Her eyes widen slightly. “You believe me?”
“I should have believed you the first time.”
“Logan, we barely know each other. We’ve met, what, like five times?”
“Five times at events or parties where we were stuck in the same room for hours. I watched you two interact. I just—” I shake my head. “I didn’t want to see it.”
She’s quiet for a moment, looking down at the floor. Then she mumbles, “It’s just wine.”
I tip her chin up. “It’s not just wine, and we both know that. I’m sorry.”
Her jaw tightens almost imperceptibly, and she blinks several times before looking away. “I’m pretty tired. I just wantto veg out and sleep. All the traveling is catching up to me. It’s been a really long day.”
She isn’t kidding. Hard to believe we were still in that motel on the edge of the storm just this morning.
“Then that’s what we’ll do.” I’m already moving across the room, loosening my tie. She watches me with something between surprise and wariness, which makes me feel like even more of a dick. We’re still new—brand new—but did she really think I just came here for sex?
“I thought we agreed this was more than just a fling,” I challenge, working the buttons of my shirt. She watches my hands for a half-second before catching herself. That’s when I actually look at what she’s wearing. “What is on your shirt?”
She glances down at the peach next to the resort’s logo—which looks remarkably like an ass—then lets out a short laugh and shakes her head. “Georgia peach.”
“Sure it is.” Baggy and ridiculous as it is on her, she could wear a potato sack, and I’d still think she’s the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen. She catches the heated look on my face, laughs again, and disappears into the bathroom.
When she comes back out, she’s watching me carefully. I take my turn in the bathroom, washing my face, giving us both a minute. When I come back out, she’s already in bed, sheets pulled back on my side, still observing me with that same cautious look. Despite what she said when I asked her, she doesn’t trust me. Not yet. I’m going to have to earn it.
“This feels weird.”
I crawl in behind her and reach over to kill the light, pulling her against me, burying my nose in the small space by her neck. She smells like that weird herbal medicinal blend she uses, and underneath it something warmer, cinnamon and sugar. “What feels weird?” I ask obtusely.
“We’re not fighting. Or fucking. And you’re crawling into bed with me.”
“We could do both if that would help you relax.”
She chuckles. “I’m pretty tired. But… I’m glad you’re here.”
“Me too. I don’t want to be anywhere else.” I mean it more than it sounds.
It’s not even ten, so she grabs the TV remote, flipping the channels around, then settles on some home renovation show. She’s out before the first commercial break.
Inside, the quiet hum of the reality show fills the room as Rose’s breathing smooths into a steady rhythm. Outside, the faint sounds of the storm, which has become the soundtrack to our budding relationship.
I reach past her and turn off the TV. The room goes dark and quiet. I have Rose in my arms, her back against my chest, and I think about how different this is from anything I would have expected when I got on the plane a few days ago.
I think about the way Pearl was acting at the table, and this afternoon in my room when I got pissed at her for sending that picture. I think about Rose sayingit’s just wine, like she’s used to not being believed and brushing off her sister’s cruelty. I think about how wrong I was and for how long.
Then I stop thinking, because Rose shifts in her sleep and pulls my arm tighter around her. I press my mouth briefly against the back of her head. Then, finally, I sleep.
Chapter 18: Rose
The howling wind has become a comfort, the steady whoosh shuddering the walls with each gust. I have no idea what time it is. It’s still dark, but that could be from the storm. It’s supposed to reach its peak today.
There’s a gray haze over the room, which only makes Logan’s arm draped over my belly while he snores into the pillow feel even more warm and comforting. Like we’re sealed in here together.
His hair is messy. He looks younger, too, his cheeks red with pillow creases, lips pursed like he’s having one of those long, winding dreams. I glance over at the clock and sigh.
I don’t want to leave this spot. At some point in the night I must have shucked off my clothes, because our skin-on-skin is toasty, and I’m aware of every place where we’re touching. Logan makes an exaggerated breathing sound, then shakes his head, waking in the most adorable fucking way—like a dog rising from a nap. If I had pictured this when I boarded his plane in New York only a few days earlier, I’d have thought I’d eaten weed gummies or something. Maybe I got knocked on the head harder than I realized.
Maybe we both actually perished in that plane and this is heaven.
