9. Lend Me His Crayons
The early morningsun bathes the countryside in a soft, golden light, and around me, the farm is buzzing with life—chickens cluck and peck at the ground, bees hum lazily from flower to flower, and there’s the gentle hum of a tractor in the distance.
I pick up my phone, adjusting the settings to capture the perfect shot of Kyle chopping wood before me. Five minutes into his task, he made a big show of taking off his shirt, so Logan might actually be onto something when he says Kyle wants to sleep with me.
His chestnut brown hair catches the sunlight, creating an almost halo-like effect around his head. Ensuring each frame is just right, I snap a few photos, until he must notice the click in between the thuds of his ax, and with a jovial beam, he looks up at me.
“Want me to take my pants off too?”
I chuckle, setting my phone down. “I think I’m good, thanks. Do you mind me posting it?”
He firmly shakes his head. “Not at all.”
Kyle showed up at the house this morning, told me I couldn’t stay there alone because Josie would likely come over, then dragged me to the other side of the farm. We had fun last night, and even now, his proximity is comforting. Spending time with someone who doesn’t make me feel as tense as Logan is a welcome change of pace.
I turn my focus to the recipe opened up on my tablet, until a growing rumble has me lifting my gaze off the wooden table and looking up, trying to identify the source. It looks like it’s coming from the street, so I glance over my shoulder, my jaw dropping as I see a motorcycle riding up the driveway.
Logan, I assume.
I’ve only seen him in his bike attire once, but just like that first night, he’s dressed head-to-toe in black, exuding confidence as he slowly rides to the side of the house. A black helmet shields all of his features, and his leather jacket clings to his frame, accentuating his broad shoulders and hinting at his strength beneath the surface.
The rhythmic purr of the engine subsides as he smoothly parks the black bike, leaving a lingering echo in the air.
Damn.
I don’t know much about motorcycles—never even ridden one—but that’s hot.
He gets off the bike, and I bite my bottom lip when his black helmet turns my way.
Maybe he’d take me on a ride one of these days.
Maybe I should ask Kyle.
I turn, but Kyle’s almond eyes are already on me, mouth open and brows tight as if I’ve personally insulted him. “What?”
“Are you kidding me?”
“What did I do?” I insist.
“Of course, she goes for the biker.” He points a scolding finger at me. “You know, those things are dangerous. You could die.”
I burst a laugh. “What—I’m not—” Oh my god. What if he tells him something? “I, uh...” I turn around again, and my pulse quickens when Logan removes his helmet, his long, brown hair tumbling over his shoulder. Even in the distance, I feel his blue-gray eyes bearing into mine.
Kyle sighs loudly, then sits and rests both elbows on the table, sweat glistening his bronzed skin. He brings his frowny face against his fists and mumbles, “Well, good for you, Sugar High. He’s definitely into you.”
“What?” I squeal. “No, he’s not. He can barely stand me.”
“You don’t need to be friends with someone to want to fuck them.”
I smack his arm, feeling my cheeks warm. I can’t deny it: just thinking about his size makes me squirm on the bench. Why is there something so hot about a man who could wave you around like a flag?
But a guy like that could get any woman he wanted, and he’s certainly not going for the pink-wearing influencer who’s robbing him of his privacy.
“You know, this is unfair. I’m much nicer, and I took you out on a date, and?—”
“You what?”
He rolls his eyes. “Prim, I’ve been flirting with you non-stop.”
“I guess, but...” I bite my lips. “I thought...I don’t know. That you flirted with everyone.”
“I do,” he says matter-of-factly. “But I had my eye on you.”
How thoughtful.
I pat his arm lightly. “Thanks. I’m just not looking for anything after Derek.”
“Or...you’re after a particular brand.” He frames his words with his hands. “Moody-ass biker.”
“I just turned around because it was noisy,” I insist. When he gives me a who-are-you-kidding look, I glance down at my notebook. “And I thought Logan was your best friend.”
“Not today, he isn’t.” With a sigh, he shakes his head. “You know, he hasn’t had sex in...I don’t know, decades. He probably can’t remember how to.”
Nearly choking on coffee, I cough before mumbling, “With a best friend like you, he doesn’t need any enemies, does he?”
“Plus, he has some really weird kinks.”
My eyes blow wide. “He does?”
“Oh, so you are interested.” I open my mouth to tell him that I’m not, and mine is just morbid curiosity, but he powers on, “Rough sex. Not sure sweet little Prim would be up for it. Me, instead?” He wiggles his brows. “I’d treat you like a princess.”
I roll my eyes.
“So? Are you going to tell him?”
“Kyle, I wasn’t checking Logan out. I’m not into him, and he’s definitely not into me, and—and...bikes aren’t even that hot.”
He stares at me, deadpan.
“Can we drop this now?”
“Of course,” he says as he stands, both hands raised, and before turning away, he gives me a meaningful look. “But there is an efficient, infallible way to know if he’s attracted to you. If you are interested.”
“Well, I’m not.” I tap on the tablet, trying to focus on the content I’m making. But now I’m curious. What is Kyle talking about? Not that I’d do it, especially because I can say with almost absolute certainty that Logan is not interested in me.
Even if I’ll admit, his bike is hot.
“Fine. Fine. I’ll let it be.”
He returns to his pile of wood, and silence reigns for a few minutes. When I hear a door closing behind me, I do my best not to pay it any attention, especially as I feel Kyle’s gaze on me, checking.
“Hello.”
I flinch, turning to Logan, who distractedly waves before walking to Kyle. He’s changed from the black outfit he wore on the bike to his usual brown boots, jeans, and flannel shirt. I’ll get him to say “Yee-haw” at some point.
“Hey, boss.”
“Did you take care of those radishes?”
The ax swings. “Mm-hmm. All done. And Damien is done with the fertilizer too.”
“Good. The eastern fence has some damage. I’ll?—”
“Simon already took care of it.”
“Huh. Great.” He points at the house. “Then I’ll do some office work.”
Busy as I am avoiding his gaze, I don’t notice Logan walking back to me until he stops by my side. If I look up, he’ll definitely know what Kyle and I were discussing. “How’s your ankle?”
“Oh, cool. Great. Awesome.” I cringe, pressing my lips tight because I can’t think of any other way to stop myself from blabbering. Why did Kyle have to make things weird? Now all I can think about is how Logan likes rough sex. How I’d probably like it too with a guy like him.
He throws a disinterested look at my phone. “You should keep it elevated.”
“Maybe you could help her with that,” Kyle calls from where he’s chopping wood, and he’s so serious that the meaning of his words hits me long after he’s said them.
Then my heart drops in my stomach.
Logan faces him.“What?”
“Nothing,” I blurt out, heat rising to my neck. Why did he say that? “Would you like some candy?” I glance at Kyle. “Both of you—just everyone. It’s vegan friendly.”
Kyle gasps loudly. “For real?”
At his enthusiasm, I perk up. “Yeah. Apricots from the farm. Brown sugar, no gelatine.” I glance at Logan, who’s thoughtfully staring at the bowl beside me. “Just try one.” I can’t leave this place without him trying and loving my candy.
“No, thanks.”
Seriously? What’s his problem? “Are you allergic to joy?”
Kyle swoops between us and grabs a handful of candy, then walks back. “Sorry. Keep going.” His finger wiggles between Logan and me. “Loving this bickering dynamic.”
After a perplexed glance at Kyle, Logan focuses on me again. “Is he having a stroke?”
Heart thumping, I set the bowl down. Why does he have to be so weird? “No, he’s cool. Great. A?—”
“Awesome, yes. I got it.” His eyes narrow. “Anyway, Josie called. They want us to come in for some questions. I’ve already contacted my lawyer, and he recommended?—”
“What?” I shriek.
Flinching, he tries again, “He recommended this, uh...Peter Miller? A colleague. They’ll both come over to prep us for the police’s questions tomorrow.” He raises a hand to stop me from speaking. “Assuming you’re comfortable with him. I figured you could look him up online.”
Lawyers! He wants me to choose a lawyer while I’m still stuck on the portion of his sentence about the police wanting to question us.
I don’t know why it surprises me so much—Josie told us not to leave town, and that other cop she was with clearly had a bone to pick with Logan. But so much has happened in the last couple of days, I almost let myself believe we got away with it.
And now I’m being questioned.
“Primrose?”
I meet Logan’s gaze.
“Will you? Check out the lawyer?”
“Uh, yeah. Sure.” I busy myself with my notebook, trying not to show him how nervous I am. He’d probably say I’m being dramatic anyway. “I’ll go do that right now.”
He grasps my wrist as I stand, then waits for me to look into his eyes before saying, “It’ll be okay. I gave them some bullshit excuse for not being able to come in today, so we have plenty of time to figure this out.” His thumb brushes the skin of my hand soothingly. Then, in a hushed tone, he continues. “Remember my promise?”
I won’t let anything happen to you.
Once I nod, he lets go. Though I don’t know Logan and have no reason to trust him, I do. He got my list back from Derek without me asking, and he ran to my aid when I was hurt.
I’m so nervous, it feels like my stomach has been sealed shut, but hearing him say it’ll be okay makes it better.
Once Kyle, who’s been silently observing, walks closer, Logan steps away until the door shuts. Only then, I drop to the bench and look into Kyle’s eyes.
“Feeling tense around Sugar Daddy, huh, Sugar High?”
Seriously?! He might not have heard the last thing Logan said, but there’s no way he missed the first part. The police want to question me. Sugar... Daddy is the very last thing on my mind.
“Not in the mood,” I mumble, resting my forehead on my fist.
“Oh, come on. Don’t worry too much,” Kyle says in a cheerful voice. “Trust me, Logan has been through this so many times.” When my worried gaze meets his eyes, he makes a pfft noise. “Nothing ever happens.”
Maybe he’s right, and that’s why Logan didn’t look overly concerned either. Or maybe they’re both crazy, and their carefree attitude will send me to jail. I guess I’ll find out soon enough.
“So? Sugar Daddy?”
With a sigh, I try to focus on Kyle. “What about him?”
“For the love of—” He grabs an apple, winds back, and throws it at me. I manage to weave and duck, avoiding the hit. “Just admit you’re into him!”
“Fine!” I exhale, then peer around to make sure Logan’s gone. “I guess he’s...good-looking. And the bike’s hot. But that’s all.”
“Uh-huh.” He rushes to sit back down, then smacks his hand against the table. “Okay, so here’s what you do.”
“I won’t be doing a single thing, Kyle.”
“Ask him to let you be his backpack.”
I scrunch my brows. “Backpack?”
“Ride behind him.” He smirks. “Bikers call their passengers ‘backpacks.’”
Do they?
“Because you’d hold on to him while pressed against his back? Your arms are the straps?” he hedges, speaking slowly as if to imply I should have understood already.
“Okay, uh...how’s that relevant?”
“Logan won’t let just anyone be his backpack.” He shrugs as if he doesn’t get it. “If he says yes, you’re in. It means he’s attracted to you. And now your bodies are in contact. There are sparks. He does his little trick where he only rides on the back wheel. Adrenaline is firing up.”
Oh my god, this guy’s nuts.
“He brings you to see the stars from someplace nobody else knows or some other dumb crap like that.” He taps a finger on the table. “Guarantee the night ends Top Gun–style, with your arms around his waist. And then...”
I wave him off. “Yes, I get it.”
“Uh-huh. So are you gonna?”
What? Ask him to take me on a ride? No. Hell no. If Kyle is right—and I have more than a doubt about it—then I’d be hitting on him, and I have no plans to be rejected by Logan. Sure, he kissed me that first night, but that was a knee-jerk reaction to panic. Since then, he’s mostly looked annoyed by my presence. And besides, I have a deal to bring home and the police chasing after me.
“You know, as tempting as it sounds,” I say, “I don’t think so. No.”
“Look, I’m not telling you to hit on him. Ask him to take you on a ride, and if he says no, you’ll know he’s not into you, but it won’t be awkward.”
“I’ll think about it,” I lie. I hope it’s convincing, because I need Kyle to drop the topic. I don’t even know why we’re talking about this. There are rules in place—well, one rule—to make sure all he remains to me is a fake boyfriend. “Promise you won’t bring this up with him either way.”
“I swear,” he says as he takes my hand in his and shakes. Then, with a clap, he stands again. “He’s so lucky to have me in his life.”
* * *
“Is peanut butter vegan?”
“Yes.”
“Honey?”
“Bzzz.” Logan fits a forkful of eggplant in his mouth. “Therefore, no.”
With a slow nod, I watch him chew dinner. I already know all of this, but I’ll pretend ignorance over anything to make him talk. Having dinner in total silence is the worst.
“What?” he asks. “Is the mock quiz over?”
Oh, so he noticed.
“Gosh, am I annoying you?” I ask sarcastically. “Maybe if you talked a little more, I wouldn’t have to carry the conversation.”
Eyes narrowing, he silently stares at me.
“I thought vegans loved to talk about veganism anyway.”
“Maybe vegans who love to talk.”
With a sigh, I push the food around on my plate as one of the piglets lazily walks past me and toward Logan. It settles on top of his feet, but Logan doesn’t seem to mind and keeps eating as if he has hardly noticed.
I throw the pink bundle another glance, wondering if it’s the male or the female. I can never tell them apart. “Wait, what about your leather jacket? And the leather seat of your motorcycle?” I tease.
Setting his fork down, he rubs his eyes. “Okay. First of all, being a vegan isn’t a religion, okay? There aren’t rituals we follow to avoid eternal damnation.” He levels me with an unimpressed gaze. “We live in a way that respects all creatures, but we’re not perfect, and sometimes avoiding animal-derived products isn’t possible.”
So he can talk.
“But it’s possible in this case. With faux leather.”
Of course. Faux leather. Well, faux or not, they’re sexy.
“Are you worried about tomorrow?” I ask, thinking of our appointment with the lawyers in the morning. We’ll visit the police afterwards, and I’m not sure I’ll be able to sleep until this is dealt with.
“No.” He takes a sip of water, his eyes studying me over the rim of the glass. “Are you?”
When I give him a half-hearted shrug, he sets the glass down. “It’ll be fine, Primrose. The lawyer will be with you the whole time, and he won’t let you mess it up.”
I hope he’s right, but seeing as last time, it only took me two minutes around the police to start talking about sex-kicking, this lawyer would have to be a wizard to compensate for my built-in inability to lie.
“Think about something else, come on.” He gestures at me to speak. “Ask me more annoying questions.”
I glare, then resume eating. Though he doesn’t deserve my sparkly personality, I’m also not sure he’ll ever give me a free pass on my constant chatter, and I intend to take advantage of it. “What do you do around these parts once you’re done working?”
He tilts his head like he doesn’t understand the question.
“Well, you have no TV. No internet. Do you read? Listen to music? Go out with Kyle and his brother?”
“What do you do in Mayfield?”
“Plenty of stuff. One of my closest friends—Taylor—lives only a couple of streets away from me, so we go out for dinner, walk in the park, and there’s this club...”
His brows furrow. “What?”
“N-nothing,” I mumble, though truth to be told, I just realized I haven’t seen Taylor in two months. Before that, god, we met for dinner about six months ago. “I guess...I mostly stay home. Listen to music, watch movies. Big city life means everyone is hustling around, and it takes forever to get anywhere.”
“I sleep.” He wipes his hand on a napkin, chewing as he studies his plate. “When I’m done working. I wake up at four every day, then work mostly in the fields for twelve hours. After that, I’m pretty much wiped.”
I nod, hoping my expression doesn’t betray how terrible that sounds. Working twelve hours a day and sleeping isn’t a life, exactly. It sounds more like survival.
“I ride my bike,” he mumbles. “Though you’ve kind of ruined that.”
Fork frozen on the way to my lips, I go still. He’s brought up the night we met, so it’s my chance to ask questions. How do I just know he’ll clam up? “You said it...it never happened before?”
He swallows hard. “What? Being hit by a reckless driver?”
“I was going ten miles an hour, Logan.”
“Well, that’s minimal comfort to me and my bike, isn’t it?”
I open my mouth to quip at him, the words you stopped in the middle of the road on the tip of my tongue. But I’m determined to discuss this, so I try a patient, “Have you had any more since?”
He shakes his head.
“Are you sure?”
“We don’t know if it was a panic attack, okay? Maybe it was a heart episode.”
It says a lot that he’d rather think his heart is unhealthy than admit to a bit of anxiety. “So maybe you should see a cardiologist.”
“I’m fine.”
“I’m pretty sure you can ignore a stomach ache or a headache, but your heart? You need that to live.”
“I said I’m fine.”
“Logan,” I scold, and once his eyes are on me, I know I might as well be speaking another language. No matter how much I press him, he won’t discuss this. Logan would much rather have an actual heart attack than talk about his feelings.
“How about this,” I say, thinking one more attempt won’t hurt. “I’ll tell you something very private about me, and you’ll tell me about your anxiety.”
“I don’t have?—”
“I’ll show you my list.”
His parted lips shut.
The first night, as he tried to fix the car, talking about my list got his attention, and when he got it back from Derek, it killed him not to know which item he’d helped me cross off. I know he’s curious, and at this point, one more person knowing my deepest fantasies and wishes won’t change my life.
As he observes me, I grab my phone and take the pink cover off. I lift the folded list, then hold it out for him, and after a few seconds of what looks like deep consideration, he moves to grab it.
“And you’ll talk to me?” I ask as I keep it just out of his reach.
He rolls his eyes, then, with a swift movement, snatches the list.
I’ll take that as a yes.
He scrolls through the lines of text I know religiously until his brow furrows, and it’s easy to guess what he’s thinking. Only a handful of items on my list are crossed off: the ones he’s responsible for. And among those, it’s probably easy to guess which got struck through the night Derek came here.
“Protect me from bullies,” he reads out.
“Yeah.”
His gaze darkens, but without a word, he resumes eating, still reading through my list. He doesn’t say a word about the fact that so many of the things that most people my age have experienced have yet to happen to me, but I wonder if he’s judging me for it. If he thinks it’s as pathetic as it often feels. “Some of this is...” He scrunches his nose. “Own a white horse? You expect your dates in Mayfield to show up on a white horse?”
“I’ve compiled this list over the years, so some of it isn’t as relevant anymore.” He holds back a chuckle, and I strike him with a glare. “I liked it more when you were silent.”
“Sorry.” A few seconds of silence go by. “Why a white horse? What’s wrong with brown horses? Black? Spotted?”
“Well, for starters, white is visible at night. I crashed against your black horse, remember?” I stab some zucchini with my fork. “And besides, twelve-year-old me was obsessed with Prince Charming.”
He focuses on the list again. “Go downtown?”
Oh boy. “Um, that’s...When I was younger, I thought ‘town’ was part of it, but it turns out it’s not.”
“Go down?” His brows rise as he straightens. “Oh, go down...on you?”
I tap the tip of my nose.
“But it’s not struck through.”
“I’m aware.”
For a moment, he looks as appalled as if I’d told him I feed on human souls, but quickly collecting himself, he turns his focus to the list. “I guess number nine is also from your childhood?”
Number nine... Lend me his crayons.
“I wrote that one after Darrel Taylor refused to lend me his.” I scoff, remembering my first crush, with his sandy-blond hair and cute chin dimple. “That was my very first heartbreak.”
His eyes roll again, this time nearly disappearing into the back of his head. “What about number twenty-two? Lend me his leather jacket?”
Oh, dammit. I picture Logan’s jacket, embarrassment creeping up my spine. I forgot about that one. “Teen years. I was in my bad boy phase.”
“Huh.” He looks around, then stands and opens the drawer. Once he’s back at the table, he’s holding a pen.
“Wait—what are you doing?”
“There’s something better than a leather jacket, Primrose.”
I squint, trying to read the word he’s scribbling, until he sets the pen down and returns the list to me. Faux. That’s what he added—a faux leather jacket.
Once I set the list beside my plate, I watch him expectantly. He can feel it, but he keeps his eyes on his plate for the longest time. Until my patience runs out. “Oh, come on.”
He sighs, and I hope it means he’s giving up. “What do you want to know?”
I’m not sure. I guess, first of all, I’d like him to acknowledge he had a panic attack.
He leans back in his chair. “You said it happened to you a lot growing up?”
“Yes. When I was in high school.”
“Is that when you wrote number seven? Protect me from bullies?”
When I nod, he crosses his arms and presses them on the wooden edge of the table. “I’ve never felt anything like it before. It was like...like I was...”
“Dying?”
He blinks, his hands clenching into fists. “I kept thinking about everything that’s going on. The farm, my family. And then, all of a sudden, it was like I couldn’t breathe. My heart was beating too fast, and my eyes had black spots, and...”
I fight the instinct to touch him, because I figure it’ll make him uncomfortable, and he’s finally opening up. But I do want to, especially as I remember my first panic attack, when I overheard the classmate I had a crush on saying they shouldn’t invite me to the cinema, as I’d likely take up two seats.
“How could it have been all...in my mind?”
“It wasn’t,” I explain, and when he meets my gaze, there’s a vulnerable look in his eyes that makes it even harder not to offer some physical comfort. “Your heart was beating faster. It really was harder to breathe, and your vision was most definitely tunneling. But it all came from here,” I say as I point at my head. “Not because your heart, lungs, or eyes don’t work.”
“So my brain wants me dead?”
“Your mind was overwhelmed, and it went into fight-or-flight mode. You tried to take in more oxygen, so you breathed harder. And your body released adrenaline, which made your heart beat faster, and your muscles tense up.”
He seems to think it over for a moment, his shoulders dropping slightly. “Is there a way to...” He presses his lips tight. “I just can’t have this shit happen to me randomly. I ride a bike and operate machinery—it’s dangerous.”
“Afraid you can’t schedule them,” I say, and when he gives me a flat “Ha-ha,” I continue. “You could seek help, though. A therapist would explore with you the reasons behind your panic attacks and teach you how to deal with them.”
Quickly, he shakes his head. “It was just once. I’m sure it won’t happen again.”
And I’m sure it’s a cop-out, but I know better than to try to force therapy onto someone. When it’s time, he’ll get there himself.
“You could also tell me more about whatever is bothering you,” I try after he resumes eating. “Your feelings and emotions. That could help too.”
“I have a better idea,” he says as he stands and opens one of his kitchen drawers. “Now, I’m going to give this to you, but it’s not a gift. Got it? I want it back promptly.”
I watch him walk back, then hold his hand out.
And boy oh boy, I can’t help a massive grin from taking over my lips.
A box of crayons.