Riding the Sugar High: a Grumpy Sunshine Romantic Comedy

12. Make Me Laugh When I’m Sad

Derek

Meet me outside.

I stare at my phone,eyes blown wide as my pulse quickens. The text came out of nowhere, and though I’ve been staring at the screen for a full minute, it doesn’t become any less real. He wants to meet, but why now? It has to be about the piglets. About the fire.

I stand on shaky legs and walk out of the kitchen, abandoning my apron on the way. Since we came back from the mall, I’ve been making candy, and Logan has been working. Based on what I know of his routine, he won’t be back for another couple of hours.

Wiping my hands on the skirt of my dress, I look around. The piglets are in the bedroom, and it’s not like I intend to let him in.

When I open the front door and quickly slink outside, Derek waves at me. His copper hair has grown out since we broke up, and as much as I stare at his small, brown eyes, I can’t see all I saw in him only a few months ago.

He surely doesn’t hold a candle to Logan.

As I white-knuckle the handrail and walk down the steps, he smiles. “Hello. How’s it going?”

“I’m fine.” I come to a stop in front of him, and though the polite thing to do would be to ask how he’s doing, I don’t care and don’t want to know. “What’s up?”

“Well, I’m hoping you’ll be more reasonable than Logan and agree to give me the pigs back.”

I could laugh in his face. “What pigs?”

His smile falls like an autumn leaf off a tree, his bad mood sinking in almost immediately. “You know, once the investigation is over and you’re in prison, I will discuss all of this at length with your audience.”

Though the thought alone gives me shivers, I won’t let him see he scared me, so I shrug.

“Come on. You have your list back—what do you want?”

“I’d love it if you could stop posting lies about me,” I offer. “But no matter what you do, I still don’t know the first thing about any pigs.”

He shoves both hands in his pockets. “I need those piglets, Primrose. And if you give them to me right now, we’ll tell the police that Logan acted alone. You’ll be okay.”

He just doesn’t get it, does he? I’d never deliver the pigs to him, and the thought of betraying Logan feels unnatural. Sure, he’s a moody guy, but he’s been protecting me every step of the way.

“I won’t do a single thing for you ever again.” I turn on my heels and mumble, “Enjoy your followers, though.”

As I close my fist around the doorknob, he asks, “Do you really think Logan will make all your dreams come true, Primrose? That he’s any better than me?”

I spin around to face him. “Only in every way possible.”

“Well, he’s not. He’s using you—that’s why you’re here. And even if he did like you, what will happen when he...” He gestures up and down at me, and instantly, heat rushes up my neck.

“When he what?” I bark.

“Look, let’s be honest. You’re not...you’re not exactly hot. All I had to do to keep you around was sleep with you, and if I couldn’t do it for millions of followers, do you think Logan will? You’ve seen his ex, haven’t you?”

It’s important for my cover that I deny everything he just said. That I say that Logan loves me—that I show a united front and a strong relationship. But I’m stunned into silence. As it turns out, even if it comes from someone you hate, a knife to the heart makes you bleed all the same.

“He might act like he cares about you, but trust me, he doesn’t, Derek insists. “And he’ll be grossed out too when he eventually agrees to throw you one.”

Without another word, I turn around and open the door, his words reaching me once more.

“But only an idiot would fall for the same scheme twice, right?”

* * *

Tears run down my cheeks faster than I can stop them, my mouth twisting as I sob harder and harder. It’s like all the tension and doubt of the last few days have shifted to pain, and now that I’ve opened the faucet, it’s impossible to stop the flow.

I hate it. I’ve always hated being a crier, but it keeps being my go-to response to any strong emotions. I cry when I’m happy, sad, angry, frustrated. I cry when I see something cute, when I’m on my period, when I’m in pain. It’s inconvenient, especially when I need to pretend I don’t care, and it makes me look weak.

“Strong girls cry when they’re angry,” I mumble to myself for the millionth time.

It’s fine. Nothing of what Derek said is new, since he did not try to hide his contempt for me when we slept together. I’m perfectly aware that’s the reason he decided to end our relationship. The way my naked body looks.

I’ve tried not to let it matter. I told myself I can’t expect to be everyone’s cup of tea, and I consoled myself with hopeful lies like ‘someone, one day, will care about what’s on the inside.’ But the truth is that I want someone to desire me. To crave me. And I’m terrified no one ever will.

Sitting on the couch, I cry into a tissue until it turns black with mascara, and my nose feels stuffy and uncomfortable. Then I cry some more.

When something cold and moist taps on my leg, I flinch and see the piglet looking up at me.

It touched me.

I look down to confirm there’s no bite, though I guess I would have felt it, as I quickly pull my leg away, but it just stays there, small black eyes staring at me.

Small, black, soft eyes.

“Do you want cuddles?” I ask, my voice hoarse. I’ve seen Logan pet the piglets several times, either behind their ears or on their backs and bellies. “I’m sorry, I’m not sure I...” It keeps staring at me, so I cautiously approach it with my hand.

Its tiny snout wiggles, and once my fingers are close enough, the piglet sniffs it tentatively. I hold back a whimper when its velvety snout nuzzles my hand, and feeling the softness of its fur, a gentle warmth spreads through my chest. Its oinks become smoother, more content, and slowly, I lower myself to the ground. With an endearing waddle, the piglet approaches me, and I find myself smiling down at it as it twists and turns to get me to pet its whole back.

Noticing a small brown spot on its ear, I lightly gasp. I’m pretty sure she’s the girl. Now I’ll be able to tell them apart.

The low rumbling of an engine startles me, and with a squelch, the pig rushes into the corridor. I follow it, then run to close the bedroom door behind me as I wipe my tears with the back of my hands. Logan is home early—today of all days.

I pace, holding my breath until I hear the front door open and close. There are steps, but I can’t make out much else. That is, until I lean with my ear against the door, and a knock almost deafens me. I bolt back and let out a shaky breath. “Yeah?”

God, my voice sounds all nasal.

“All good?”

“Y-yeah, I’m fine.”

I wait to hear him retreat, but nothing comes.

“What’s wrong with your voice? Did something happen?”

“No, I—” Come on, Prim. Reasonable excuse. “I just got out of the shower.”

“Really? Did you need to wash off after falling into a puddle of lies?”

Eyes rolling, I look at the ceiling.

“I don’t want to talk about it, Logan. I’m fine,” I say, though my voice breaks on the last word.

“You don’t sound fine.”

I’m not. Oh, and something else? Not wanting to talk about it is a lie too. I’d love to dump all my issues on him. To cry and whine about how the world is unfair, and men are the worst, and to have him soothe me and tell me that things are going to be okay. That what anyone else says doesn’t matter if I love myself, especially not when Derek is the one to say it.

“Can I open the door?”

I press my lips together and look down at the floor. His voice is so comforting. Even when it’s gruff, or he’s using it to say very annoying stuff, it’s still warm and reassuring.

Despite his rough edges and thick walls, Logan is sensitive and empathetic. But I also know there’s some truth to what Derek said. I’m his ticket out of trouble—someone he needs to tolerate until I’ve done my part and can get out of his hair.

I can’t let myself mistake this for something else.

As he walks away, I slink back to my bed, both regretting my silence and grateful I didn’t let him in. Sure, I’m lonely and sad, but he gave up pretty quickly.

It’s fine. I don’t need him. I don’t need anyone.

I hug my knees, feet pressing on the wooden edge of the bed frame, when there’s a little rattle at my door. Watching the handle move up and down, my brows scrunch. “What the...”

The door opens, and held between large hands is one of the piglets, belly-up and perfectly content with its legs stretched in the air. “Hello.”

I can’t help but smile. “Hey...piglet,” I say. Logan’s refused to give the piglets names so far, rejecting all of my amazing suggestions. “Did you open the door?”

Logan’s hands tilt the pig forward and back in a slightly chaotic affirmative, and when he lets out a squelch, he pulls him back into the corridor. “Dramatic fucking pig.”

The door creaks as it opens slowly, and on the other side, Logan stands against the doorframe in his usual dirty blue jeans and white T-shirt, his brows bent worriedly over his eyes. “Sorry about that. He has no sense for things like privacy or consent.”

“Sure, with him being a pig.”

“Right.” He juts his chin out. “May I come in?”

I nod, and he slowly steps into the room. He sits on the chair and faces me, so close I can smell hints of cedarwood and pine from his soap. His eyes run over the clothes that pepper my floor, the half-eaten granola bar on my nightstand. “Now I know why the piglets like to sleep in here.”

“Might be a stupid question, but what will happen to them? I mean, they’ll be big soon. Will they still live here?”

Rubbing a hand over his mouth, he looks into my eyes. “If I tell you, will you tell me why you were crying?”

Oh, so it’s as obvious as it feels.

“It doesn’t matter,” I say as I focus on the floor. “It’s stupid.”

“I’m sure it is. Probably a broken nail or some bag you wanted that sold out.” When I glare, he smirks in response. “Whatever it is, if it makes you cry, I want to hear about it.”

“Why?”

He raises one finger. “You get one question, and you already asked about the pigs.”

“I...” I shake my head, resigning myself to the truth. “Derek...Derek came over.”

“Derek made you cry?” His jaw hardens as he straightens in the chair. “What did he say?”

“That...”

“That?”

That he couldn’t bear to have sex with me. Because he thinks my rolls, dips and curves are disgusting. Because he wants a skinny, hot woman, and I’m not it. That he thinks Logan wouldn’t be able to do it either—maybe that nobody could.

It’s too humiliating to say out loud.

“Barbie, you need to tell me.”

“I can’t,” I whisper.

“If you don’t tell me, I’ll have to walk to that ass-wad’s farm and punch him in the throat until he does.” His teeth are gritted, his words almost slurred, as if anger has flared up his body.

“No!” I rush to say, holding a hand to his knee as my feet find the floor. “Please, you can’t. What he said doesn’t even matter. It doesn’t—” My voice breaks again, and a tear falls down my cheek, quickly followed by a second one, then a third. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Then why are you crying?”

“Because—because...” I stand and pace to the other side of the room, but he follows me and grasps my shoulders. He’s towering over me, and I’m forced to look at his face. In his deep, hooded eyes. “Because he was my first boyfriend,” I confess. “Because I thought I’d finally found someone who...God, I’m so stupid.”

“You’re not stupid, Primrose, you?—”

“But I am. I slept with him!” His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t look all too surprised at the information. Bet that’s about to change. “He’s the first man that Iever slept with.”

The gray speckles in his irises become even more noticeable as his eyes bulge out, then he sighs, head dropping forward.

“And it didn’t go well.”

I can feel how red my cheeks have become. Besides a couple of really close friends, the only person in my life who knew I was a virgin until six months ago is Derek, and though his reaction at the time was kind, it was probably an act.

Logan’s shoulders tense until, with a groan, he turns around. “I can’t fucking believe this.”

“It’s fine,” I mumble. It’s not like I can undo it.

“Fine? No, it’s not fine. He took something from you that...goddammit, it should have been special, and now he goes around calling you leftovers. It’s anything but fine.” He straightens, and as if he’s found a new sort of peace in his anger, he calmly walks out the door.

“Where are you going?” I say to his retreating back.

He ignores me, and once I see him head for the main door, I rush after him. “Logan, you can’t. You can’t go there.”

“Bet, Barbie?”

Desperation claws at my chest as I step in front of him, blocking his path to the door. ”Please, don”t do anything rash,” I plead, my voice trembling. “That’s exactly what he wants—for you to do something stupid that’ll get you in trouble with the police, so he can get his pigs back.”

He tries to move around me, his frustration evident in every muscle of his body. But I stand my ground, refusing to budge an inch. ”Get out of my way,” he snarls, his face contorted with rage.

I meet his gaze, my own eyes pleading with him to listen, to understand. “You promised you wouldn’t let anything bad happen to me. You swore.”

For a long moment, he stares at me, his breathing ragged, his fists clenched at his sides. I can see the battle raging within him, the struggle to control the storm that threatens to consume him.

“I need you here,” I whisper.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, his features soften. With a heavy sigh, he lowers his gaze, the fight draining out of him like water from a broken dam.

“Fine.”

I swallow past the lump in my throat. “Thank you,” I say as I wrap an arm around me. “I’ll just—I’ll go take a shower.”

Once he nods, I walk towards the corridor, quickly stopped by his voice. “You’re not stupid, Primrose.” I face him, and he looks anywhere but in my direction. “You’re a smart, fun, and beautiful woman. And any man with sense would be ecstatic to call you his.”

My gaze lowers.

“No, look at me.” When I do, he holds my gaze. “I mean it. Okay? I need you to believe it.”

I nod, and we watch each other for a while, neither saying a thing as silence and tension sizzle between us. For a moment, it looks like there’s something more to it. Like maybe I’m not just Logan’s ticket out of jail.

Clearing his throat, he walks past me and shakes the moment off. “I’ll go make dinner. I’m starving.”

He enters the kitchen, and a pink blur in my periphery catches my full attention. In trots one of the piglets, who circles my favorite T-shirt, abandoned beside the couch, and pushes at the soft cotton with its snout until it decides it’ll do. Then, it proceeds to fall asleep in a heap on top of it.

“Wait,” I say as I go after Logan. “You never told me about the pigs!”