Tessa
Chapter twenty-three
I can’t remember the last time I slept this well.
My body is deliciously sore, and the dull ache in my hips conjures up flashbacks of the way Logan’s body fit so perfectly against mine.
It’s been a long time since I’ve been comfortable with someone the way I am with him and even longer since I’ve been held.
God, the way he held me.
After muffling his groans in the crook of my neck as he came, he slowly eased himself from my body and disappeared into the bathroom to take care of the condom.
When he came back, he pulled his boxers on and lay down beside me, pulling me into his side.
His arm settled around me with his hand on my hip, holding me close as I rested my head on his chest and slung my arm across his waist.
It was such an intimate position, maybe even more so than what we had just finished doing.
We had sex when we were nothing more than strangers, and while I guess it was still an intimate thing, it didn’t make me feel nearly as vulnerable as cuddling with him did.
There was something about the way he gently trailed his fingertips over my skin in a rhythmic motion as I listened to the steady beat of his heart that had my eyes stinging with emotion.
I blinked away the tears, hoping he wouldn’t notice. He did. His hold on me tightened as he pulled me close and pressed a kiss to the top of my head. That one simple gesture made me feel more seen and cared for than any words he could’ve possibly spoken in that moment.
With a light groan, I peel my eyes open as I reach for my phone sitting on my nightstand. I have no idea what time it is, but the soft blue light filtering in through the curtains tells me it’s still early. Way too early to be awake.
Something tightens around my waist, and I freeze.
Logan.
Glancing over my shoulder, I watch as a sleepy smile spreads across his lips. “Stop wiggling like that unless you’re ready for more, darlin’.” He presses his hips forward, grinding his cock against my ass.
This man. Does he not realize what a mess this is? We weren’t supposed to fall asleep.
Rolling over, I take a minute to admire his features.
His eyes are still closed, and his smile is slowly fading, clearly having only woken up enough to throw that playful threat my way before sleep claimed him again.
A layer of stubble covers his jaw and upper lip, and his light brown hair looks about as messy as I’m sure mine does.
His chest is still bare, having never bothered to throw on more than his boxers, and my gaze drops to the dark hair across his chest, slightly thicker in the center.
Reaching up, I run my fingers through the thin patch, and his arm tightens around me.
Poor guy really has no idea that I’m getting ready to insist he leave. As much as I hate the thought of it, I don’t think I’m ready to explain this to Jake.
“Logan,” I say softly, sliding my hand to the back of his head and carding my fingers through his hair. “You have to wake up.”
He groans, leaning toward me in a way that pushes me to my back. Wrapping his arms around my body, his face settles in the crook of my neck, and it’s then that I realize my other mistake.
Not only did we fall asleep, but I fell asleep practically naked as well.
I don’t remember slipping my underwear back on, but I must have at some point when I got up to use the bathroom.
Being the only parent in the house, I always make sure to wear pajamas to bed just in case something happens, and I’m needed in the middle of the night.
A breathy laugh escapes me at his playful morning antics, but still, I try again. “We fell asleep,” I say, curling an arm around him while my other hand combs through his hair. “We have to get up and get dressed, and—”
“You want me to leave?” His voice is low and rough, laced with sleep and something else that feels an awful lot like disappointment.
Asking him to leave when the sun has only just begun to rise feels like a special kind of cruelty. I don’t want him to leave, but it’s probably for the best.
“Not even a little bit,” I soothe, running my fingers gently down his back. “But Jake’s an early riser, and…”
How do I explain that I don’t want to tell my son about us until I know for sure that what we have is going to last?
He says he’s all in now, but what about when things get tough?
Being a parent isn’t easy, and he’s being thrown into the deep end without fully knowing how to swim.
Jake needs and deserves stability, and as much as Logan has given me every reason to believe he’s serious about me, I need to be sure.
“This is still so new,” I murmur, hoping it will be enough of an explanation.
He shifts onto his forearms and lifts his head, forest-green eyes meeting mine as his sleepy smile turns serious. “All in, remember darlin’?”
I nod, biting at the inside of my lower lip. “All in,” I repeat. “But—”
“I get it. You don’t owe me an explanation.” He leans in and feathers his nose along mine before kissing me. It’s short and sweet and exactly the kind of reassurance I needed.
Spending Sunday mornings with my parents has become a tradition since Jake was born.
When he was a baby, it started with my mom bringing over some premade meals and whatever essentials we needed, though I think it was really just her way of checking on us.
As he has gotten older, we’ve started to spend Sundays at their house more often.
The modest craftsman-style home sits at the end of a quiet cul-de-sac, lined with large shade trees.
No two houses on the street are the same, but that’s part of its charm.
Some are painted in neutral tones, while a few are painted blue, green, or yellow.
Growing up on this street has always reminded me of the cozy neighborhoods you see on TV, and it’s exactly why Ryan and I bought the house we did.
We got our home as a fixer-upper, but we only managed a few updates before the accident.
The kitchen appliances were the first things we replaced, along with a fresh coat of paint throughout the house, but I’d still love to have new flooring and countertops installed.
The carpet in the bedrooms has seen better days—the padding underneath might as well be nonexistent—and the kitchen counters are old white tile with white grout.
The bones of the house are perfect, but it needs a lot of TLC, and I haven’t had the time or the money to do much of anything.
I’m only able to keep up with the yard maintenance thanks to a few teenagers who stop by once a month to earn a little extra cash.
If I could, I would love to plant a garden in the backyard, just big enough to grow a few fruits and vegetables.
The front of the house would be beautiful with some flowers leading up the front walkway and maybe a few plants hanging around the porch. But none of that has been a priority.
“Do you think Nana made chocolate chip waffles?” Jake asks from the backseat, excitedly kicking his legs.
“I’m sure she did, buddy. She knows they’re your favorite.
” Mom has made them almost every Sunday that we’ve spent with them.
She tried to switch it up and make chocolate chip muffins once.
Let’s just say it didn’t go over well. Jake loves blueberry muffins and chocolate chip waffles, but switch them, and he refuses to eat either.
Like Ryan, he loves peanut butter on his waffles instead of syrup.
It’s funny how certain habits and preferences are so much like his, and yet he’s never been here for Jake to know that’s where he gets it from.
I barely have time to park on the curb outside of my parents’ place before Jake unbuckles the booster seat’s harness and tries to open the door.
I learned the hard way to keep the child lock on the car doors and windows.
It only took one instance of him throwing one of his shoes out the window when he was a toddler and trying to open his door himself in a busy parking lot before I had completely parked, for me to switch them on.
He jumps out of the SUV as soon as I open his door and runs toward the front porch.
“Pop!” he calls, and Dad looks up from the newspaper in his lap as a smile brightens his face.
Sitting on the porch in his old wooden rocking chair while he reads the Hartridge Chronicle has been his routine for as long as I can remember.
He swears he doesn’t pay any attention to the town gossip, yet he’ll read our town’s newspaper front to back to make sure he’s not missing anything.
“There’s my favorite little man,” Dad says, setting the paper aside as he stands to greet Jake.
“Should we go inside and see what kind of treats Nana made?” Jake runs past him, and Dad laughs as he watches him disappear into the house.
He turns to me as I climb the front porch steps.
“Hey there, Tessie,” he says, wrapping an arm around my shoulders as the comforting scent of his cologne washes over me.
“I almost thought we wouldn’t see you today. ”
“C’mon now. You know I wouldn’t miss a Sunday with you and Mom. Jake’s been asking for chocolate chip waffles since his feet hit the floor this morning.”
“Your mom’s got a giant stack of ‘em in there.” He nods his head, gesturing toward the house.