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“SLOW DOWN,” I call after her, but she’s long gone and sprinting toward Maggie, who’s on the jungle gym.
“Looking for someone?” Logan’s low voice challenges from behind me as I close the gate to the fenced play area. He’s just a few feet away—I probably jogged right past him in my frenzy to catch up with Rainey.
Logan leans against the fence, wearing what I’m learning is his signature lumberjack plaid. He looks good, but his get-up is ironic considering he’s built like the opposite of a lumberjack. His tall frame and long legs lend a lankiness to him. I’m disappointed to find yesterday’s scruff gone. I preferred the prickles of hair across his jawline and silently admonish him to bring it back. When I realize I’m ogling him in a way I’d be uncomfortable with if the roles were reversed, I force myself to stop. My responsibilities don’t involve or allow bringing home a random man.
“Thanks for the invitation. Maggie’s been excited all day. I couldn’t get her to eat lunch and gave up after sitting at the kitchen table for twenty minutes. Hopefully running around will give her an appetite for dinner.”
“I’m sure it will,” I encourage.
“There’s a bench near the slides. Wanna have a seat?” I nod and follow him.
The metal bench is hard as a rock. I shift, looking for a way to sit where my ass isn’t being stabbed by the metal rods running across the seat. Logan appears to do the same.
“Would it be okay if we just stand?” I ask.
“God, yes. Anything is better than this torture device. Do they actually expect the kids to sit on these during recess?”
“I’d wager kids’ bodies are more resilient than ours.”
“I hope. I’ve been sharing an air mattress with Maggie while we look for a place, and my back’s about to give out. An air mattress hits a little differently in your mid-thirties than it does in your early twenties,” Logan says, laughing at his own expense.
“So . . .” I start, unsure of what we should talk about while the girls play.
“Hey—What’s your favorite kind of food?” Logan interrupts, and I’m grateful he’s taking the lead.
“Tacos. What about you?”
Without hesitation he fires back, “Burritos.”
“Mexican food’s a solid choice,” I say, “Even if tacos are superior to burritos.”
“What? No way.” Logan quips, pushing stray hairs off his forehead. “Let me guess. You think ice cream sundaes are superior to ice cream cones?”
“Nah.” I shake my head, “I don’t discriminate when it comes to ice cream. I’m an equal-opportunity ice cream lover and firmly believe you can never be too full for ice cream—it melts around.”
“Now that’s what I’m talking about,” Logan says, holding his hand up for a high five, which I happily give him. With that, the initial awkward start to our conversation is broken, and we fall into an easy give and take in getting to know each other.
“How’s Kentucky treated you so far?”
“I’m still adjusting. To be honest, I’ve really been missing California. This is the longest I’ve ever been away from the beach,” Logan shares.
“Sounds like you have experienced some culture shock moving here.”
“You think?” He laughs, and the right corner of his mouth turns up in a smile.
“You’ve been here for two months?”
“Almost three.”
I check on Rainey and find the girls swinging, or at least attempting to swing, because neither of their feet touch the ground.
“We don’t have to talk about this,” I preempt, “But can I ask what you did for work back in The Golden State?”
The corners of his eyes crinkle behind his glasses when he gives me a nervous, closed-lip smile. “I worked at a small startup that was taking off. I designed applications and the backend of software.”
His nearly six-foot frame towers over me as I look up at him, listening to every word.
“That sounds . . . boring,” I admit. “And like a lot of math?”
