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“What? I can hear your stomach growling from here, and I’m not entirely convinced you don’t survive off coffee alone.”
Humor melts the confusion from his face as he accepts, and the generous mouthful he takes makes me salivate. “Satisfied?”
I give his arm a playful pinch. “Yes.”
An almost pushy breeze guides us forward, and after another crunching bite, Logan gestures to my bag. “Enlighten me as to why you’re gathering enough food to feed a small army?”
I’ve been hesitant to share my work at the home with him, mostly because it’s my secret space. It’s somewhere I can go where oddballs are welcome, and I can be unapologetically me. And maybe it’s knowing that, at one point, Logan and I shared that same connection, which eventually lowers my guard.
“Part of why I didn’t want to leave with Carrie is because I volunteer at a children’s group home in Seaside, and it’s my job to gather food weekly.” Our elbows brush as we walk, eliciting static-like ripples along my arm. “I met the owners, Dorthea and Ricardo, when I moved to Keerah, and one day with those kids was all it took.”
He chuckles. “You were sold, huh?”
“They’re the greatest joys in my life. Besides, it was almost impossible not to fall in love with the harbor.” I regard him curiously. “As I’m sure you know.”
“Guess it was only a matter of time before you ran into that old coot.” He grins to himself before stuffing his hand back in his pocket. “Ida lives in a condominium Summit developed in an area close to Seaside. It was one of our first properties when we moved the business out this way, and I escape there from time to time.”
“Escape?”
“My father doesn’t know. He wasn’t keen on that property to begin with, but when I met Ida, she instantly took to me. She started teaching me life skills other than financing and benchmarking, and I found myself unable to resist visiting her and her ostentatious friends. They accepted me as I was.”
I peer up through my lashes, finding unexpected understanding. “Being with them gives you somewhere to belong.”
“Yes, it does.”
“Look at us, two little liars, hiding who we really are,” I tease before stopping him with a hand on his arm. “It must be difficult not being with them more often.”
“No more difficult than being around kids less fortunate. Seeing their struggles, but unable to change their paths.”
My chest tightens. Does he know how difficult it was for me to watch him struggle, too?
“Caring for them is the one thing in my life that’s mine. It doesn’t matter to them what my name is or where I came from. It doesn’t matter what kind of connections my father has or how wealthy my family is. They’re just happy to have a friend to hold their hand in the dark.”
Logan searches my face, gliding those blues over my freckled cheeks. “I know how they feel.”
The sincerity of that comment sucker punches me as he casually scans the shelves behind me. Grabbing a bag of mixed spices and a handful of fresh herbs, he turns to find me staring. “Don’t look so surprised, sunshine. It’s been a long time, but surely, you haven’t forgotten your mothering over me.”
“I didn’t mother you. I befriended you.”
“You did too, and you still do.” He raises the mostly eaten apple with an arrogantly arching brow, then tosses it, followed by my mango, into a nearby trash bin.
When he turns back to me, I stare at the point just below his clavicle, raising unsteady fingers to the line of hard bumps beneath his shirt. Scars I’ve kissed, cried over, and wished I could erase. “Can you blame me?”
“No, I don’t suppose I can.” His expression softens when he flattens his hand over mine.
I feel his heart pounding wildly beneath my palm while mine races with it, beat for beat.
“I would’ve done anything to never see you hurt like that again,” I say, lost inside old memories.
“I don’t do it anymore.” His voice is so tight, he clears his throat. “Just so you know.”
I break, free-falling with my battered heart when I take his hand in mine, entwining our fingers together. “I should’ve been there. I would’ve helped you fight it.”
“You’re here now,” he says.
And when he tugs me closer, I give him a matching grin. “Are you done following me now?”
“Not by a long shot,” he says, mischief flirting with the corners of his eyes.
