20. Let Me Help Him
Walking as quicklyas I can past the fish table, I spot Logan talking to a middle-aged woman. The tips of his ears are bright pink as he shifts from foot to foot, pointing at the pears stacked before him. This morning, he woke me up and told me to get ready for the farmers’ market, which is excellent news—I’m sure people won’t mind paying more for their fruit and vegetables if it means looking at him.
How’s that for being ashamed?
My stomach clenches like it’s done a million times since he kissed me yesterday. We haven’t talked about it, because right after, he said he’d go on a ride and vanished for most of the day. Kyle says it’s normal, that he gets the zoomies when he’s overwhelmed.
But he let me into his bed when I woke up in the middle of the night and couldn’t fall asleep again. I might have asked for a cuddle. He might have said no, then done it anyway.
I’ve been waiting for him to bring it up, but he hasn’t so far, which would send me spiraling if it wasn’t Logan I was dealing with. He’s been going about life burying every single feeling for years, isolating himself and exacerbating his anxiety. Now that he’s allowing himself to feel something, he needs time to process it. I guess it’s to be expected.
Still, I’m dying to know how he feels about it.
Once I join his side, the woman says a quick goodbye before walking away.
“Sorry,” I say as I drop onto the stool and reach for my canteen of cold water. I appreciate the shade provided by the small roof, but it’s not enough to keep my upper lip from sweating. I swear spring doesn’t make sense in this part of the country.
“What for?”
“I think I just cost you that sale.”
He looks out at the crowd, but the woman has already been swallowed by it. “That wasn’t a customer.”
“Then who is she?”
“Beth McMallen. She wants her sixteen-year-old son to work at the farm. He’s been getting in trouble and could use an outlet.”
“What did you say?”
He nods. “As long as the farm’s mine, he can come over. It’s not a big deal. I’ll drag his sorry ass around and throw tomatoes at him if he annoys me.”
“You know, you should stop downplaying every nice thing you do. People won’t respect you any less if you acknowledge you’re a kind person.”
“Whatever you say,” he mumbles as his eyes run over me. “But you can’t leave my side again.”
“Why not?”
“Some teenager saw me with you and asked me to TikTok.”
“You can’t use it as a verb.”
He shrugs. “I won’t use it at all, because I said no. Like a kind person.”
When he smirks, I roll my eyes and adjust one of the precariously stacked eggplants. “This is a small town; and with this whole police business, I’m sure the news about our relationship spread like wildfire.” I shrug. “My fame will rub off you, so you’d better get used to the attention.”
He hums, throwing a sheepish glance at two women pointing at us. “I don’t like attention.”
I scoff. “Huh. You wouldn’t guess.” I cross my legs and fan myself with one hand. “Sorry to break it to you, but you’re impossibly tall and gorgeous. You’ll hardly ever go unnoticed.”
He gives me a pleased smile and stands a little straighter.
“What?”
“You’re tiny and gorgeous.”
“Oh.” I can’t help the grin that takes over my whole face. “Thank you.”
His eyes stay on me, but he doesn’t say a word, even though I try to mentally will him to speak. It would be the perfect moment, seeing as it’s just the two of us at the stall. But nothing comes, so with a resigned exhale, I take my tablet out.
“I think I know which recipe to send to Marisol.”
A hint of a smile plays on his lips. “Let me guess. You know what you want to make.”
“You were right. I keep worrying about what they want, what will sell, or what people like. But this is my candy—my dream. And I know exactly what I want to make.”
“What’s that?”
“Strawberry candy.”
His smile turns warm and proud.
“I know it’s pretty basic, but?—”
“No.” His head shakes. “I think it’s perfect.”
“Hopefully, Chloe will feel the same way.”
“She will.” When he notices my concerned frown, he rubs his thumb on my cheek. “She will, Primrose. She’d have to be an idiot to let you go.”
An older man approaches the table, and after looking at the apricots, he moves on to the vegetables and grabs a couple of onions, carefully weighing them in his hands.
“Hey.” Logan moves closer, his voice a whisper in my ear that sends my heart into a frenzy. “About that kiss...”
Yes, about that kiss.
This is it, finally. He wants to talk about it. What is he going to say? That it was a mistake and we should forget about it? That it was a mistake to wait so long to do it? I’m pretty sure my elbows are sweating, and I don’t think that’s ever happened before.
“Sorry I broke your rule.”
My nervous tension eases as I burst into a heartfelt chuckle. “You’re not much for rules anyway, are you?”
“No, I’m not.” His hand brushes the hair off my shoulder; then his lips are even closer. “Did you check something off your list?”
“Take me by surprise.”
“Ouch.”
“What?”
“Well, I was aiming for number twenty-three.”
Make my whole body tingle.
“When I wrote that, I pictured more than kissing.”
He lets out a low rumble, his lips now an inch away from my neck as his beard scratches my skin. “Challenge accepted.”
I press my lips together, chest heaving. Under different circumstances, I would beg him to drag me back home. I want to kiss him again. I want to kiss him all day long. But as it stands, we have another four hours here, and this market is important for Logan’s business. Anything that could convince him not to sell takes priority.
“So...just to clarify,” he whispers. “I’m your fake boyfriend. And your roommate. Your alibi. And...”
“And?” I tease.
“And for the next six days, I get to kiss you whenever I want?”
If this weren’t so adorable, I’d be upset about the lack of a clear label. “Yes.”
The tip of his nose brushes my neck, and my chest flutters, a wave of warmth coursing through my body. “Okay. That sounds good.”
I turn to face him, and a loose lock of his hair tickles my skin. His eyes are hooded, and his shallow breaths fan over my lips. “So I’ll kiss you now.”
“Please.”
He presses his lips against mine, soft and exploring. He tastes perfect, like man and nature. Like the stress of the last eleven days has been all for something. Like kissing him might be worth going to prison. Worth losing everything but him.
When I tease him with my tongue, his hand cups my cheek, and he pulls back. “Behave,” he says, then kisses me again. “I’m not above putting up a show for these people.”
I chuckle, and before I can press my lips to his a third time, the old man coughs loudly, and Logan stands. He rings through his products, and a small crowd forms around our stand in a matter of minutes.
“Can you grab the invoice from the organizer?” he asks as he finishes bagging cabbage for a woman. “His table is right there, and he doesn’t exactly... love me.”
Ah, great. Making enemies of the local farmer market’s organizer. Smart.
I venture out again into the sun, an idiotic grin on my face, and approach the man. He continues his conversation with a blonde woman, who wears so much perfume that every one of her exaggerated gestures hits me like a blow to the face. When I glance back at Logan, he’s staring back at me as if there’s nothing else worth looking at.
“Yes, darling?”
I turn to the white-haired man, whose focus is now trained on me. “Uh, I’m here to collect an invoice.”
“Sure thing.” He grabs a folder. “Surname, please?”
“Coleman.”
“Oh, you’re with Logan?” He breathes through his teeth. “Do tell him it’s nothing personal, all right?”
“Nothing personal?” I echo.
“Yeah. He was pretty pissed off when I rejected his application again. Good thing he still agreed to fill in for Julie today.”
Mouth open, I stare dumbly at him as I take the invoice he’s holding out. “How many times has he applied?”
He huffs. “Every time we open applications. But, you know, I can’t choose his business over others. Only vegans care about vegan produce.”
When he looks over my shoulder, as if he’s done with the conversation, I ask, “Are there no vegan businesses in your market?”
He shakes his head.
“Not even one?”
He must notice the disdain in my voice because, with a huffed laugh, he squeezes my arm gently. “No, sweetheart. It wouldn’t make sense to waste a stand on that, would it? Vegans can buy vegetables at any other stand.”
But many vegans would prefer to support a business that shares their views, and everybody deserves access to food. Willingly denying it to some people in favor of what he thinks will be a more profitable offer is...at the very least, yuck.
I doubt, however, that there’d be a point in telling this man that as a business owner, food provider and human being, he has a responsibility to make his service accessible to everyone. That vegan businesses also deserve a chance at surviving.
If he cared, he wouldn’t be saying this stuff.
“On the other hand,” I mumble, “providing options that vegans struggle to find elsewhere would have them flocking to your market.”
Waving at someone behind me, he chuckles. “I’ve been running this place for twenty years. I don’t think I need advice from a little girl.” He takes a step to the side. “Anyway?—”
“Would you take the advice of someone with two million followers?” He stops in his tracks, his amused smile dissipating. “Would you take a shoutout? A nice video of your market?”
“You have that kind of audience?”
Ignoring his tone, I nod, and I can almost see the moment in which, in his mind, I’m no longer sweetheart or a little girl.
“And you’d do that?”
“I would love to tell my followers about an inclusive and welcoming market.” With my lips lifting slightly, I insist, “Can I tell them that, though?”
Rubbing his beard, he looks away, pondering. “I guess...I guess Logan can have the table permanently. Provided he pays on time and doesn’t cause problems.”
“He would never.”
“I don’t think you know him very well.”
I step back, determined to walk away before he can change his mind. “I’ll ensure my audience knows how much I love your market. And Logan will be here—every week.”
With a stern nod, he watches me walk away until I turn around and reach Logan’s side.
“All good?”
“Yep. Actually, Charles would like to offer you a permanent spot.”
His eyes pierce mine. “Why would he do that?”
With a shrug, I look away. The last time I tried to help out his farm, he got angry, and I don’t want to ruin the flirty mood between us. “I don’t know. Maybe he realized introducing a vegan supplier at the market could attract a new crowd.”
“Really? He got to that conclusion all by himself?”
I throw him a casual glance. “Yep.”
He says nothing for a long moment, then he shocks me by pressing his lips to the top of my head. “Thank you.”
Oh. This is new. And I like it. Like it a lot.
His strong arms envelop me as he hugs me from behind, my fingers briefly tracing the shape of his tattoos. It’s like now that I’ve given him permission to kiss me as he pleases for the next six days, he plans to take advantage of every single moment. Not that I’m complaining.
But I slide out of his arm and take my list out. With a happy grin, I strike through number twenty, then show it to him.
“Let me help him.” He winks. “Don’t get used to it, Barbie.”
“Of course.”
“Fuck,” he grumbles as he tugs at my arm and pulls me behind him. He says his next words from the corner of his mouth. “Don’t speak, okay? I’ll tell them you’re indisposed, and?—”
“Hello.”
My muscles stiffen as I recognize Josie’s voice and I peek past Logan. She and Connor stand in front of our stall in their uniforms, and stomach turning into a knot, I cling to Logan’s shirt.
“Hello, officers,” Logan says. “How can I help you?”
“We were hoping to talk to Primrose.”
Oh, shit.
I can feel the blood drain from my face as their inquisitive eyes study me. They want to talk to me. Why me? They must have found something. I’m screwed.
He crosses his arms. “Sorry, Primrose isn’t feeling well.”
Josie’s brows arch over her eyes. “Oh no. Would you like a ride home?”
“No, it’s—just a...a little stomachache.”
She nods and awkwardly looks away. We haven’t met since she made that scene at Logan’s parents’ place, and seeing her in full cop attire now is all sorts of weird.
“Or maybe it’s guilt,” Connor offers as he pulls up a plastic bag containing my pink scrunchie with yellow flowers. One of the dozen scrunchies I had in my bag the night I set that damn trashcan on fire.
Fear grips me tightly, squeezing the air from my lungs.
“Derek’s dogs found this on his property, but he assured us Primrose was never there. To his knowledge.” He smirks, pleased as if he’s got me. “This is yours, though. We found a picture on Instagram of you wearing it, and your DNA will confirm it. So, do you want to tell us why you were there that night? Maybe you couldn’t accept that Derek moved on, and you figured if you couldn’t have him, then nobody would.”
Oh my god, I’m going to be sick.
They think I wanted to kill him. That’s attempted murder, isn’t it? Far worse than accidental arson, which doesn’t exist anyway.
“Oh,” Logan says, casually, pointing at the scrunchie. “That’s mine.”
All eyes turn to him as Connor scoffs. “Yours? This pink scrunchie?”
“Uh-huh.” Logan gestures lazily at his head. “Long hair. Need to tie it up sometimes.”
“So why was Primrose wearing it in that Instagram picture?”
“I lent it to her.”
With a sigh, Josie takes a step closer. Her eyes are soft on Logan as she whispers, “This isn’t yours, Logan. And if you say it is, that places you on Derek’s property. I appreciate that you want to help Primrose, but this is a serious crime, and?—”
Logan huffs, then shoves a hand in his pocket and retrieves one of my scrunchies—the pink one with cute flamingos.
What...Why does he have that?
“There. See?” He pulls part of his hair up in a bun, then wraps the scrunchie around it. “Use them all the time.”
“Even better,” Connor says. “We’ll need you to come down to the station for some questions. If the scrunchie is yours.”
I shudder, sweat dripping down the sides of my face. I can’t let him do that. He can’t go to prison for a crime I committed. “Logan,” I whisper, my voice trembling, but before I can say anything else, he reaches behind blindly and squeezes my arm tight.
“I’ll see you at the station this afternoon. So you can ask all these pressing questions.” Logan leans forward, his hand still gripping my elbow. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m trying to sell my produce here.”
“Guess what, Coleman?” Connor sneers. “We do mind.”
“Connor, it’s fine. He said he’d come. Let’s go.” Josie motions at him to follow as she steps back, but he doesn’t move a muscle, his hateful gaze still on Logan.
When Connor lets her drag him away, his fevered gaze is still on Logan like a rabid dog who can’t let go of its chosen prey, until little by little, the crowd dissipates. Everyone goes back to shopping, chatting, and perusing the stalls—everyone but Derek, who stands on the opposite side of the market and wiggle his fingers in a corny ‘Hello.’
“Ignore him.” Logan’s hand runs protectively over my side. “Or I could break his kneecaps. That’s an option too.”
“Forget about Derek, Logan,” I scold. “What about the police? What are we going to do?”
“You won’t do a single thing, Barbie. I’ve got this.”
Does he?! Or does he think he ‘got this’ while actually, he’s burying a deeper grave for himself with each interaction? Now they know he was on Derek’s property, and it would be one thing if he was getting caught for stealing the pigs, but my mistake? I won’t let him go down for it.
Noticing the creases on my forehead, he squeezes my hand, a confident look in his eyes. “I’ve got you, Barbie.”