Chapter 7 #3
“Bedtime story?” Violet asks, her eyes already half-closed.
I sit on the edge of the bed while Logan relaxes into the rocking chair in the corner. I read from a book Violet brought home from the library, a story about a brave little girl and her magical dog who go on adventures.
By the time I reach the third page, Violet's breathing has evened out into sleep. Cookie's eyes are closed too, though her tail gives one small thump when I stop reading.
Logan and I tiptoe out of the room, leaving the door cracked open. In the hallway, we stand close together, speaking in whispers.
“That was fast,” I say.
“She was exhausted. All that running around with Cookie wore her out.” He nods toward the stairs, and we head back down.
The realization that we’re alone lands like a stone in my stomach. I can hear his breathing, feel the weight of his presence next to me. The house feels different, quiet and more intimate, full of possibility.
“Want another glass of wine?” Logan offers.
“Sure.”
He leads me out to the back patio where we collapse onto the cushioned outdoor couch. String lights sway gently above us, casting shifting shadows. I breathe in the night air, goosebumps rising on my arms. Somewhere in the distance, waves crash against the shore.
“Thank you,” Logan says after a moment. “For being so good with Violet. For letting Cookie stay. For...” He trails off, shaking his head. “For everything, really.”
“You don't have to thank me. I care about her.” I take a sip of wine. “About both of you.”
“You mean a lot to me, too, Heather.” His voice is serious now, all the earlier playfulness gone.
My pulse kicks into overdrive. “What does that mean?”
He sets down his beer and faces me, stretching an arm along the back cushions. “It means I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since the day I moved in. If I'm being honest, I haven't stopped thinking about you since high school.”
I stare at him, my jaw sagging, not quite believing what I'm hearing. “Logan—”
“Let me finish.” He takes my hand, his thumb tracing circles on my palm.
“I know the timing and situation are complicated.
Hell, I just moved back and I'm figuring out how to be a parent, and you have your own life and career. But I need you to know that this,” he gestures between us, “doesn’t feel casual for me. It hasn't from the start.”
I can barely breathe. “It’s not casual for me, either.”
“No?”
“No.” I laugh, a slightly hysterical sound.
“Logan, I've been half in love with you since I was seventeen years old. When you left after graduation without saying goodbye, it broke my heart. And now you're back, living next door, and you’re even better than I remembered. It’s beautiful and wonderful, and utterly terrifying.”
His finger idly twines a lock of my hair like a curling iron as the corners of his mouth lift. “Terrifying how?”
“By feeling too much or if you leave again.” The words tumble out before I can stop them, and I bite my bottom lip before I say anything else.
His face hardens. “Heather, I'm not going anywhere. I'm here to stay.”
“You don’t know that,” I whisper.
“Life happens.” He shrugs. “I know that better than anyone. But I’m here now, and I'd really like to see where this goes.”
I stare into his eyes, seeing nothing but sincerity there. And for the first time since he moved back, hope settled over me like warm sunlight, and I didn't push it away.
“Okay,” I say softly.
“Yeah?”
“Let's see where this goes.”
His smile is brilliant, and then he's kissing me again, his mouth gliding over mine as if he's done this a thousand times. His fingers thread through my hair as his tongue traces the seam of my lips, demanding entrance, and I melt completely into him as he dives in.
This kiss is much different from the one in my kitchen.
That was exploratory and tentative, a gentle hello.
This is steamy, a claiming. This is Logan declaring what he wants: me.
The firm brand pressing into my hip is a confirmation of his desire and I writhe against it, desperate for more.
When his large hand closes over my sensitive breast, I moan into his mouth.
“Logan…” I love and hate the desperation in my voice as I arch against him, begging for more.
He pulls me onto his lap, my legs straddling him and my core pressing against his hard length.
When we finally break apart, our ragged breaths fill the silence between us.
Logan rests his forehead against mine, his eyes closed.
“I've been wanting to do that for weeks,” he murmurs, his hand squeezing my flesh as he grinds his hips up. “And a lot more.”
“Me, too.”
“Can I do it again?”
I laugh. “Yes, please.”
His hand tangles in my hair, holding me in place as his lips and tongue work their magic spell on me.
This kiss is slower and deeper. I lose track of everything except the feel of his lips on mine and the solid warmth of him pressed against me.
My mind short circuits as his hand drifts down to cup my ass, massaging it lightly.
Logan’s mouth breaks away and I moan as his mouth drifts down my neck, planting stinging kisses along the way. “Fuck, you’re driving me crazy. Heather, if we don’t stop soon, you’re gonna be staying the night, too.”
The temptation to let myself go and see where this goes is overwhelming and I can’t hold back a hiss as his teeth catch a tender spot on the inside of my breast. His fingers dig into my ass as he grinds up until we’re dry humping each other like horny teenagers.
With an agonized groan, he tilts his head back, eyes squeezed shut. “We should stop.” His hands flex against the globes of my ass as if in protest of his statement.
“Yeah.” The words are forced from my throat, but Logan’s right. The last thing we need to do is rush into a physical relationship with everything so new. It’s not just the two of us who would be affected. “We should.”
We hold each other, my head on his shoulder, his arms wrapped around me as the heat between us slowly dissipates. The string lights twinkle above us, and somewhere in the house, our girls are sleeping peacefully.
“I know we need some sleep, but could we stay like this a bit longer?” Logan's voice is soft, almost hesitant.
“Of course,” I murmur, melting at the gentle plea. What sane woman could possibly refuse?
And so we sit there, wrapped up in each other, talking about everything and nothing.
He tells me more about his baseball career, the highs and lows, what it was like to have it end so abruptly.
I tell him about building the library program, my hopes for the children's center, how proud I am of what Pelican Point has become.
Everything else slips away unnoticed. When I finally glance at my watch, I grimace at the late hour. “I have a busy day tomorrow. I should really get some sleep,” I say, reluctantly pulling myself free from our cozy cocoon.
“What time do you leave for work in the morning?” he asks as he walks me to my porch, his hand clasping mine like a lifeline.
“By eight. Amy and I have a planning meeting first thing. Just so you know, Cookie is usually up by six.”
He grunts. “Me, too. I’ll text you when we’re awake.”
“Okay.” I stop at my door, turning to him. “Logan, I—”
He cuts me off with a kiss that steals every thought from my mind.
His hand cups my face as he backs me gently against the support post. The kiss goes molten, overwhelming, and I gasp against his lips as my hands fist in his shoulders because nothing else exists except his mouth on mine and the way my body is forgetting how to stand.
Several minutes later, I float into my house, my lips still tingling, my heart full.
The glow from the lights lining Logan's backyard spills into my dining room. They’re swaying in the breeze, and I think about my dog sleeping peacefully next to Violet, about the man who's somehow become essential to my happiness in just a few short weeks.
And for the first time in a long time, I let myself hope for a future I never thought I'd have.