Riding the Sugar High: a Grumpy Sunshine Romantic Comedy

10. Cuddle Me

As I stepthrough the heavy glass doors of the police station, my heart pounds with a mixture of nerves and apprehension. The fluorescent lights overhead cast a harsh glow over the sterile surroundings, illuminating rows of uniformed officers bustling about their duties. It’s like all the light and warmth of the afternoon can’t permeate the thick walls.

Beside me, Logan walks with a determined stride, his jaw set in a firm line as he follows the lawyers. His presence is reassuring, and when he turns to me and discreetly winks, I inhale. We”re in this together. We can do this.

As we approach the front desk, a uniformed officer looks up from her paperwork and gives us a curt nod. “Can I help you?”

“We”re here to speak with Officer Lawson,” Logan replies, his voice steady despite the tension in the air.

The officer nods, scribbling something on a notepad before talking into her radio. “Lawson. Coleman”s party is here for you.”

Oh my god, I feel lightheaded.

How did I end up here? The more I ask myself this question, the more I can’t wrap my head around it. I’ve never shoplifted. Never so much as got a traffic ticket. And now, I’m about to be questioned about my involvement in a felony. Which I’m actually guilty of.

“Look who decided to finally pay us a visit,” a cop says as he walks through the corridor. Once he comes to stand in front of Logan, chewing a piece of gum with his mouth open, I recognize him as Connor, the officer who was with Josie the night of the arson. “I figured I’d have to come get you on your farm.”

Logan barely spares the stocky man a glance. “What can I say? I’m full of surprises.”

“Hey,” Josie says as she emerges from a back door. How’s it going?”

Logan waves in her direction, and with a courteous nod, I keep my mouth shut.

Peter, my lawyer, said that I should talk only when strictly necessary and, even then, say as little as possible without arousing suspicion.

I plan to take his advice to the letter.

Connor walks to me, a hand scratching the fading hairline on his forehead. “You’re with me. Follow?—”

“No,” Logan growls, stepping between us as his hand grasps my arm. I’m pulled behind him as Connor throws an amused look at the cop watching the scene unfold from behind the reception desk. “Not you.”

“Can you believe this guy?”

“Don’t you want to question me?” Logan insists, ignoring the lawyer’s request to relax. “Let Josie handle Primrose.”

“Either come with me voluntarily,” Connor says as he tilts his head to look past Logan and straight at me. “Or wait for the arrest.”

Heart in my throat, I try to swallow, but my saliva feels as sticky as glue.

Josie, who’s been silently observing, walks closer when Logan sends her a silent plea. Her red hair is pulled up in a sober ponytail, and though her skin is bare, she’s still painfully beautiful, even in her uniform. “Connor, come on. Take Logan and let us girls talk.”

Connor hesitates for a long moment, studying his partner. The obnoxious smacking of his lips drives me crazy, but I’m much more concerned about Logan’s reaction to the possibility of him questioning me.

Please say yes.

“Fine, Lawson. But this is the one friends-and-family discount you get.” He spits his gum in a nearby bin, and the noise gives me shivers. “Ask for preferential treatment again, and I’ll tell the chief to take you off the case.”

“You got it.” There’s a quiet exchange between Logan and Josie as he and his lawyer follow Connor into the corridor. Then, clenching his fist, he glances at me.

Be strong.

I assume that’s what he’s saying, but I’m mostly thankful the lawyer will be with me throughout the interrogation.

Once they disappear into one of the rooms facing the corridor, Josie offers me a friendly smile. “Okay. We’ll be in room two. This way.” She leads me into the same corridor, then stops three doors away from Logan’s and enters a small, poorly lit room. Naked walls, a table, three chairs, and a small window from which the sun struggles to filter through.

It’s an actual interrogation room.

This is it. I’m going to be sick.

“Don’t be nervous,” Josie says as I step in.

Is it so obvious?

She closes the door, then sits at one side of the table, gesturing at the chairs on the other side. “You’re not under arrest. I’ll ask you some questions about what happened last Friday, and your lawyer will be with you the whole time.”

He holds a hand out to her. “Peter Miller.”

“Nice to meet you.”

We all sit, falling into an uneasy silence as Josie sets a folder on the table, then laces her fingers together. “So...You and Logan. How did you meet?”

I watch Peter as I he instructed this morning, and he nods. Though we spent all morning preparing for this, I still don’t feel ready. How could he have prepped me for every possible scenario in just a few hours? But he swore he’d intervene if I were asked something unexpected, and god, I hope the money I’m paying him is well spent.

My life is quite literally on the line.

“Uh, we met in Roseberg a couple of months back.”

“But you’re from Mayfield, right?” When I nod, she taps her pen on the stack of documents. “That’s a long way from Roseberg. What were you doing there?”

“Work. I travel a lot because of my social media. I’m lucky enough to collaborate with many businesses.”

“Who were you working with at the time?”

I release a breath. Peter and I discussed all of this at length this morning, and besides the part about me meeting Logan, everything else is true. “Sodatron. They’re a sugar-free soda producer who worked on a sour candy limited edition.”

“Oh my god.” Her eyes widen. “I love sour candy.”

When I smile, she does too, then writes something down. “And your relationship has been long distance since then?”

“Yes.”

Her eyes narrow. “But Logan doesn’t have a phone, does he? How do you manage that?”

I check the lawyer’s expression, and he offers a subtle bob of his head.

“He uses Kyle’s phone to call me every day,” I say. Peter promised we’re making it harder for them by claiming we’ve been communicating through someone else’s phone.

“Oh, that’s cute.” She writes something else. Her eyes focus on a spot behind me, and with a hum, she continues. “Tell me about Friday. What happened?”

My heart palpitates, but I try to keep my casual smile unbothered. “Uh, Friday, yes. I finished my job in Roseberg—I was hired to assist a cookie company with their social media—then drove here.”

“Your car?”

“A rental.” When she nods, I shift on the uncomfortable metal chair. “I arrived pretty late, and once I got to Logan’s house...Well, we hadn’t seen each other in a long time. We spent the night in.”

“Where’s your rental now?”

My mouth opens, but the accident with Logan comes back to me in flashes. Crashing against him. His panic attack. Our kiss. Him fixing my car.

Well, crap.

We didn’t prepare for this.

I turn to Peter, and when he dips his chin, nausea assaults me. If I nod, you can answer the question. That’s what he said this morning. But how can I explain what happened without our story falling apart? What—should I say I got into an accident with my boyfriend? How did she even know to ask?

“The car is at the repair shop,” Peter offers. “How is this relevant?”

Josie shrugs. “I’m trying to piece together what happened. Did you get into an accident or something?”

An accident or something? She knows. She must know.

“No accident involved.” Peter grabs his briefcase, swiftly opens the straps, and takes out a pile of papers. Once he finds the one he’s looking for, he hands it over. “Mr. Coleman was understandably upset about his girlfriend’s vehicle malfunctioning, so he got the mechanic’s assessment. It looks like the car had a defective transmission sensor.” He waves in dismissal. “I have no idea what that means, but...not Miss Bellevue’s fault.”

So Logan was right. The car didn’t break down because of him.

Why did he get that document? I guess it’s entirely possible he’d go through all that trouble to prove he was right, but...could he have done it for me? For this moment?

“Oh, that’s...” Josie clicks her tongue as she studies the paper. “You should ask for a full refund.”

I nod, but her friendliness is starting to feel corny. Is she just trying to put me at ease so that I’ll lower my guard and mess up?

“You know, when we came to the farm last Friday, I couldn’t help but notice that Logan’s bike was pretty beaten up.” She relaxes in her chair, her ponytail gently swinging with the movement and her emerald green eyes flickering with curiosity. “Do you know what happened?”

“Mr. Coleman fell from his motorcycle.”

Josie’s eyes flick to Peter. “Oh, come on, Mr. Miller. Give your client some credit—she can answer my questions herself.”

“Officer,” Peter says, “I won’t tell you how to do your job, and I ask that you pay me the same courtesy.”

The sudden rise of tension in the room has me swallowing, then trying to breathe through it though my heart is in my throat.

Josie sighs, her patient expression back in place as she asks Peter, “Why weren’t the police involved? Ambulance? Insurance?”

“There was no need for any of it. The motorcycle only needs minor cosmetic fixes. Mr. Coleman will pay for those himself.” Peter rolls his shoulders back as if he’s suddenly remembered he should be somewhere else. “I struggle to see how this involves my client at all. If you don’t have any more questions directly pertaining to her, we’ll?—”

“Tell me about Derek. He’s your ex, right?”

I nod, slightly more comfortable because, at least, this portion of the story doesn’t involve any lies.

“And you’ve experienced some backlash online after your breakup?”

“Some, yes.” Reminded of Peter’s recommendation not to be overly aggressive when discussing Derek, I shrug. “He’s been sharing his version of the events between us online, and he doesn’t often paint me in a great light.”

“Yeah.” She scrolls through the papers in front of her. “Not a great light indeed.”

I wet my lips, then dry my hands on the flaps of my skirt.

“You mind if I ask you a few questions about that?”

I shake my head. Of all the things she could ask me about, Derek and his lies are the most favorable option, and I never thought I’d say that.

Once she leans back in the chair, I exhale.

This will be a while.

* * *

I twist and turn in bed, my blanket now entangled in a rope by the side of my body. Though I’m exhausted, my thoughts keep running to the three-hour-long informal interrogation I went through today.

God, I just want to sleep.

Logan always goes to bed early, and tonight was no exception. Once we got home from the police station, we had dinner and swapped information, and after that, he left for his room. From what I could tell, it looks like we didn’t contradict each other—dare I say we made it unscathed?

Still, no sleep. It’s like the tension won’t wear down, and I keep replaying every second of it in my head, expecting to remember something I said that’ll destroy our alibis. Is Logan doing the same? Is he really sleeping like everything’s fine?

Fooling myself into thinking he might still be awake, I walk to his room and knock on the door.

Nothing.

Maybe it wasn’t loud enough.

I try again, and this time I hear the squeak of his mattress springs, then the piglets grunting. “What’s...What happened? Are you okay?”

Opening the door, I’m met with a pitch-black room and Logan’s eyes squinting against the light coming in from the corridor. Does he always sleep without a shirt on?

“I didn’t say come in, did I?”

“Sorry,” I say as I enter the room and close the door behind me. “I can’t sleep.”

He sighs, dropping his face into his pillow, and though his words are muffled, I hear him clearly as he says, “Could have just abandoned you to that fire.”

As if. He needed me to escape the crime scene.

“I keep thinking about today. What if I said something that will lead them to us?”

“Peter said everything went fine, Primrose. Go to sleep.”

I sit on the edge of his bed, propping my leg up and under me as he studies me with a cocked brow. “You can’t be sure.”

“No, I can’t. But I’m sure if you don’t let me sleep, I’ll deliver you to the police myself.”

I press my lips tight, my finger drawing circles on his sheet. “Just five minutes? Please?”

With a sigh, he throws his head back on the pillow. “Fine.”

“Tell me something to distract me.”

He hums, eyes closed. “You know what’s fascinating? The suspension system on my bike.”

He launches into a detailed explanation of damping rates, rebound adjustments, and preload settings, whatever all of that is, his voice taking on a hypnotic quality. Try as I might, I struggle to muster up even a hint of genuine interest.

“Oh my god,” I burst after a while. “Please stop.”

He cracks one eye open. “Hmm?”

“This is the most boring combination of words I’ve ever heard.”

“It’s meant to make you sleep.”

It might, but it’s also killing any will to wake up.

Crossing my legs, I think hard of something else we could talk about. Anything else. “Do you date a lot?” I ask, then quickly add, “You know, when you’re not fake-dating me.”

He shakes his head. “At the risk of surprising you, no. I don’t.”

Right. I could have gathered that myself from—well, everything about him. “So you just kiss random people who crash into your bike?”

“Yes. In fact, I never even had a panic attack. It was all part of a long con designed to entrap you in my house, because I hate peace and sleep.” He shifts his pillow up. “I don’t want to talk about my dating life.”

“Fine.” I exhale. “So you admit you had a panic attack?”

He blinks, his shoulders tensing. “The last woman I dated was my ex. We broke up five years ago.”

I guess we’re back to the dating portion of the conversation. “Why did you break up?”

Holding himself up on his elbow, he looks up at me through a curtain of sleep-mussed hair. “We’d been together since we were kids, but as we got older, we started wanting different things. Can I go back to bed now?”

“Like what?”

He rubs his eyes. “Uh...she wanted to move. Focus on her career and all of that. I wasn’t willing to follow her, but I was also very resistant to the long-distance thing.”

Sure, with his love for phones. “So she left without you?”

Releasing a breath, he shakes his head. “She kept running away instead of facing our problems. She wouldn’t come back home for days and stay at her parents’ place to avoid seeing me.” He pauses, looking down at the mattress. “Then she cheated. Screwed her way out of the relationship.”

My lips twist. I’ve never been cheated on, but a lot about Logan makes sense now. How closed off he is—how distrustful and distant from everyone. “Did she confess?”

“I found out.” Folding an arm behind his head, he looks up at the ceiling. “I flipped out at first, of course. Then I told her I understood. It wasn’t even about sex—it was everything else. We were unhappy, and she searched for what was missing elsewhere.”

Well, cry me a river. There’s hardly ever an excuse to cheat, and this isn’t one of them.

“I’m not saying she didn’t fuck up,” he comments when he notices my expression. “She knew it too—she was desperate.”

“Did you dump her after that?”

One corner of his lips lifts, but it’s not enough to distract from the melancholic look in his eyes. “I begged her to stay. Begged her to choose me. I told her I’d do long-distance. That I’d leave Simon in charge of the farm and go with her, but...” He swallows. “It didn’t work out that way.”

Shedumped him.

She cheated on him, lied about it, then dumped him.

Maybe I am a violent person after all, because I’d like ten minutes in a room with her. Who does that?!

“Does she still live here?”

“Yup. With him. White picket-fenced house, cute kid. So she probably made the right choice.” He closes his eyes, and I let mine trail up his chest, tracing the many tattoos intersecting all over his skin. With the silver moonlight coming in from the open drapes, he looks like pure art. “Lost something, Barbie?”

Skin heating, I look up at his face. “Uh, I was just admiring your?—”

“Yeah, I know what you were doing.” He huffs out a chuckle, then shrugs. “Was there anything else?”

“No. I’ll let you, uh...get back to it.”

“Thanks.” He turns around, pulling a blanket over his body, and I watch the rise and fall of his shoulders for a while.

“I swear to god, Primrose. It’s two in the morning, and I need to wake up in two hours. If you don’t?—”

“Can I sleep here?”

He turns to me, his brows scrunched so deeply his eyes are almost closed. “You want to sleep in my bed?”

When I nod, he shrugs. “And where do I sleep?”

It’s my turn to look confused as I say, “Here, of course.”

“You want to sleep in my bed, with me?”

I guess? It’s weird—I know it is. Logan and I are basically strangers, and I’ve only ever shared a bed with one man. But the thought of lying in bed by myself, my heart in my throat as I think of today, is making my skin itch everywhere. “I don’t want to be alone.”

With a sigh, he scoots to the left. “Fine.”

I slide under the blanket as he takes one of the two pillows under his head and sets it on my side. “Good night.”

“No snuggles, huh?” I tease.

“I don’t know, Barbie,” he says as he tilts his head. “I reserve most of my snuggling for sex. Interested?” When I roll my eyes, he smacks his pillow and huffs out a “Thought so.”

I still, tapping my fingers on my stomach as I stare at the ceiling. He wakes up early to feed the animals, and working in the fields is more forgiving when the sun isn’t at its hottest.

Ugh, now I feel bad for having woken him up.

“Are you sure you don’t want a cuddle?” I offer, breaking the utter silence with my version of an apology. “You can be the small spoon.”

“Jesus Christ.” He chuckles, low and throaty, then cups his face with both hands as he lets out a long groan. When he turns to me, he smiles wide, a hint of frustration the way his tongue rims his upper lip. Our faces are close together, and his blue-gray eyes are magnetic. “You’re fucking ridiculous, you know that?”

“Am I?” When he nods, I shrug. “Is it a bad thing?”

“No.”

“Because I think it’s ridiculous not to have a TV.”

“Hmm.”

“In fact, if you had a TV, I probably would have put on a movie and fallen straight to sleep.”

He clicks his tongue. “Now I also wish I had a TV.”

I switch positions on the pillow to get closer to him. “So, number ten?”

“What’s that?”

“Cuddle me.”

“I thought you were supposed to cuddle me.”

“Do you want me to cuddle you?”

His mouth opens, then closes. “Just sleep.”

“I can’t,” I say with a sigh as I cup my belly. “I swear I’m getting a stress-induced stomachache.”

“Come on, close your eyes.” When I don’t, he scowls. “Right now, Barbie.”

I do as he says, trying to breathe through my nausea. In the silence, my thoughts whirl until I can feel myself drift off, then the slightest touch to my forehead brings me back. I open my eyes to find Logan tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear, and when he notices I’m watching him, he rolls his eyes. “I said sleep.”

I close my eyes, then smile.

I don’t care what he says.

That counted as a cuddle.