you and your brother online. I can't believe you never said anything. Logan. You guys have, like, tens of thousands of followers!"
Logan shrugs. "That's my brother's doing. He's the one in charge of social media."
"I did see his girlfriend and you're right, Mariah," Harper tells me. "I'd be dead from her dagger eyes if I just looked at her man sideways."
Logan laughs. "She doesn't share."
"You're not supposed to be looking at someone else's man, Harper," Emily says warily. "You know the drill. Been there, done that, remember?"
"I know, I know," Harper mutters as Emily shoots a glance at my direction.
"Where's Forrest?" I ask, wondering where my older brother is off to again. He's always been the serious one of all of us, enjoying his time alone in the woods whenever he can. He's also the most adventurous, having joined the Marines right out of high school and after he got out, backpacked through Europe and Asia on his own for two years before returning home a few years ago. Since then, he and Dad have made so many improvements to the Soraya that he's the only one my sisters and I can think of who can run the place when Mom and Dad retire.
"Summer needed help with the darn wood stove again," Harper says. "The fire went out during the night and the poor girl was freezing when he checked on her this morning."
"Wanna bet she's from the city," Emily says. "She should have gotten one of the rooms in the main lodge."
"Fully booked," Brad says.
"I hope she's okay," I say.
"She'll be fine." Harper winks. "My spider senses have been tingling ever since she joined us for dinner last night. Forrest never invites anyone to dinner. I think he likes her."
"It's just dinner. After all, who wants to spend Christmas Eve alone anyway?" Brad says, shaking his head as he gets up to head toward the kitchen.
"Did you see him this morning?" Harper asks, laughing. "He shaved off his beard."
"He what?!" Emily exclaims as she and I stare at Harper.
"Are you sure?"
"Yup," Harper replies, grinning a smile that reminds me the Cheshire Cat. "Thought he was a guest walking into the wrong cabin when he showed up this morning wanting me to give him a haircut."
"Are you sure weren't dreaming all this, Harper?" Emily asks as my younger sister rolls her eyes in response. "You were up pretty late last night."
"So we've got all the leftovers from last night although Dad made pancakes, just in case," Mom announces from the dining room, the table already laden with dishes from last night all warmed up. A stack of pancakes sits right in the middle of the table. "It'll be buffet style like always. You guys know where the plates and silverware are."
"Coffee is coming up," Dad ann
ounces as he emerges from the kitchen carrying a large percolator, Brad right behind him carrying the mugs and saucers. Logan leaves my side to help them set everything on the table.
"Has Mariah shown you around the property yet?" Mom asks as Logan shakes his head.
"A little bit," he replies. "She did take me to the gift shop."
"Did Mom tell you we framed your pictures the other year and put them up in one of the cabins?"
"You should show Logan around, Mariah. Maybe pop into that cabin," Mom says.
"What cabin?" I ask, frowning.
"For privacy," Harper adds as I glare at her but it's no use. She just makes a face at me before holding up her phone and snapping my picture.
"Presents or breakfast first?" Dad asks and the verdict is a mixed bag although it doesn't matter. Little Jonathan voices his answer with a shriek of happiness as he tears through every present he can find.
Five minutes later, the decision is made. Presents first. We're all in the living room and I'm sitting in front of Logan, my back resting against his chest, my elbows resting on his knees on either side of me. When I turn my head to look at him, I catch the scent of his cologne, reminding me of leather and motor oil.
"Hey, gorgeous," he murmurs, planting a kiss on my cheek just as I catch Emily watching us.
Dad distributes all the presents and I open the first one from Harper, a card containing two tickets to the Broadway musical that's currently one of the biggest hits of the year starring some British actor. Emily and Brad's gift is a coffee table book featuring Georgia O'Keefe's paintings of flowers as part of a promotional campaign for the Hawaiian Pineapple Company in 1939. Mom made me a new batch of body oils with my favorite scents while Dad got me and Logan a local calendar.
"That way, you won't forget where you came from," he says. "The lodge is in there, too, by the way."
"Thanks, Dad. I should get a few more to hand out to clients down in LA."
