He laughs.
The conversation lifts after that as he tries to explain to me why the Bruins and the Patriots are the best franchises in the world, and I try to explain to him how delicious SPAM can be when you use it right.
“We are definitely different breeds,” he says as he stands and starts clearing our plates. “Kind of like our dogs.”
I smile, push back my chair, and gently put my hand on his to stop him from cleaning up with me but he doesn’t stop. He insists on collecting everything and bringing it to the kitchen. I stop him again at the sink. “I’m cleaning up. You might have gotten to wash my hair, but you don’t get to wash my dishes.”
His eyebrows raise and a smirk covers his handsome face. “You’ve got a bossy streak. I like it.”
Stevie growls and barks at my feet. “I think someone needs a potty break.”
“I’ll take them out with Chewie. That way I won’t be tempted to wash a dish, and you won’t have to spank me,” he kids with a gleam in his eye as he picks up my dogs and whistles for his to follow and heads toward the front door.
I find myself staring after him. And checking out his ass. It’s a great ass.
Dear God, who am I?
I smile to myself as I rinse the dishes and load the dishwasher. He walks back in a few minutes later as I’m turning on the latte machine. “Cappuccino? Espresso? Latte?”
“Espresso. I have to go to a family thing soon, and I’ll need something to keep me awake,” he says and sits at my island. He looks good in my kitchen, filing up my space with his broad shoulders and dark stubble and sparkling blue eyes that remind me of the sea in Hawaii on a perfect day. When I’m done making his espresso and my latte, I lean on the island across from him, stir in my sugar, and try to get my thoughts to simmer down. This needs to be chill. He is my tenant, so there’s no telling him to fuck off if it goes south like my last date did. “So I have to ask, was it my concussion playing tricks on me the other night, or did you say you went to med school for a while?”
“I did go to med school. For almost two years,” he says as his eyes drop to his expresso. “I dropped out so I could go to rehab.”
The casual, easy energy flowing around us grinds to a halt. He looks up, gazes right into my eyes, and that perfect, ocean blue color is stormy now. “Alcohol, not drugs. And I’ve been stone cold sober for five years.”
“That’s great,” I say but I know my voice it tight. I’m not judging him. I just…I know that alcohol can destroy lives just as easily as drugs. Alcohol destroyed my life, after all, and I wasn’t even the alcoholic. But he has it under control. His expression is pained, which means it still brings him shame. I can’t help but reach out and lay a hand over his on the countertop. “You had a problem, and you did something about it. That’s a good thing.”
His eyes move up to mine again, searching this time for any hint I’m just placating him. But I’m not. I truly believe that. I’ve researched alcoholism, which I don’t tell him. I had a lot of time on my hands after my car crash, and my grief counsellor had me reading a lot of different things in an attempt to keep myself from drowning in self-pity and pure rage. I push on so he doesn’t wallow in the feeling of insecurity this line of conversation seems to be manifesting. “So you decided after rehab to become a paramedic instead?”
“My best friend Jake was already a firefighter, and he was loving life. I wanted to work in medicine. I wanted to help people but not incur a shit ton of debt,” he gives me a small, sad smile. “Med school is insanely expensive, and my rehab drained my finances and my family’s. They sent me to rehab out of state because it was the best one they could find, but it wasn’t covered by insurance.”
He shifts uncomfortably in his seat and Chewie, as if sensing his person’s discomfort, walks over and leans his head against Logan’s knee. Logan scratches him behind the ears. “Paramedic training was cheaper and also got me into the workforce quicker so I could help people sooner than if I had finished med school. Pay isn’t as great as a doctor though, so I’m going to have to put buying a mansion by the sea on hold.”
I smile. “You really want a mansion by the sea?”
“No. I want a very modest cottage within walking distance to the sea.” His blue eyes glint around the room. “Even this place would be a little too big for me.”
“It’s way too big for me,” I confess and instantly regret it because it’s opening up the topic of my marriage again. “And I don’t want to be here forever, but I’m not ready to let it go. And if I can rent a room every now and then and keep a wonderful tenant in the apartment, I should be able to hold onto it a few more years.”
“It’s a beautiful home,” Logan says, a small smile still lingering from when I called him a wonderful tenant. “I get the feeling there’s a sentimental attachment?”
“I thought you were a paramedic not a psychiatrist,” I joke, trying to keep the conversation light.
“Did you own it with your ex?”
“Yup.”
Not a lie.
“So you got it in the divorce?”
“Something like that.” Ugh. That definitely is more of a red-hot lie than a white one. “Do you want another coffee? I think I’ll have another.”
I stand up and turn toward the coffee maker way too quickly, like my quick movements will help me avoid disclosing the truth. Of course it doesn’t. It just makes me remember I have a head injury because the stitched wound on my forehead starts to throb, and I get light-headed. I reach out for the countertop, but my hand lands on Logan’s abs instead because he’s suddenly right there in front of me.
He wraps a strong arm around my waist. “I’ve got you.”
He helps me put the coffee cup down on the counter and walks me out of the kitchen into the living room, depositing me on the chaise part of my couch. “Are you nauseous?”
“No. Just light-headed.”
“Lay back,” Logan says, so I do.
“I’m feeling better already. I swear. I just moved too quickly,” I promise and want to immediately sit up again, but he puts his hands gently on my shoulders to keep me in place.
His eyes narrow and he looks at the wound on my forehead. Then he commands in a doctorly voice, “Follow my finger with your eyes.”
He holds up a finger and moves it left and right, up and down. I follow it effortlessly. “I’m okay. I promise.”
He still doesn’t let me move and this time when his hands hit my shoulders and I tilt my head to meet his stare, everything seems to come to a screeching halt…except my pulse, which takes off at the speed of light. His hand moves to my neck and my pulse quickens even more. I lick my lips and he parts his. I can’t take my eyes off them—his lips—even after they get so close my vision blurs. And then…
The doorbell rings.
The room explodes in a cacophony of barking. All three dogs gallop to the front door. Logan is standing on his feet, out of kissing distance, before I can actually kiss him, which is exactly what I was about to do. Or maybe he was going to kiss me? Now we will never know.
I pull myself up off the couch with his help.
“Are you okay?”
I nod. “Yeah. I have no idea who that might be, though.”
I smooth my sweater and start walking slowly toward the door, trying to catch my breath, which I lost somewhere between almost fainting and almost kissing. Logan walks behind me, close enough to catch me if I get dizzy again, and commands the dogs to stop barking. Chewie listens, but Boss and Stevie ignore him completely.
I look through the peep hole and don’t recognize the guy standing on my porch in a charcoal gray dress coat with a brief case. I pull open the door just enough to pop my head into the crack and keep the dogs from charging out. “Hello?”
“I’m sorry to bother you but is this the home of Logan Hawkins?”
I glance over my shoulder. Logan has picked up both Stevie and Boss, holding them like two furry, angry footballs, one under each arm. I open the doo
r wider. He takes one look at the guy standing there, and his face fills with recognition. “Manuel! Hey. Are you here for the visit?”
“I am,” Manuel glances from me to the dogs in Logan’s arms and then to Logan. “I wasn’t sure if this was the front door or if there is another one. I know you said it was an apartment inside a house.”
Logan hands me my dogs. I try not to drop them as they squirm in protest. He steps around me and into the open front door. “It’s downstairs. My apartment door is on the right side of the house. I’ll meet you down there in a moment if that’s okay.”
Manuel nods and glances at me again, giving me a friendly smile. “Have a good day, ma’am.”
I nod. “You too.”
Once he’s gone, Logan closes the door and I put the dogs down. He looks nervous and slightly panicked. “That’s the social worker in charge of my custody case,” he explains. “Because I want River to spend nights with me, they have to check out my space. I had no idea it would be today. They do it without notice.”
“Oh. Okay. Well, then go, show him all my hard work,” I smile, and Logan smiles back.
“It’s the worst timing ever. I’m sorry,” Logan says. “I’d much rather stay up here.”
“It’s fine. Go and good luck,” I say and reach up and give him a quick peck on the cheek, which feels really forward for me but also like the right thing to do. “I’m sure he’ll love the place and you’ll have River spending the night in no time.”
“I hope so,” Logan replies and hesitates for just a second, his fingertips lifting and grazing the spot I kissed as he steps onto the porch. But then, without another word, he leaves.
Twenty minutes later, I can’t help but sneak a peek out the front window and I notice Manuel’s car is gone. I tell myself I should just mind my business. Logan will contact me when he’s ready. Maybe the visit went poorly and he’s in a bad mood now? Maybe he’s decided the doorbell saved him from a big mistake. Maybe he has to get ready for that family thing he said he had later today. I make up a hundred more excuses, and then I text him anyway.
Been keeping my fingers and toes crossed for you. How’d it go?
I don’t have to wait more than a minute for his response.
GREAT. He’ll call me in a couple days with the final decision but I feel confident.
I’m grinning as I type back.
So happy for you!
I want so badly to see him again, and it’s almost painful to know he’s basically under my feet. My phone pings again with another message from him.
Thank you for the brunch. I’m sorry it got cut short. Also, how are you feeling?
He is so sweet. I tuck my feet up under me on my couch and type him back.
Fine. Don’t worry.
He writes back instantly.
I’m not fine.
My brow furrows.
Why not?
Every second that goes by without a response feels like an hour. But then his response comes and it’s worth the wait.
Because I had a chance to kiss you and lost it.
“Oh my God he did it. He went there…” I whisper to myself.
I’ll give you another chance if you want it.
I don’t know what is happening right now. I’m nervous and excited and impulsive and all the things I try to avoid like the plague. And I’m loving it. My phone pings again, sending my heart racing.
Really? Then open your front door.
Oh. My. Freaking. God.
I drop my phone on the couch, walk across the living room, into the front hall, and slowly open my front door. He’s standing there in the same outfit as this morning but wearing a look I’ve never seen on him before. It’s heavy and heated and I can feel my toes curling in my socks just from that alone.
And then he steps into the house and right up to me. His left arm wraps around my waist, his palm flat, fingers spread wide across the small of my back. The palm of his right-hand glides over my cheek and jaw and then his fingers rack through my hair as they curl around the nape of my neck. I tip my head back and our lips glance off each other softly, sending a current down my spine.
My eyes flutter closed as our mouths connect, fully this time. The kiss is tender and yet primal. We’re exploring each other’s mouths with the unbridled enthusiasm of teenagers but also the rhythm of two very knowing adults with passions and needs that are asked for and met with the sweep of tongues, the press of lips, the nip of teeth. Logan is a demanding kisser. He’s not gentle or shy. It’s clear he wants something and that something is me. The ferocity of his confidence has turned my logical, reserved soul into smoke. Like totally just blown it all to hell—and I am not complaining.
When the kiss breaks, he takes half a step back. I feel like the world could end and I’d never even notice. I’m floating somewhere above it anyway.
“I have that family thing,” he says huskily. “I’m going to be late.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, because I just know I should be. But I’d keep kissing him all day and night if he’d let me.
“I’m not.” His lips find mine again in a shorter, somehow even more passionate kiss. “I’ll text you later. If that’s okay. And thank you for brunch. It was incredible.”
“It really was,” I whisper to myself as he strides across the porch and disappears down the stairs.
I close the door, and as his car engine starts in the driveway, I fall back onto my couch and finally uncurl my toes.
11
Logan
Restraint was something I needed in my life. It went hand-in-hand with structure. Stay calm, be focused, go to work, do a good job, see my son, be a good dad, go home and stay sober. That was my whole life, intentionally. And then Chloe happened.
One meal with her and my simple, straight-forward, purposefully restrained life went out the damn window. It happened before I could even stop it, when our eyes locked on that couch I was suddenly obsessed with the idea of finding out what her lips would feel like against mine. When Manuel pulled me away, I had a flash of anger, which is insane. And while he was touring my apartment, praising me for the child safety latches and the smoke alarms and the anti-slip bath mat, I was almost twitching with the craving, the need to claim her mouth. It was like how I used to twitch as a teen when my mom would wander the house looking for her sunglasses or wallet before she left for work, prolonging my inevitable raiding of the liquor cabinet.
And when I got that kiss, it did not disappoint. The first taste of her mouth was sweeter than any liquor I’ve ever consumed. The more we kissed, the deeper it got, the calmer I grew inside, just like how alcohol made me feel. And that was scary as fuck.
That’s why I accidentally missed two turns on my way to the restaurant and made myself even later than I already was for this stupid family meeting. When I finally get there the lot is almost full so I spend another couple of precious minutes finding a spot on a nearby side street. Because I don’t want to take up one of the last spots in the lot if there’s a paying customer that might want it. I open the back of the SUV and hook Chewie to a leash before he jumps down. He’s still not a fan of the leash and tries to bite it as we walk. “No lollygagging kid, we’re late.”
I make it to the side entrance, nodding at a man and a woman, both in suits with brief cases standing by a fancy Audi in the parking lot. Not our normal clientele but okay.
Around the corner of the shack I put my hand on the door that leads into the breakroom, unhook Chewie from the lead, and take a deep breath. My head is a mess right now and I know this meeting isn’t going to help anything. Here goes nothing.
“Well, well, well,” Dad says as I step inside, Chewie pushing past me to dart around the room excitedly. “Nice of you to join us, princess.”
“I told you he wouldn’t bail,” Finn says but the look of relief on his face is evident. He thought I had.
“You’re late,” Declan snaps, with a scowl twisting his angular features. He tugs on the jacket of his suit, whic
h fits like a glove. Declan was born to a rich family who lives in a penthouse in New York City and summers in the Hamptons. They accidentally popped him out passing through town on the day our mom was giving birth and some absentminded nurse mixed the babies up. It’s a stupid theory Finn and I concocted when we were eleven but I swear to God it should be reality. He doesn’t fit here – in Ocean Pines, or with any of us.
“I know. I’m sorry,” I say, trying not to clench my jaw. I am in the wrong here. “Social worker did a surprise inspection of my place. I’m trying not to jinx it but I think he’s giving me overnights with River, finally.”
My mom, sitting at the long wood table in the middle of the room, clasps the cross that is always around her neck. We all started boycotting church in our teens, even Dad, so if it wasn’t for Nova, Mom would be going on her own every Sunday. “Oh Logan! That’s wonderful! I was praying about it today at church and God heard me. I’m so happy!”
I ignore her God stuff as does everyone else in the family except Nova who is sitting beside her and pats her shoulder. “Finally!” Nova exclaims. “I’m so happy for you, Logan.”
“We all are,” Finn adds. “River is going to love whole weekends with you.”
Declan is still glaring at me, despite the good news. “I’ll be back. I have to get something for this meeting now that it can finally begin.”
He pivots on his expensive shoes and heads out the door that I just came in. Finn groans and Terra rolls her eyes. “He couldn’t have gotten whatever the hell it was while we were waiting for you?” Finn growls.
Ma sends a chastising stare his way. “Language.”
“I was holding back, Ma,” Finn replies. “You don’t wanna know what I was really thinking.”
Terra gets up from her seat next to Nova at the table as Dad paces. He hates these business meetings. All he cares about is being on his boat. He lumbers his tall, square body over to the fridge and starts rummaging around inside. Terra slides up next to me at the counter. “I thought maybe you got lucky on your date and that’s why you weren’t here on time. I’d defend you for skipping if it was because you were ending a five year drought.”
The Winter We Collided: A Small Town Single Dad Romance (Ocean Pines Series Book 2) Page 11
