32. Paper Rings
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
paper rings
ABI
BLACKBURN FALLS, ONTARIO
PRESENT DAY
We decided I would drive this morning. After all, I know the way to Blackburn Falls like the back of my own hand, which has the added benefit of letting me take the scenic route. Logan gets to sleep, but more importantly, I get to think.
Think about how my mother is going to meet my fake fiancé.
How my friends are going to meet my fake fiancé.
How my ex is going to?—
No, we’re not going there right now.
As I burn past the Welcome to Blackburn Falls sign, a knot begins to form in my stomach. Just like Emerald Bay, it takes about 40 minutes to walk from one end of town to the other. It’s filled with white picket fences, manicured lawns, and little shops that are straight out of a Hallmark movie, but coming back still somehow always feels like a funeral. I grew up in this place, had the best and worst days of my life here, and seeing it all again feels like I’m gonna be pretty much forced into reminiscing.
I spot my mom’s house at the edge of Prior Street, a little green and white rancher with an emerald lawn that shines like a jewel. The sun spilling down adds to the picturesque look, which contrasts with some of my less than perfect memories.
“Sunshine,” I kill the engine, giving him a quick shake. “We’re here.”
Logan lifts his head, rubbing his eyes as he tries to figure out exactly where he is.
“God, I feel like I just went to sleep.”
“You’ve been out for a couple of hours, it’s?—“
The front door of my mom’s house slams open and she’s already on her way down the steps towards us. She looks gorgeous, dressed up in a flowing blue and white floral skirt that’s draped all the way down to her ankles, and a tank top that shows off the little tattoo she got for me when I earned my PhD. It’s a rose with Dr. Abigail King written in the banner below it. I’ll never get tired of that.
“Baby!” My mom shrieks, practically launching herself at the car.
The second I lift myself out she’s on me, kissing every inch of my face until I can’t help but laugh.
“It’s good to see you, momma!”
“Oh, it’s so good to see you too! You look so beautiful! ” She steps back, gripping my shoulders tightly as she glances down at my barren hand. The left one. “Where’s the ring?”
Have you ever been so afraid your whole body clenches and could swear your asshole might just whistle?
Because that’s me right now.
We forgot to get a fucking ring.
“Oh, that’s my bad!” Logan calls out, dragging our suitcases up the driveway. “I’ve been holding onto it!”
When I turn around he’s already searching his pockets, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he reaches behind my ear with one swift motion.
“I put it here for safe keeping.”
I have to hold back my gasp when he opens his palm. It’s the ring I pointed out all the way back in Banff. He went back for it.
“We had to get it resized and polished, and I guess we just forgot to put it back where it belongs.”
He smiles at me, with a look that practically screams now don’t mess this up , but there’s more weight to it than that.
“Sorry, my love. I totally forgot to remind you.”
“No, it’s my fault, I forgot to ask,” I chuckle, still a little bit nervous.
“That looks just like Baba’s ring,” my mom gasps. “Is that amethyst?”
I’ve never seen Logan this proud of himself before, at least if we don’t count the time he took a flying tackle at Frankie during a ‘friendly’ game of touch football.
Well, it was supposed to be touch football.
“Yes, ma’am. Abi said she didn’t want diamonds, and who am I to deny a woman in love?” He winks at me, sliding it onto my finger. “Look at that, a perfect fit.”
At this point I think Baba must be working some magic from beyond the grave, because that ring looks like it belongs on my hand.
“You have impeccable taste, Doctor Flynn,” my mom grins, patting him on the shoulder.
“Doctor was my dad’s name,” he beams. “You can call me Logan.”
“Well, you’re free to call me mom if you’d like, since you’re marrying my little girl and all.”
She has that little warble in her voice that tells me she’s about to cry, and I realize for the first time how painful this lie might end up being, but for now he doesn't even hesitate.
“You got it, ma.”
Brendan never called her mom. In fact, he didn’t seem to like my mother much. I think he resented our closeness, just like he resented my career, my accomplishments, my ambition…
All this time it’s been a knife, sitting deep in my chest, just waiting to twist.
“Okay, let’s get you kids settled into the guest house. I’ve got dinner in the oven.”
“Sounds good!” Logan chirps, picking up our bags with ease before my mom leads us around the back of the house.
The yard is beautiful, brimming with big pink and white rose bushes, gorgeous blue hydrangeas, a pool, and my mom’s big fluffy calico lounging next to it. Good thing I stocked up on allergy pills before we got here.
“Holy shit,” Logan murmurs. “This is amazing, Mrs. King! And who’s that beautiful beast by the pool?”
“That’s Joan. I named her after?—”
“Joan Jett?” Logan asks with a hopeful gasp.
“Joan Didion, actually,” my mom laughs. “She’s my favorite writer.”
“Oh, just as cool! I think I must have read The White Album at least ten times when I was a teenager.”
“Alright Abi,” my mom smiles, leading us to the guest house. “This one’s a keeper.”
The building’s about the size of a one bedroom apartment, tucked into the very back of the yard. For a couple of years before I graduated high school, mom actually let me move in as a kind of dress rehearsal for getting my own place.
As we reach the door, my mom digs two sets of keys out of her pocket, presenting them to us.
“You’re welcome to stay as long as you want, but I don’t expect you to spend all your time with little old me. Tonight though, I’m calling mom-dibs. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve gotta pull the pot roast out of the oven and get started on the veggies.”
“You need help in the kitchen, ma?” Logan calls back to her, hauling our suitcases inside the guest house.
Even though he’s just putting on a show, it still makes my heart flutter. I glance at my mother who has her hand on her chest, looking very charmed.
“Why don’t you two get settled, and then maybe Logan could help me chop up some of the veggies for the salad?”
“You got it, I’ll be back in two shakes!”
She gives my shoulders a squeeze.
“He’s gorgeous, he’s polite, and he wants to help out in the kitchen?”
“He’s a pretty good cook, too,” I mutter.
My mom’s smile just gets wider. She knows he’s ticking all the boxes.
“Well, maybe we can strong arm him into making dinner for us one night.”
“I don’t think you need to strong arm Logan into anything,” I laugh. “I’m pretty sure he’d clean your whole house just to impress you.”
“You know, that could actually be relaxing." She gently boops my nose. “But for now, you two focus on getting settled. Oh, before I forget, I found your old swimsuit when I was cleaning the guest house. The red one with the white polka dots.”
I don’t think I’ve worn that thing since I was 21. I found it at a thrift store in Kingston and fell in love with it immediately. It was the bathing suit that made me realize I could both look good and feel good in a two-piece.
“It’s still here?”
“You know I never throw anything of yours away.” She kisses me on each cheek. “It’s so good to have you home, baby.”
“It’s good to be home.”
Mom struts toward the house, leaving me standing in front of our temporary home, just as Logan pokes his head outside, grinning from ear to ear.
“What’re you smiling about?”
“Nothing, I just heard all those nice things your mom had to say about me.” His smile grows wider. “Gorgeous and polite?”
“Never heard her string those two together in a sentence before, and I don’t know… looking at you now? Maybe her eyesight’s getting a little bad in her old age.”
“Oh, you’re fucking hilarious, King. Now come check out this house!”
It’s just as small as I remember, but the interior’s gotten slightly more modern since the last time I stayed here. A king size bed has replaced my old shitty twin and the sheets are a soft silky material that feels like butter on my palm.
The walls are filled with pictures of me and mom, me and Kat, and even a few pictures of my mom and dad. My chest tightens, but before I can feel an ounce of grief, Logan squeezes my shoulders.
“So… I saw the bikini,” he purrs.
I roll my eyes. This man’s libido is through the roof.
“Oh, you did, did you?”
He grabs my swimsuit off the dresser and holds it up to me, his eyes glittering with mischief. I forgot how tiny those triangles were; I don’t know if they’ll hold my boobs anymore.
“Can I say something crass?”
“Hit me with it.”
He wraps one arm around my waist.
“I really can’t wait to fuck you in this thing.”
“Behave yourself.”
“When have I ever done that?” He asks, playfully tossing the bathing suit back on top of the dresser.
We take in the rest of the guest house together as we start to unpack.
All my posters are gone, mostly replaced with paintings and photographs of the main Blackburn attractions. The Silver Oaks trail, the old berry farm, the pumpkin patch, and of course the falls themselves, surrounded by lush trees.
The only remnant of my past still present is a Nosferatu poster that my mom bought for my 15 th birthday. It’s hanging above the bed, only now it’s been upgraded with a slick black frame.
“The last time I was here, that poster was barely hanging on for dear life. I think it may be the only thing that survived my youth other than my Metallica t-shirt.”
Logan gives me a quick kiss on my temple.
“You know why we became best friends?” He asks.
“Are you going to say it’s because I own a Nosferatu poster? Because that’s kind of weird.”
“The poster helps, but no,” he chuckles. “It’s because when I’m with you, I feel like I’ve known you for like 30 years. It felt that from moment-one.”
“I feel it too,” I whisper.
Sometimes when I’m telling him a story about something stupid that happened in high school, I catch myself before I say, ‘Come on, you remember,’ but of course, he couldn’t. Some people are so ingrained in our souls that it feels like they’ve just always been there.
Logan looks down at me, and this time I can tell there’s something forlorn behind his eyes. I wonder how many different futures he has planned for us in different universes. I wish I could see them all.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Nothing,” he murmurs. “Just… sometimes I forget that this isn’t real.”
“It’s real for the rest of this trip.” I reach up and cup his cheek. “Okay?”
The sunlight hits my ring, the glittering gem catching my eye, and I stop to stare at it for a moment. I can’t believe he actually bought it.
“So, you went back to that store to buy me the ring?”
“Of course I did. It means a lot to you.” His eyes dance around my face, blinking rapidly the way he does when his nerves start getting the best of him. “You can return it if you want. I kept the receipt.”
“Why would I want to do that?” I ask, placing my hand on his chest. “You did something incredibly sweet, Logan.”
I can feel his hummingbird heartbeat begin to slow a little.
“Just trying to be a good friend.”
“How about you let me pay for half of it when we get back?”
In an instant, the anxiety on his face melts away.
“I accept Visa, Venmo, and blowjobs.”
“Oh!” I laugh, shoving him backward. “You do, do you, asshole?”
In seconds Logan’s pinned me to the mattress, peppering kisses up and down my neck. I squeal with laughter, kicking my legs as I try to escape his iron grip. For a skinny dude, he’s shockingly strong.
“You adore me! Admit it!”
“No!” I howl as he tickles my sides, my body reflexively trying to curl in on itself. “You’re a menace!”
I’m laughing to the point of tears as Logan alternates between assaulting my ribs and kissing my neck, which of course also tickles. I haven’t laughed like this in years: loud, riotous, and totally unrestrained.
“All you have to do is say iiiit!” He sings.
“Never!”
I try to get the advantage, sliding out from underneath him, but he grasps me by the waist and rolls onto his side. In an instant, we’re falling off the bed, each of us letting out a loud yelp as we come crashing down. Luckily for me, I end up on top of Logan, and manage to scramble upright first, straddling his hips as our chests heave in unison.
“Admit it,” he rasps.
It doesn’t look like he’s joking anymore. I can’t tell if my heart is pounding because of our play fighting, or something else.
“I adore you.”
He lets out a growl, pulling me back down on top of him and into a fiery kiss.
“You promised you’d help my mom with dinner,” I murmur as he begins to suck on my earlobe.
“And I never break my promises, but I’m 100% sure I can make you come in three minutes or less.”
I raise a brow.
“Prove it, tough guy.”
That cocky grin returns as his hands slip up and rest on my hips.
“Your clit has 10,281 nerve endings and I know exactly how you like to be licked.”
I grind down on his cock just to make him squirm.
“Unfortunately, I think those 10,281 nerve endings are going to have to wait until after dinner.”
His face twists up in only partially feigned agony, and I can’t help but giggle.
“Fine, but I can’t do dinner with a raging hard on,” he laughs, rolling us onto our sides. “Get your cute ass off me.”
Logan changes into a tight black t-shirt that does nothing to quell my less-than-pure thoughts toward him. He’s always been self conscious of his lanky frame, dressing in layers to look more filled out than he actually is. But I’ve always liked men who are lean, tall, and at least a little gangly. I could look at him all day, from that perfectly messy hair all the way down to my favorite part of him:
His hands.
They drive me crazy. The tattoos on his knuckles, his pinky ring, and his fingers ? My god. I don’t know how many times I used to imagine them touching me in all the places I know they shouldn’t.
“Whatcha lookin’ at?” Logan teases. “I usually charge per hour.”
“Nothing special,” I mutter. “Just your hands.”
“Hmm.” He glances down, stretching out his fingers as he admires them. “I should probably put them to good use, huh?”
I strut over to him, getting right up in his face as I begin to play with the button on his jeans. We might have a little extra time after all.
“Maybe you should.”
“Yeah…” He breathes, his voice as deep and sultry as it can get. “By chopping veggies, right?”
I roll my eyes and Logan lets out a howl of laughter.
“Awww, look who doesn’t like the taste of her own medicine!”
I feign a few playful jabs to his gut and he doubles over, holding his stomach as he staggers backward with all the drama of community-theatre Shakespeare.
“Oh Shortcake, you’re in trouble now.”
Then, he’s off like a bullet, darting out of the house as I chase after him.
“Mrs. King! Mrs. King! Abi’s bullying me!”