“Can I show you something?” he asks.
“Yes.”
Chapter 28: Logan
It’s getting late, but I need her to see what she means to me. I need her to see herself the way I do now—the way I should have from the start. We slip out into the night, Rose still dressed in the most intoxicating red dress I’ve ever seen, putting the one from the wedding to shame, which is saying something.
I’d spotted it in a boutique window one afternoon, a week ago, and it stopped me dead in my tracks. I walked straight in and bought it without thinking twice, not knowing if it would ever grace her beautiful form. I didn’t know if she’d accept it, so I asked Easton to give it to her. I just knew it was hers.
Easton gave me everything about her business—her full folder, all her plans for the center. The more I read, the worse I felt. She’d undersold herself completely. Since then, I’ve lined up a consultant to help with the business side. Whether she takes me up on it is up to her.
But tonight is about something else. Tonight is about reminding her of what she’s capable of.
She figures it out before the cab even stops.
“Logan?” She’s looking out the window.
“Come on,” I say, paying the driver and taking her hand.
She’s trembling, so I pull her close as we approach the entrance, keys already out. The building needs work. A lot, andit will be a while before she can open, but there’s plenty to do in the meantime.
“Easton, that sneaky bastard,” she murmurs as I get the door open and we step into the space.
“There wasn’t time for any real construction. And I wouldn’t have done that without you, anyway. I just wanted you to see it again.”
She goes quiet, eyes wide and misty. I let go of her hand and watch her turn a slow circle in the middle of the room. The place smells of rust and old wood, faintly of mildew. Rafters covered in cobwebs, creaking metal that makes me wonder if it isn’t just a little bit haunted. She looks like she’s in heaven. Like it’s the fucking Ritz.
“I spoke with your previous investors. They feel guilty about what happened, but they’re moving forward with the other center.”
Rose nods. “I figured.”
“I made it clear that if they use anything proprietary—your formulas, your balms, anything you developed—I’ll bury them in lawsuits.”
She gives me a saucy look. “Just another typical, litigious, wealthy prick,” she says teasingly.
“In this case, I don’t mind your criticism.”
She laughs, then sobers. “Thank you for protecting my work. There’s a lot I want to rebuild from the ground up, things I want to change. Working with Easton’s friends these past few weeks has given me some new ideas, but… Logan. I’m grateful. For all of it.”
“I’ll be here every step of the way. If you’ll have me.”
She presses her lips together. Before she can answer, I take her hand and draw her deeper into the building, past the towering exposed brick walls. The back office is closed off fromthe open floor plan. I find the door and push it open, hit the light.
She goes still in the doorway.
Her degree, matted and framed, centered on the wall. Her certifications fanned out around it. A deep mahogany bookshelf stuffed with her books Easton had snuck out of boxes in his apartment—herbal medicine, nutrition, integrative health, dog-eared business plans, a few self-help titles with cracked spines. I’d added a few more.
“It’s a real office,” she breathes. “It feels legitimate.”
“It is legitimate. Youarelegitimate.”
“Logan—” she stops. Moves through the room slowly, trailing her fingers along the freshly painted wall—a warm ivory against the raw vertical brick beams. A velvet couch, the color of moss, along one wall. A reading chair with brass feet. A large wooden L-shaped desk with a writing nook tucked into the corner. Pieces Easton had helped me hunt down, knowing she’d never want anything bought new off a showroom floor. Things with history. Things with character. Things that looked like her. “This is incredible.”
She turns to face me. The light in here is low. Her dark hair is loose past her shoulders, makeup worn away, pink lips full and puffy from crying, and she’s somehow more beautiful for it.
The red dress.
“I don’t deserve you.”
