Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Logan
In every man's heart there is a secret nerve
that answers to the vibrations of beauty.
~ Christopher Morley
“Thanks a lot, guys,” Charlie says, in what I’m learning is his typical dramatic fashion. “You both abandoned me yesterday after the Aspyn fiasco. I was left here to explain everything to Darwin and Rick.”
I shoot Charlie a warning glance. I don’t want Olivia to know what I was up to yesterday—at all. When she packed up to pick up her niece, I appeared engrossed in work. She didn’t know I had an appointment to leave here just after she did.
“What do you mean you were alone?” Olivia asks Charlie.
“Just that. You left. Then about ten minutes later, Logan got some sort of urgent phone call. He packed everything up and dashed out of here like his pants were on fire.”
Olivia looks at me as if I’m going to explain myself.
I regard her. My face is a practiced mask of indifference.
I’d love to tell her what I was up to. But I can’t.
“So, you filled Darwin and Rick in on everything?” Olivia asks Charlie.
“Yes. And never fear. I told them every detail of our brilliant damage control. I gave each of you ample credit for the parts you played in bailing out Untethered. They seemed satisfied—even proud of us.”
“Thank you,” I tell Charlie.
Olivia thanks him too. She studies me with a pensive expression on her face. I stand still, allowing her to wear herself out with conjectures.
When she seems satisfied or sufficiently frustrated—I can’t really tell which—she turns away from me and says, “Okay, well, we’ve got work to do. Let’s get to it.”
Throughout the rest of the morning, Olivia glances in my direction occasionally, as if she thinks my secret will slip out of me when I’m off-guard. I don’t know why she expects me to crack. She’s known me long enough to know I don’t spill emotions or details easily.
I’d love to disclose everything, especially after the way Olivia reacted to walking in on my argument with Jacob. I thought she might judge me or take his side. Instead, she put him in his place and even gave me a compliment. I don’t think you’re the golden child. You work for what you have. I can still hear the softness in her voice when she said it, as if she couldn’t dare to speak any louder or she’d let herself in on the fact that she was complimenting me.
I glance across the work table at Olivia. She’s focused on her laptop screen, her brow furrowed just the slightest in concentration.
“What?” Olivia looks up at me, a note of impatience in her tone.
“Nothing.”
She squints her eyes and tilts her head. “You do know when people say nothing , it always means something, don’t you?”
I chuckle.
“Are you trying to be infuriating?” she asks. “Or does it just come naturally?”
“I’m not trying to infuriate you,” I tell her, honestly.
“Wow.” She shakes her head and returns to work.
There’s not as much bite in her tone as usual. To the outside observer, she would still seem to be filled with vitriol toward me. But I know Olivia. Something seems to be shifting between us. It’s a precarious pouring of wet concrete that could become a foundation for something new. But, also, I could step in it and end up slogging through sludge if I move too quickly before things solidify.
Less is more . That cookie has become a mantra of sorts—a random cookie, of all things.
The rest of the week, we develop our campaign plans and set up next week’s YouTube testimonials and some shorter videos for other social media platforms. By Friday, we’ve seen impact from our counter-campaigns through our strategic partnerships with various influencers.
We’re wrapping up for the day, getting ready to head out for the weekend.
It’s the big weekend—our ten-year reunion.
I’m not worried about it. High school was fun for me. I wasn’t the most popular guy in school, but I was well-liked, and I was involved in all the things I loved. Olivia was too. From my vantage point, we had parallel experiences. I’ve been surprised at her lack of enthusiasm for the reunion.
“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say as we approach the elevator side by side.
“Not if I see you first.” There’s a small smile in her eyes, not on any other part of her face.
I see it, though, and it makes me nearly smile.
“I’ve always heard a class reunion is a time for new beginnings,” I say. “For letting go of whatever hurts and …” I pause, unsure what madness led me to say anything to her about high school.
I’m not the one to tell her to let go of hurt. We don’t talk like this. She’s probably going to eat me alive.
“Hurts … and what?” she asks, pushing the button for ground level.
The doors slide shut, and we’re alone. I turn toward Olivia. Her eyes are fixed dead ahead, staring at the mirror-like silver panel.
I’m quiet as the elevator engages, turning away from her so we are both facing forward.
“A reunion is a fresh start,” I say, finishing my thought because she asked me to. “We’re ten years older. That’s a lot of water under the bridge—for everyone. People have grown up, finished college, gotten married, started families, pursued careers. We’re not the same as we were.”
What is wrong with me? I never talk this much, especially not to Olivia.
She’s quietly studying me. The doors open, and I think she’s going to walk off without another word when she turns and says, “You might be right.”
Then she pivots and walks to her car. I stare after her, trying to sort myself out.
The class reunion is being held at a local country club. It’s not a club like the one my parents belong to on our side of town. Bristol West Country Club is nicely landscaped, and the buildings are colonial-style, set on rolling hills that once served as a horse farm in the eighteen hundreds, but now feature a golf course and club facilities. I park my car and walk into the main clubhouse, where a table has been set up near the entrance.
Our class representatives are all seated in chairs behind the table, greeting former classmates. I spot Gil and Maisy across the way and wave to them. Then I approach the table where the sign [A - F] is hanging in front of Ginny Spears, our class president.
“Logan Alexander,” she smiles up at me. “It’s so good to see you.”
“Thanks, Ginny. How have you been?”
I hope this whole evening isn’t going to be a series of superficial conversations in which we share the details we could have just as easily discovered on each other’s social media pages.
“I’m good. Divorced.” She holds her bare hand up to show the absence of any ring.
“Oh.”
Laney Bridgers leans over from her spot next to Ginny and elbows her lightly. “That means she’s single and ready to mingle!”
Ginny blushes. “Well, here’s your badge for the night and your coupon for a free drink at the bar.” She hands me a lanyard with a photo of me from the high school yearbook juxtaposed with a photo of me now. Then she hands me a ticket. “We’re just mingling for now. There will be dinner followed by dancing. And, of course, the dance …”
“ The dance?” I ask.
“Between you and Olivia Pennington. Prom king and prom queen. It’s a tradition.”
“Oh. Yes. Of course.”
I had no idea.
I nod at Ginny and Laney and excuse myself to join Gil and Maisy.
“So far, this is living up to my worst nightmares,” Gil says when I approach him.
“No, it is not,” Maisy says with a soft smile. “You caught up with a few guys you haven’t seen in years. And we’re out for the night, with a meal I didn’t have to cook and some dancing, which we barely ever do anymore.”
“So, let me rephrase that,” Gil says. “This reunion is now officially the best date I’ve taken my wife on in years.”
Maisy smiles and interlocks their hands, leaning into Gil’s shoulder. “We need to get out more … obviously,” she says in her amiable way.
“I don’t know.” Gil turns his face so he can place a kiss on the top of Maisy’s head. “I kind of like staying in with you better.”
A few of the guys from my old debate team walk over. We catch up on who’s married, who has kids, and where everyone works.
“I’m surprised you’re not married with a kid or two,” Sal “Spike” Haynes says to me. “You were the one all the girls wanted to date back in the day.”
“I haven’t found the one I want to settle down with yet,” I tell Spike.
“Well, don’t wait too long,” Spike says. “One day you’ll wake up with half your hair and a belly that makes you look like a lowercase letter B. It’ll be too late then. Women aren’t as eager to date a man when he’s past his prime and his chest is in his drawers.”
He cracks up.
I nod politely. But my eyes drift to the doorway. Something tugs at my attention.
When I see her, I know why I couldn’t stay focused on Spike.
Wow .
Olivia’s dressed in a dark blue cocktail dress with matching heels. She’s walking in through the doorway and a breeze catches the hem of her skirt, swaying the fabric just the slightest. Her dress is tasteful but sexy. Her wavy brown hair falls just past her shoulders, and she definitely has on more makeup than she usually wears. Her lips are a dark red with some sort of shimmer. It’s possible I’ve never noticed her mouth before, and now I’ll be seeing it in my dreams. And those chocolate brown eyes, which can be piercing or warm depending on her mood, light up when she approaches the table, smiling at the guy who hands over her lanyard.
Then she looks in my direction, and our eyes meet.
Her mouth tips up in a hesitant grin. She holds my gaze for a fleeting second before shifting away, roaming the room, searching for someone else. I can tell the moment she sees Megan because her face lights up. The two women connect in the middle of the room, but I’m only tracking Olivia. I can’t look away.
Spike has moved on. He’s talking to another classmate of ours—something about investments and annuities.
Gil leans in. “I’m curious about what you told Spike.”
“What’s that?” My eyes are still on Olivia. She’s laughing with Megan. They’ve been joined by two guys who played on our football team.
“You haven’t found the one?” Gil asks.
“I haven’t.”
“I think you have.”
I turn to make eye contact with Gil.
“I’m not sure how you ended up convincing Maisy to fall for you, but I’m pretty certain you understand the fundamentals of romance by now. A relationship requires both people falling for each other. Nothing happens until they show mutual interest.”
“But you are interested?”
“I think I am.”
I don’t know how or when it happened, but there’s not another woman in the world I would even consider pursuing. For me, it’s Olivia Pennington, or it’s no one.
“I know you are,” Gil says smugly, reminding me of the tone he used to take in high school when he thought he had me figured out. “A man doesn’t bail out a woman’s sister because he wants to be nice. Even you have a limit to your generosity.”
“Shhh,” I warn Gil. “I told you never to mention that to anyone. Not even to me. And not here.”
“Okay, okay. I’m just saying.”
Our classmates continue to flow through the doors, register, and mingle in clusters around the room. A half-hour later, we’re ushered to round tables in a ballroom that’s been decorated in our school colors of burgundy and grey.
I’m seated with Gil and Maisy. Olivia is sitting with Megan and six other classmates—one couple, two single men, and two other women. My eyes drift to her throughout the meal. I try to focus on the conversation happening at our table, but I feel nearly agitated that I can’t hear what Olivia is saying or what’s being said to her. Her laughter filters across the dining room, and I turn to see her face lit up, head tossed back, eyes alight with happiness. She’s a vision, and I’m powerless to resist the pull she has over me tonight.
When dinner is over, Ginny takes the stage. An area at the front of the ballroom has been set apart as a large dance floor. The tables have been spread around the back and sides of the room. Ginny’s on stage, in front of the live band that played throughout our meal, holding a microphone like she was born for public speaking.
“I’d like to invite two people up on stage with me. They have no idea we’ve planned this, but we want to acknowledge their achievements as a class.”
She pauses for effect and then she says, “Logan Alexander and Olivia Pennington, will you join me up here?”
I glance across the room at Olivia. She looks as surprised as I feel. She smiles nervously, and it feels like she’s letting me in on a secret. I nearly form the words I’ve got you , but I don’t know what exactly we’re in for. Maybe this is the prom king and queen dance.
Ginny continues her intro as Olivia and I make our way toward the stage. “In high school, you have your popular crowd, and you have the jocks, the band nerds, the emo/goth contingency, the preppies, the theater kids …” A cheer rises up from two tables filled with the drama club members. “And then you have these two. They weren’t quite jocks. They definitely weren’t nerds, though their GPAs would beg to differ. They weren’t preppy, though we’ve all been to Logan’s parents’ house.”
Laughter ripples through the crowd.
“These two were good at everything. Am I right?”
A few people shout out responses like, “The best!” or “Yes!” even though the question was rhetorical.
I meet Olivia at the base of the stage. She looks up at me. She’s taller in her heels, though still not nearly as tall as me. And she’s even more beautiful up close than she appeared at a distance. She smells as intoxicating as she looks—a mixture of flowers and honey and something slightly exotic. The scent seems to have been custom made for her: sweet, elusive, intriguing, alluring, and surprisingly irresistible.
I nod at Olivia and extend my arm so she can lean on it as we ascend the steps together.
“So,” Ginny continues. “When the committee was pulling this reunion together, we realized it was imperative for us to acknowledge these two classmates of ours. They were the brains and hearts and feet behind so much of our combined memories of Sweethaven High.”
Ginny turns to me and Olivia. “We knew you two F.A.R.T.s would go far.”
The whole room erupts into laughter.
I haven’t thought of F.A.R.T.s in forever. If I were going to leave a legacy at Sweethaven, I should have had the foresight to change that acronym before I left.
Ginny continues, “And now you’re both working for the same company, putting your marketing degrees to use.”
She did her research.
“Let’s hear it for Olivia Pennington and Logan Alexander, who also happen to have been our prom king and queen. They will lead off tonight’s dancing, with a dance reminiscent of the one that kicked off our senior prom ten years ago.”
The crowd claps. Olivia and I stand side by side, enduring the spotlight. I love achieving my personal best. I thrive on setting high standards and striving to meet them. I don’t love being paraded around like a prize pony. And I can tell Olivia’s not a fan of being thrust onto center stage either.
“Take it away,” Ginny says to Olivia and me.
We down the set of stairs off the side of the stage, my hand going to Olivia’s lower back instinctively.
When we’re in the center of the dance floor, the beginning notes of You and Me by Lifehouse fill the room—the same song we danced to on prom night.
I extend my hand, and Olivia looks up at me, a note of challenge in her eyes. I smile down at her. I hope she never stops challenging me. I hope she’s always here, with me, extending a dare or holding her ground. I hope we race one another until we can’t run anymore, and then we’ll race with our walkers or wheelchairs.
I need her.
I’ve always needed her.
The reality of what Olivia means to me floods me as she places her palm against mine and allows my fingers to curl across her knuckles.
I wrap my arm around her, sliding my hand in place on her lower back. She reciprocates, placing her free hand on my shoulder. I can’t help myself—I tug her a step closer. We’re touching now, swaying to the music, the lyrics telling my story, even though she’s oblivious.
Olivia looks up at me. Her eyes fix on mine. It’s me and her and nothing else—no one else.
I took dance lessons, years ago, to appease my mom. I forget every move—nothing rehearsed has ever worked with Olivia. She levels me. I’m rendered speechless, unable to focus on anything but her.
A deeper force moves me. I’m dancing because of her, not a lesson or a practiced step. I’m dancing from my heart, not my head. We sway at first, her eyes still remarkably fixed on mine. Her face is a puzzle. But something in her gaze tells me she’s counting on me to lead her, so I do. We turn around the floor, in sync, connected.
Toward the end of the song, I spin Olivia out and away from me, and she twirls as if we’ve practiced the move, returning to me, graceful and soft. I tug her into my arms, relishing the last opportunity I may ever have to hold her like this.