Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Olivia
"Will you walk into my parlour?"
said a spider to a fly;
"'Tis the prettiest little parlour
that ever you did spy.”
~ Mary Howitt
Fifteen minutes after hanging up with Logan, I’m punching in the gate code at the base of the driveway. The ornate wrought iron gate slides open. I drive through and follow the curve around past the front door to the guest parking spaces. Yes. They have three spaces just past the four-car garage, their own mini parking lot.
Glancing up at the stately three-story home, I remember the last time I was here. Our senior year in high school, Logan’s parents hosted a graduation party. It was catered—tray-passed appetizers, rolled towels stacked by the pool out back, a non-alcoholic bar where students could order mocktails. So over the top. Amazing, but also a poignant reminder that Logan and I come from two different worlds even though we started out as neighbors.
This is the last place I want to be after the humiliation of my botched presentation this morning. I grab everything Logan left at the office and stride to the door, determined to make this as quick as possible. Drop off the box. Get in my car. Drive away. Simple.
I walk up the steps and prop the box on my hip. I’m about to knock when I’m stopped by a heated exchange just on the other side of the door. I hover near the threshold, unsure if I should knock or wait. Maybe I should just leave the box on the porch and go.
“You can’t just keep mooching off Mom and Dad forever!” Logan’s voice cuts through the air, sharp and obviously at the end of his rope. He’s not yelling. It’s like he’s trying to control his volume, but he’d yell if he could.
“Oh, lighten up, Mr. Perfect. Not all of us can be the golden child,” another voice says, full of smugness and dripping with sarcasm. Jacob .
I’m frozen, my feet riveted to the porch.
Golden child?
I should leave. Definitely. I’m leaving. Now. I’ll just go.
But my feet have other ideas. And, apparently, so does my hand. Something about the tone of Logan’s voice—the weariness, anger, and exasperation—tugs at me unexpectedly.
I knock firmly on the door.
The voices stop. The door swings open. Logan looks down at me, his expression a mix of irritation and surprise even though he knew to expect me.
“Olivia. Oh, um … thanks for stopping by.”
I pivot the box and hold it in front of me like a shield … or maybe an offering.
“All the material for Untethered,” I say, even though we both know what’s in the box.
Jacob stands behind Logan, a carefree smile on his face.
Logan sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Thanks. Do you want to come in?”
Reluctantly, I step inside, carrying the box with me. Normally, I wouldn’t accept Logan’s invitation, but overhearing what I just did, I oblige him.
A small part of me tries to raise a red flag, but I disregard that warning for once. Logan’s not focused on taking me down. At least, not tonight, he’s not. From the way he’s looking at his brother, his chest nearly heaving with emotion, I’d say I’m definitely not the one who ought to be nervous right now. The tension in the room is palpable. Jacob, a scruffier, far less thoughtful version of Logan, walks up to me, a drink in his hand and a smirk on his face.
“Well, well,” Jacob drawls, eyeing me. “Good to see you again, Olivia.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Are you here for dinner too, Jacob?”
“Nah.” His voice is cavalier. “I’m living here for a bit. Nothing permanent. Just while I work out the kinks on these ventures … er, projects … inventions I’m pulling together.”
I look at Logan. Weariness fills his usually cocky features. His eyes practically plead with me—for what, I’m not sure—rescue? Empathy? A vow of silence? He’s got all that if I can give it.
Outside this room and this moment, we are still deadly rivals. But for now, I can set all that aside. And I will. Logan’s obviously overwhelmed. Possibly angry. Definitely embarrassed. Though, he has nothing to be embarrassed about. He’s not the one loafing at his parents’ home well into his twenties.
“What kind of inventions … or ventures are you talking about, Jacob?”
“It’s top secret. But I can trust you, can’t I, Olivia?”
“I won’t tell anyone.”
“Well, the first one is scratch and sniff wallpaper.” Jacob’s face is dead serious. “Think about it. A house that smells good sells better on the market. They’re always telling people to bake bread or burn candles for open houses. So, scratch and sniff. You could hang the paper in the bathroom to act like an air freshener. Things like that.”
“Wow,” I say, glancing at Logan to gauge whether I should be impressed or concerned.
“Yeah,” Jacob’s tone fills with excitement. “I mean, your kids could have chocolate rooms, or cotton candy. Definitely not broccoli, am I right?” He laughs.
Logan’s face takes on the expression he gets when he’s all business.
“This is the first I’m hearing of this, specifically,” Logan says. “Do you have a business plan? Calculations for cost of production? A supplier? Factories? Distributors? Will the smell stay on the paper forever? Will it wear out over time?”
“The logistics of things like this take time,” Jacob says. “We’re still in the theoretical stage.”
“And you’re creating this while living in our parents’ home?”
“Hey, Steve Jobs created Apple while he lived at his parents’ house.”
“So you’re the next Steve Jobs?”
“This is going to be bigger than Apple. You watch and see.”
Logan doesn’t dignify Jacob with an answer.
“That’s not all,” Jacob says. “I’m also working on umbrellas to attach to dogs’ collars for rainy days. They’re called pupbrellas … and I’ve got thoughts about a robot who’ll fetch you drinks when you don’t feel like getting off the couch. That’s called Drink-Bot.”
Logan’s quiet. I can tell he’s trying not to answer.
But siblings often have an irresistible need to set the record straight.
Logan looks Jacob dead in the eyes. “When you say you’re working on these things, what exactly do you mean?”
“I mean, they’re in the works. Every great invention starts with ingenuity.”
Logan opens his mouth to say something. Then he shuts it.
“Hard work pays off,” I tell Jacob. “And by hard work, I mean the work that comes after the brainstorming.”
Jacob takes a sip of his drink, as if he doesn’t have a care in the world.
I glance at Logan, and he exhales a long breath.
His eyes are soft—weary, but also possibly relieved.
Was he worried I would judge him for his brother’s choices? Maybe he doesn’t know me as well as I think he does.
Jacob laughs, clearly unfazed. “Touché, Olivia.” Then he looks at Logan and tips his drink in Logan’s direction. “I like her, bro. Always did.”
Jacob smiles at me. “Olivia, you’ve got spunk.”
Then he looks at Logan. “You should keep her around.”
Logan shoots his brother a glare. “Ignore him.”
“I’m trying,” I mutter, thrusting the box at Logan. “Here. I’ll get out of your way.”
“Wait,” Logan says, taking the box and trailing after me as I turn for the door.
I step onto the porch, and Logan follows me. “Sorry you had to walk into … that.”
I shrug. “Not my business. Families are complicated. He’s not a reflection of you—or your parents. Who knows? Maybe one rainy day, you’ll look back on this conversation while you’re putting a pupbrella on Rhett, scratching the wallpaper for one last sniff before your morning walk.”
Logan chuckles. “Yeah. I’m sure that day is right around the corner.”
Logan’s voice drips with a tired sort of sarcasm, but his mouth tips up in a smile. I can’t help but smile back. I nearly made him laugh. And it made me feel better than I usually feel around him.
I walk down the steps toward my car, but then I glance back at Logan. He’s still got that sad, defeated puppy dog look in his eyes. It’s a look I don’t ever remember seeing on his face.
“For what it’s worth,” I tell him. “I don’t think you’re the golden child. You work for what you have. That’s more than can be said for some people.”
Logan blinks. I obviously caught him off guard. Maybe he’s the type who thinks he can disparage his brother but then gets riled up when anyone else speaks the truth about him.
Just when I think Logan’s going to lay into me, defending Jacob, he smiles. It’s not a big, wide-open smile. It’s just a little grin, but it’s enough to make my heart skip a beat.
Whaaaaat?
My heart does not skip a beat for Logan Alexander. Even if he does seem more human than ever. Nope. This is dangerous territory. I’m the fly, buzzing around this soft, beautiful silken web, admiring the beauty and chatting with the spider who wove it. Before I know it, I’ll be stuck, trapped, the spider’s unwitting prey.
“Thanks,” the handsome spider says to me.
He grins again, and I flee.
Sorry, spider. This fly will live to see another day.