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But when I get there, Logan’s already set up and well prepared, as though he had it all planned before we spoke.
“This is nice,” I say, motioning to the blanket and food spread out on the grass.
“It’s nothing. I know you’ve had dinner, but I didn’t get the chance to eat, so I figured desserts would suit us both.”
“Works for me.”
Sitting cross-legged opposite Logan, I reach for a cookie and take a bite, moaning when the flavors hit my mouth. I wasn’t actually going to eat much; it was more of a polite thing to do, but God, these are amazing.
“Where are these from?” I ask as I take another bite, mumbling around my food. “Sorry, I know it’s polite to swallow first.”
Logan’s face lights up with a grin, and he shakes his head. “Thank you. That’s what I needed.”
Huh?
“Why are you thanking me?”
“For being you and for being here.”
Well, okay then; that’s kind of nice.
Logan watches as I eat the rest of my cookie, and I can tell he’s teetering on the edge of wanting to say something, but he’s holding back.
When I receive a text message, an idea comes to mind.
“If you don’t feel up to talking—which is completely understandable—why don’t you show me what you’re thinking?”
Logan’s brows furrow until I hand him one of my earbuds and my cell, open to my music app.
“Music therapy.” I shrug. “It helps.”
With a nod and a smile, Logan clears away some of the food so we can lie down next to each other.
Despite the earbud cord having quite a long reach, we end up side by side, our bodies touching at the shoulders and our heads angled into one another. It feels comfortable, so when the music starts, I close my eyes and get lost in all Logan has to say.
We lie like that for about an hour, only taking the occasional break for food, words hardly passing between us. Yet, I feel like I learned so much about him in that short time. His song choices paint a picture of his feelings, and even though songs like “Losing My Religion” and “Streets of Philadelphia” don’t relate directly to his situation, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that he’s in a dark place. He’s hurting, he’s broken, and he’s not at all sure what the future brings. But when he says, “Okay, last one,” and puts on “Mrs. Robinson,” by Simon and Garfunkel, I know he’s going to be just fine.
“Hey! I’m not that much older, and I didn’t seduce you,” I say, slapping him in the stomach.
“Mmmph. That hurt,” he jokes, pulling the cord from my ear as he sits up, a grin firmly in place. “I never said this song choice was about you. You came to that conclusion on your own.”
My eyes narrow as I look up at him, trying to hide the smile that’s threatening to come out. If he’s grinning, then he’s happy. And all we can hope for during trying times like these are the little moments of happiness. Something to show us there’s still good in the world.
“If it’s not about me, how does it relate to your feelings? Who’s Mrs. Robinson, and why are you thanking her?”
With a wicked glint in his eye, Logan’s grin turns into a smirk. “My physics professor. Mmm.” He bites his knuckle. “She’s smoking.”
I bark out a laugh at his theatrics, and even though he could have easily been with several Mrs. Robinsons, he’s clearly joking, and his playfulness puts my mind at ease.
“Well, good for you. I hear older women are all the rage.”
Logan’s head flies back as he laughs. “I haven’t heard that one.”
Biting my lip, I lift my shoulder in a slight shrug as my eyebrows rise, trying to be coy. But of course, the wind chooses that moment to pick up, causing my hair to blow in my face.
Logan smiles as he leans forward and brushes the strands away from my eyes. “Having said that, I definitely see the appeal.”
My heart soars as he stares into my soul, his finger lingering on my cheek. But I purse my lips at his blatant pickup attempt and huff out a laugh, hoping he can’t see how deeply he’s actually affecting me.
