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“But you stuck with it. You’re a doctor, and you started Hidden Heartbeat. You should be proud.”
Her words filled him with a fresh shock of relief. “No, I didn’t quit,” he breathed.
His eyes met hers, and he wished he knew what she was thinking. How could he feel like he knew her better than anyone else, yet not at all?
“Tell me something about yourself.”
“Like what?” When she pulled her hand away, Logan couldn’t help but feel like it was a reprimand.
“Something you don’t tell people often. Something that had an impact. What made Marti McBride?”
“Okay.” Marti’s eyes scanned their surroundings, and he could practically hear the gears in her brain shifting into overdrive. “I once had a goldfish named Goldie. He died because I poured mouthwash into his water. I was eight. I figured he couldn’t brush his teeth, so . . .”
Logan chuckled. “Surely, you can do better than that.”
“What?” Marti feigned surprise at his reaction. “I cried for a week straight.”
“Okay, I get it. Say no more.”
“Get what?”
“Nothing.” Logan pretended to pick a piece of lint off his pants, a knowing glint in his eye.
“Oh, no. Now you have to say it.”
He shrugged. “You’ve just confirmed to me every preconceived notion I had of you.”
Marti narrowed her eyes. Her mouth pressed into a flat line. “Which is?”
“You’re uncomfortable sharing anything intimate about yourself with anyone, especially a guy. Anything involving feelings and putting yourself out there freaks you out. I just spilled my guts to you, and you tell me about a goldfish?”
She glanced away. At least she had the decency to look sheepish.
He rubbed his jaw, not yet finished with her. “Maybe I was wrong about one thing though. Maybe it’s not so much that you don’t want a relationship with men. Maybe you’re just . . . incapable. I mean, you can’t even share—”
“I am not incapable.” Marti scoffed.
“Prove it,” he said, throwing her challenge back at her.
Anger ignited her gaze—sharp and quick. Tension creased her forehead. Her lips thinned. A war waged in that pretty little head of hers. He could see the struggle. But he wouldn’t back down. No matter how uncomfortable it made her because he didn’t just want Marti to share something about herself with him. He wanted her to open herself up, to unbutton her skin and let him inside. He wanted to know her. Inside and out. And though that should scare him, in that moment, it didn’t.
“Fine. What do you want to know?” Marti asked, her tone flat.
Everything. “This wedding. Why are you so desperate to escape it that you made this deal with me? It must be pretty big if you’re willing to forgo your single status and pretend to be in a relationship.”
“My father left home when I was fifteen,” she said, her tone cold. She cleared her throat and shifted her gaze, clearly uncomfortable. Only he wanted her to continue more than he felt sorry for her. “I knew my parent’s relationship hadn’t been great, not for a long time, but still, I hadn’t expected it. For years, I barely heard from him. A card on my birthday if I was lucky, or some gifts on Christmas morning. And now he’s getting remarried, all these years later. Not only am I expected to go, but he wants me to be in the wedding.”
Logan said nothing as he combed through everything he already knew about her, and suddenly, things made a whole lot more sense. Her father’s absence left scars. Her lifestyle, her career, were living proof.
“Go ahead,” she huffed. “Say it.”
“What?” He tried to school his expression into something resembling ambivalence.
“How I have abandonment issues. I know it’s what you’re thinking. You practically said so the first time we met.”
Logan stared at her a moment, recognizing her sharp tongue for what it was—a defense mechanism. Slowly reaching out, he placed a finger under Marti’s chin, tipping her head up and forcing her to look at him. “We all have a past, Marti. And, yeah, it changes us. If anyone knows that, it’s me.”
She swallowed and the movement of her throat drew his gaze. When she spoke, he felt it vibrate through his fingertips. “It didn’t change me. It only made me see love for what it really is, fleeting at best.”
