Page 10 of Living at 40

The next morning, I’m working at my current baby—Crossroads Café. The old pit stop was once a diner of sorts, run-down and in need of some serious tender loving care. The interior is white on white with white subway tiles on the walls and black and white square floor tiles decorating the place. Black racks hold the minimal dry goods, which complement our array of breakfast items, homemade deluxe sandwiches, and healthy snacks, along with some not-so-healthy but heavenly desserts. A short standing counter near a long window allows for indoor eating and beverage enjoyment.

I don’t bake or make our products as much as I initially did, allowing my capable staff to work their magic. Still, I’m here every day working alongside them in whatever capacity I’m needed.

Morning times, the coffee rush has me behind the counter tackling the register.

“Welcome to Crossroads, may I take—” I stop short as Logan stands on the other side of the counter.

“Is this your café?” His eyes widen in surprise.

“I don’t just pour the coffee.” My sarcastic tone is unwarranted, but I’m still raw—and embarrassed—after yesterday’s information dump on the beach plus the continued conversation at dinner. I don’t need his judgment of my decision. I also don’t need his approval. I’m a grown woman and can do as I please.

“This is incredible,” he says, turning to look around him at the chalkboard menus, the coffee-complement station, and the standing-only counter. With his hands on his hips, sweat soaks a dark gray T-shirt covering his chest. His shorts suggest he’s been out for a morning run.

“What can I get you?” I nod toward the long line behind him as I don’t have time for his compliments, although I appreciate them. He eyes the desserts and the breakfast treats, which include scones, muffins, and croissants.

“Just a coffee, dark roast is great.” His eyes wander back to the sugary goodies.

“Are you sure you don’t want a raspberry breakfast bar? Maybe the chocolate croissant?” I tease. He certainly doesn’t have his currently buff body from eating such delicacies daily, but he’s on vacation.

“I can’t. I have diabetes.”

Standing straighter, I blink in surprise. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.” And now I feel like an asshole for pushing things that could be detrimental to his health.

He waves me off and pats his belly. “I’m better for it.” Still, he can’t be better if he has diabetes. Rocco heard Logan’s order for dark roast and slides the to-go cup next to the tablet we use as a register. As Logan reaches into his pocket, I wave him off.

“Your money isn’t good here,” I say with a weak smile, feeling guilty for pressuring him.

“This is a legit business, so you need to take my green.”

I shake my head, pushing the coffee toward him.

“I’ll take his free coffee,” the customer behind him jokes, and Logan glances over his shoulder.

“You’re busy. I’ll see you at the house.” He lifts his cup in salute and steps aside, only I can’t shake what he’s said. He has diabetes. While I take the next customer’s order, I ask one of my workers to take over at the register for a second. After slipping into the backroom, I step out the back door in hopes of finding Logan on the road. Crossroads Café is literally on the corner of Red Arrow Highway and Beech Street. Assuming Logan isn’t taking the highway, I turn down the side street leading to the inner drive along the lake.

“Logan,” I call out, catching him halfway down the road. As he stops and turns, I jog to him.

“Hey,” he says as I approach him.

“I wanted to apologize. That was a dick move of me to push the treats. I didn’t know . . .” My voice trails.

“No worries. I’m fine. Well, fine as long as I stick to a diet and exercise regimen. It’s how I’ve lost weight, and I feel so much better.”

“And you’re okay?” I reach out for his forearm but quickly pull my hand back. Logan follows the motion with his eyes, and his brows pinch in question. I can’t explain the real reason I’m concerned for Logan, but I am grateful he’s physically taking care of himself.

“Yeah, I’m okay. Nothing brings me down, remember?”

Oh, I remember all right. I remember a college boy having a jolly good time at a fraternity party one night while I was visiting my brother. Left in Logan’s care so Ben could sneak off with Anna for a while, I thought I’d fallen into a dream. Me, a high school kid, hanging out with Logan Anders at a college party. Only it all turned into a nightmare, and while I’d like to hope Logan forgot it all, I’m certain the basics are still somewhere in his memory.

“I remember,” I whisper, meeting his eyes, but the spark in them doesn’t hint at the past. Thinking anything that happened with me would be a blip on Logan’s radar makes me just as foolish as I was as a teen. “I should probably get back. I just wanted to apologize.”

When Logan doesn’t say more, I turn on my heels, but he catches me at the elbow.

“Hey, I should probably apologize for yesterday.” His hand still holds my elbow, his palm warm on my skin. His thumb strokes the inside crease of my arm, and I’m so focused on his touch I almost miss his words. “The baby-making business isn’t our business, and I want to say I’m sorry on behalf of everyone. We shouldn’t have been so cavalier in discussing it.”

Surprised by the sincerity in his voice, I nod to accept his apology. “Thank you.”

Logan stares at me another second, but when neither of us speaks, I step back as I really need to return to the café. His grip on my arm tightens.