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I’m alarmed to see her inside, unannounced. She all but dropped the habit when Logan moved in. “What’s going on? Everything okay?”
Izabeth beams. “Yeah, I called Logan earlier to see if I can steal the girls for a sleepover tonight.”
I must look as confused as I feel. Iz has never kept Rainey overnight, and I can’t think of any reason she’d want to start today.
“Logan said it’s fine,” she offers. “It’s cold and blah outside. I thought I’d take them for the night and do sleepover-y things.”
This is weird—she’s trying way too hard. “Rainey has school tomorrow. I’m sorry, Iz.”
Steps echo behind me, and I turn away from Izabeth to find Logan standing at the end of the steps with both girls in front of him—coats, backpacks, and shoes on.
“I’m going to need someone to tell me what’s going on.” I glance between Iz and Logan.
“The girls don’t have school tomorrow,” he corrects me. “It’s a professional development day for teachers. I asked Iz if she could watch them tomorrow while we’re at work, and she suggested a sleepover tonight.” I must stare at him like the words he speaks are foreign, because he takes a place at my side. Cupping my cheeks, he asks, “Are you okay if Rainey stays with Iz tonight? I’ll pick them up tomorrow after work.”
I pull back, my eyes continuing to dart between Logan and my best friend. “Does it work for you?” I ask Izabeth.
“It wasmyidea.Allmy idea.” Logan flashes her a dirty look I can’t ignore, making it obvious they’re in on this together, whateverthisis.
“Okay, I guess? Good luck,” I laugh. Several minutes and a quick bathroom stop for each girl later, Logan and I are alone in the house, together, for the first time.
I want to demand an explanation about what just happened, but the weekend’s tension lingers, so I don’t. Logan takes my hand in his, leading me to the couch. The couch where the good stuff happens.
“Mind if I talk?” he asks.
I shake my head, worried again.
“This weekend felt weird between us. Maybe for you, too?”
I nod in agreement.
“I know why, and it’s my fault. I’m sorry.” I assume he’s talking about the rent check, which is when the weirdness really began. “I’ve been thinking about what we’re doing here. Aboutthis.” He gestures between us like I did a few days ago. “I pushed back from getting too close, too soon, because the idea is thrilling, but it’s also terrifying.”
“It’s okay,” I interrupt, “I already told you I’m in no rush.”
“And I fucking love that about you,” he says, landing a kiss on my closed lips. “Never in a million years did I imagine I’d meet someone like you after the year I had. The timing was about as bad as possible—for both of us. I never wanted to be with anyone else after Hannah. I could’ve been happy—eventually—being a single-dad for the rest of my life. To be honest, that was my plan. But then I met you.” He places his hand on my cheek and rubs small circles with his thumb. “You and that laundry detergent.” We both laugh at his comment.
“Thebestlaundry detergent,” I clarify.
“The absolute best,” he says, lowering his face to mine and tugging at my bottom lip with his teeth.
“I won’t be able to listen to anything you say if you continue doing that.”
“Fair enough,” he says and sits up. I don’t know why I opened my big mouth because the removal of his touch isn’t fair at all.
“Meeting you, becoming your friend, then your roommate, and nowthis,changed everything. The tension you’ve been feeling? It started when I recognized the panic on your face from the rent check.”
“But you said the tension’s your fault?” Why’s he talking in circles?
“It is. Your fear of anything changing between us clarified that I’m not alone in the way I feel.” He leans into my ear and whispers, “I want you.”
I can’t say a word. I’ve said everything I need to say; I’m ready toshowhim how I feel. I pull him off the couch with me, wrapping my arms around him, begging him to hold me tighter. For me, we’ve been more than just physical for so long. Having the person you care about affirm they feel the same? Magic.
He pulls away enough to tip my chin back, much like he did the day in the kitchen. He’s practiced now, unafraid to show me how he feels with his mouth. His kisses aren’t timid or cautious anymore; they’re slow, hungry, and calculated. He kisses me like stopping will make everything we have disappear and he needs to pace himself to hold on forever. My greedy mouth begs for more, but he pulls back my pushing of the pace.
His hand moves down my side, and he pulls his mouth away, nudging me to follow him upstairs. He pushes my bedroom door open, but changes his mind and sandwiches me against the hallway wall.
“This is excruciating,” he breathes into my ear, “but I’m going to take my time. You’re not something to rush—you deserve to be delighted in.”
