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Of course, there’s every chance that Logan had been deliberately avoiding me. If that’s his tactic, it backfired when we bumped into each other in the gym the other day. What he doesn’t realize is the more he tries to ignore me the more I’ll want to make my presence known.
I smile as an idea strikes me and on impulse, I push through the store door. For an enjoyable thirty minutes, I purchase every one of the items on the sofa along with an antique art deco mantel clock that I’m sure Logan will love. Finally, I pick up several scented candles. I’m tempted by a lot more, but I think with Logan I need to take baby steps. Let’s see how he reacts to these few things first.
A fresh woody lemongrass scent hits me when I breathe in deep from my favorite of the scented candles. This is going to be relaxing with a warm bath in the huge tub back at the apartment. The perfect antidote to my tired muscles and sore feet from having to stand for hours today at the studio.
With my purchases bagged and paid for, I call for an Uber pickup to take me and all the purchases home. Steve, the doorman sees me arriving and being the sweetie he is he rushes forward to help, offering to carry all my bags up.
When I’m alone again, with the bundle of bags laid at my feet, I quickly get to work transforming Logan’s bare sofa into a cozy, beautiful seating area. Each cushion is positioned just like in the shop window and I place a throw on one arm of the sofa, another on an armchair. I had to get two, they were so soft to the touch I couldn’t resist. Next, I carefully unwrap the clock. It has the simple lines and glamor of 1930s art deco. I remember Logan once told me he liked art deco architecture. It’s my favorite too, and back all those years ago I remember thinking it was just another thing we had in common.
I place the clock on the mantel, and finally, the largest of the scented candles on the stone coffee table. I light it and then look around at the result. Much better. I’ve just finished clearing the rubbish when I hear Logan coming in the door. My stomach clenches in anticipation of his reaction. I wasn’t expecting him to come in this early and catch me in the act. I straighten my spine and prepare for a litany of complaints.
He rounds the corner and I feel as guilty as a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar.
“What are you doing?” he asks, his eyebrows drawn down in a frown. I can’t tell from his standard expression if he’s angry or not.
His gaze travels around the room from the candle flickering on the table to the cushions. “What’s all of this?” he asks and now with his eyebrows squished together, he looks more confused than anything else.
“A thank you gift for letting me stay,” I quickly tell him, just like I’d practiced in my head.
He wanders over to the sofa and runs his hand across the throw, allowing his fingers to sink into the softness like I did in the store.
“You didn’t have to buy me a gift,” he mumbles, moving now to the mantel for a closer look at the clock. His calm considered acceptance is not at all what I expected. I thought he’d make some sarcastic remarks about me taking over his apartment. I edge closer to him.
“Do you like the clock?” I ask before quickly explaining, “It’s a 1930 French skyscraper bronze clock.” He picks it up, turning it carefully in his large hands. Logan has always appreciated the little details.
“I do like it,” he says, then places it back on the mantel before turning to pin me in place with his intense gaze. “Thank you.”
It feels like he’s seeing me properly for the first time in a long time. My heart pounds in my chest and before it can jump right out and land in his hands, I drag my gaze away.
“Good. Now I must go get ready. I’m going out tonight.” I catch the return of his frown before I spin on my heel and escape to my bedroom like a pack of rabid dogs are chasing me down.
Chapter six
Allie
A pale pink gloss gives my lips a shiny fullness, the final touch, and I’m ready. My makeup regime is a lot quicker tonight than the professional ones I had to endure during the day. When I’m not being photographed, my approach is very much less is more, except when it comes to smokey eyes. What girl doesn’t want to sparkle with a sexy, sultry look? One final flick of my freshly washed hair and it falls in loose waves down below my shoulders.
I run my hands down over the simple black silk mini dress and do one final check of my appearance from the top of my head to the tip of my black strappy high heels. The combination makes my legs look even longer, a fact I embrace these days rather than try to disguise. What’s missing is some jewelry. I choose a few gold bangles from my extensive collection and slip them on my wrist, again deciding to keep my look simple. Then picking up my phone, I tap out a quick text to Dana.
Me: Just leaving my place now.
Dana: See you soon.
I’ve been back in Manhattan for two weeks and this is the first chance Dana and I have had to catch up for a proper girly chat. Moving back to the States wasn’t only to start my own business, it was also to reduce the amount of travel so I could spend more time with friends. But you’d never have guessed it with how crazy my days have been up until now. With no more assignments booked, things are about to change for the better.
Tonight, I plan on celebrating the end of one phase of my life and the start of a new one. No more missing friends’ significant milestones because of work. No more fifteen-hour days. No more schmoozing designers or editors for work. No wait, I may still have to do that if my new fashion photography business is going to be successful.
Yes, everything is coming together just like I planned. And it will be even better when I can settle into my own apartment, well Katie’s apartment in reality, and put some distance between me and my permanently grumpy roommate.
Although earlier when he saw the changes I’d made in his living area, he was anything but grumpy. Who’d have thought that Logan and I might even end up calling an uneasy truce?
I drag my thoughts away from Logan and back to my night out with Dana and it puts an extra bounce in my step as I strut up the hall. Each step is a tap against the wooden floor like a steady beat of a drum. Maybe I can convince her to go dancing after we’ve caught up on all the gossip. But when I round the corner into the kitchen, my heels hit a wrong beat and come to a resounding halt. Logan is on a barstool, slouched over the kitchen counter. His elbows are braced on the slab of granite, a whiskey glass clasped in between his hands, and his head bent low.
His shoulders appear tense before he looks up. A tiny flutter in a hidden corner of my belly sends out a warning signal and I lift my chin, ready for his latest volley of unsolicited comments.
But instead of some taunting remark or criticism, his eyes travel leisurely from my head to my painted toes peeping out of my heels and back up again. He remains silent, his darkened eyes laser-focused as if they are piercing through the outer layers of my skin to reach those soft vulnerable parts inside.
I can’t take this silence. “Go on say it,” I demand, resigned to the fact that our truce is already over.
