24. Maeve
24
maeve
“Sister, you’ve held out on me long enough. It’s time I formally introduce myself to my billionaire brother-in-law. Put him on the phone.”
I roll my eyes at Quinn’s terrifying request. “Sorry if this is the only reason you FaceTimed me. Logan’s on a business trip. Left for Los Angeles today.”
“Sounds fancy,” she says. “I still can’t get over the fact that you’re married. How in the ever-loving shit did that happen?”
Oh, what I wish I could tell her. “Things just happen.”
I know it sounds lame. And she knows it’s lame. But yet, we’re just going about our conversation like nothing is weirder than it needs to be.
“I can’t wait for the day you can actually tell me what’s going on,” she says. “The story is going to be epic. Maybe even worth a surprise trip home.”
I laugh at that. “So this is what would get you home when it isn’t a holiday? The story of how I got married?”
“Absolutely,” she says. “I would even pay for it and not use my frequent flyer miles.”
“I’m honored,” I say as I take a seat on the couch in what has become the TV living room. At least, that’s what Jayce has coined it.
“So you’re living with him?” she asks.
“Yes. We’re all moved in.”
“Are you two…sleeping together?”
I’m silent, because I never thought of how I should answer this. Obviously, we’re not. This isn’t a real marriage. But no one knows that. Well, except Quinn, who doesn’t know but also does know.
“I’ll take your silence as no, but you want to.”
I let out a sigh and make sure Jayce is still oblivious to our conversation. “It’s complicated.”
And it is. I’m married. I technically broke my holdout of men and sex with him long before we said “I do.” In theory, I should have no qualms about exploring a sexual relationship with Logan.
In reality I’m a stubborn woman who refuses to budge, because I dug in my heels and I don’t want to dig them out.
Even if he’s been wonderful.
Even if he’s been nothing but sweet and amazing with Jayce.
Even if he’s so hard to resist I have to use my toy at night to make sure I don’t do something like go climb into bed with him.
I thought I was going to crack and kiss him that day at the arcade. I mean, no one with a pulse would’ve blamed me. You try and resist a man who’s playing a game with your son, purely enjoying the moment, and not falling a little bit for him.
Then I remember that my husband is seven years younger than me, wasn’t born when the Ninja Turtles were at their peak, and that I’m nothing but a dirty cougar using a man for marriage.
“Sounds like it doesn’t need to be,” she says. “You’re married. So whatever reason this happened, and don’t argue with me because I know there’s a reason, why not use it? Scratch that itch, girl. You have to be itching. I’d be itching, that’s for damn sure…”
I think about it for a second, but only a second. “I’m not sleeping with my husband.”
Maybe if I say it out loud, I’ll believe I really don’t want to.
“Your loss…I sure as shit wouldn’t be that strong.” she says as the doorbell rings. “Now I know you live in a mansion. No real doorbell sounds like that.”
I laugh a little as I get up. “It’s the gate.”
“You have a gate! Now I really need to get home. Oh! Can I come over for Christmas? I want to stay just one night. I have this scene from a movie I saw once that I want to reenact, but I’ve never had a mansion to do it in.”
“Absolutely not,” I say as I see that it’s some sort of delivery driver at the gate and buzz him in.
“Who is it?”
“Delivery I think,” I say. “But I didn’t order anything.”
“Oh, now I’m intrigued.”
I ignore my sister and head to the front door. When I open it, I find a food delivery person, carrying multiple bags from who knows where.
“Hello? Can I help you?”
“Delivery for Maeve Banks.”
“That’s me.”
“Here,” he says, handing me the bags before turning to walk away.
“Wait. Who ordered this? Do I owe you anything?”
“No, ma’am. All taken care of. Have a good night.”
I step back inside and set the bags down.
“What is it?” Quinn yells from wherever I put down my phone. “I want to see.”
I can tell from the smell that it’s Chinese food. And upon further investigation, I can see that the boxes are strangely familiar. It’s from the place Logan and I ordered from on Thanksgiving. And there’s a typed note stapled to one of the bags:
Maeve,
Is sending food cliché? I’m not sure. But even if it is, I don’t care.
Can’t wait to see you in a few days. Enjoy the food.
Yours, Logan
P.S. I know Jayce doesn’t like Chinese, so there should be an order of chicken fingers in this.
“I gotta go,” I quickly say to Quinn.
Her smile turns devilish. “Yeah, you do. Go call your man.”
My cheeks flush instantly. “I’m not doing that.”
And I’m not.
I’m texting him.
“Whatever you say, big sis. Whatever you say.”
I hang up the phone and quickly send a message to Logan.
Maeve: Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.
I somehow balance my phone and the bags as I take them all into the kitchen, calling Jayce to follow me so we can eat.
Also, I don’t know how Logan knew that I had no desire to cook tonight, but I’m glad he did.
Logan: Not too cliché? I really worried about that.
Maeve: Food is never cliché.
Logan: Good to know. You know, for the future.
Maeve: Future? Logan, you sent so much food it will be years before we need more.
Logan: Maeve, in case you didn’t know, I’m kind of rich. So I can send you food every day if I so choose.
Maeve: Yeah, but I’m going to guess you scrunched your nose when you saw the price tag.
Logan: I did no such thing.
Maeve: Liar.
Logan: Never.
Maeve: Prove it.
Logan proceeds to text me not only a copy of the receipt from what he ordered tonight, but receipts of food he’s sending me over the next two days he’s away.
Maeve: Logan…
Logan: Yes?
Maeve: You didn’t have to do that.
Logan: I know.
Maeve: So why did you?
Logan: Because no matter the reason, you’re my wife. And I want to take care of you. Even if I’m miles away and that means sending food so you don’t have to cook.
I don’t think I could wipe the smile off my face if I tried.
Am I blushing?
From words from a guy?
To whom I’m married?
Who the hell am I, and what did I do with Maeve Banks?
“Mommy?”
Oh shit. My kid. “Yeah, buddy?”
“Why are you smiling like that?”’
Was I smiling differently? I felt it on my face but it didn’t seen weird. “What do you mean?”
Jayce gives a little shrug. “It was a really big smile. Not your normal one. And your cheeks were really red. You looked really happy and really pretty.”
Fuck…that was an unexpected punch in the gut. A good one, but holy shit…
“I’m just thanking Logan for sending us dinner,” I say, starting to dig for his chicken tenders.
“I like Logan,” he says as he climbs onto his stool at the island.
“I know you do,” I say. “I mean, he’s your best friend.”
“He is. But you smile when you’re with him. That means I like him more.”
My jaw drops as I watch my son grab for the box of tenders, not having a care in the world of what he just said.
Out of the mouths of babes…
Maeve: Question for you.
I swear Logan either keeps his phone always attached to him or has a special alert for when I text, because I never need to wait more than a minute.
Logan: The answer is yes.
Maeve: You don’t know the question.
Logan: Doesn’t matter. If it’s about the house, yes. Or whatever you think is best. Whichever one fits this situation. If it’s about any other thing, the answer is also yes.
Maeve: That’s not how this works.
Logan: Fine. What’s the question, so I can show you, in fact, that IS how this works.
Maeve: First question that neither of those answers will do: What thread count of sheet do you prefer?
Logan: See? I’m sorry, but you’re wrong. The correct answer is whatever you think is best, because I couldn’t tell you the first thing about thread counts.
Maeve: You’re impossible, you know that? I never thought I’d say that about a client who agrees with everything.
Logan: I prefer amiable.
Maeve: Whatever it is, do you want the sheets and accent pillows in a certain color?
Logan: Whatever you want.
Maeve: Logan, you have to make this decision. This is your bedroom.
Logan: It is. But I’m hoping one day it will be our bedroom as well. So this is me saving an expense and letting you pick out your future bedroom set.
He did not just say that…
Maeve: Logan…
Logan: I know. Too far, right?
I mean, it was. But it wasn’t. Oh, if he knew how confused I was these days.
Maeve: Just what color do you want?
Logan: I’m breaking down your walls with food, aren’t I?
Maeve: No comment.
Logan: I’ll take that as a yes…
“Hello?”
My voice is groggy as I get my bearings, considering this phone call woke me up from a full-on sleep. What time is it? Where am I? Who’s called at this ungodly hour? Am I late for school? What year is it?
“Maeve? Did I wake you?”
Well, that wakes me up. “Logan? What time is it?”
“About nine-thirty out here, so eleven-thirty for you?”
I pat around my bed to find my glasses, only to realize that I fell asleep with them on my face. I adjust them slightly and pray they aren’t too bent as I look over to my bedside table. Yup. It’s only eleven-thirty at night. I was sleeping so hard I would’ve thought it was the middle of the night.
Or next Tuesday.
“Is everything okay?”
Maybe it’s the mom instinct in me to ask that question first, but even in my dazed-from-sleep mind, I want to know. Why else would he be calling me this late?
“Everything is fine. I just wanted to talk to you.”
Now that wakes me up.
I roll over onto papers that I fell asleep around and push myself up to sit against my headboard. He’s just calling to talk to me? About my day?
Is this what married couples do? If so, Josh definitely missed that memo.
“Oh. Okay then.” I’m trying to get my bearings, but between his unexpected call, and being woken up so suddenly that I felt like I was late for the bus, I’m pretty scattered. “How was your day?”
It was the first thing I thought to ask, but somehow I think it was the wrong thing.
“Long. Boring. Frustrating.”
“I’m sorry. Want to talk about it?”
He doesn’t say anything for a second, but I can only guess by the slow breaths he’s taking that he’s trying to figure out where to start. Or maybe what to say. And I don’t know what compels me to do this, especially because I know my bed-head is probably pretty epic right now, but I switch the call to FaceTime. Luckily, and before I can overthink that decision, he answers.
“Hello, Love.”
My body heats as those two little words run through me. Also doesn’t hurt that he’s also in bed. Shirtless.
Maybe I should’ve stuck with the phone call.
My mind suddenly flashes back to the first night we met and the very inappropriate thoughts I had about him in bed. It’s also funny that he has to go two time zones away for me to see him in his sleep attire.
But I only stare a second, because it doesn’t take long for me to realize that I was right to think something was wrong. There’s pain on his face that isn’t as bad as the day he told me about his horrible family, but it’s there.
And I want to fix it.
“I felt like you might’ve needed a friendly face to go along the voice?”
He nods. “You know me so well.”
Do I? I was just going on gut reaction and years of wanting to fix problems for my siblings. Or, maybe I’m getting to know Logan better than I realize. “Talk to me. Anything specific happen or just a whole lot of shit?”
He nods. “Both. I hate meetings. They’re long, boring, and most of the time can be done over an email.”
“I remember you canceling many on me, so that tracks.”
My playful dig hits the mark as I see a slight blush creep across his cheeks. Good. About time someone else’s face gave them away.
“Touché. But today’s meetings were utterly horrible. What do I care what shade of blue the packaging for the new toys is? It’s space. Make it midnight blue and be done with it.”
“Oh the problems of a CEO,” I tease, but this time, my joke doesn’t land.
“It wasn’t just that,” he continues. “The board wants the new game. They’re tired of waiting.”
“Oh shit, Logan.” I know this has been bugging him for weeks now, and even months before we met. “Still nothing?”
“I had a small idea,” he admits. “But today I started fiddling with it, and it…I don’t think it’s there.”
“Okay, then,” I say, sitting up. This I can help with. “Let’s talk it out.”
“Talk it out?”
“Yes,” I say confidently. “When I can’t see something, but I know it’s there, I call one of my sisters and just ramble.”
“And they help?”
“Oh, absolutely not. They don’t know the first thing about design besides basic color coordination. And even Quinn doesn’t know that. But me getting the words out there sometimes helps unscramble my brain. So, let’s unscramble.”
“Maeve, you don’t have to…”
“Logan,” I say sternly. “I know. I want to.”
There’s a silence for a second before he just starts spewing ideas. Admittedly, I don’t know much about games besides the few I played as a kid, but I’m happy to listen. I ask questions when I think he needs me to, and I throw in counterpoints when needed. But mostly I’m just here. Because that’s what I can do. In this moment, this is how I can fix the problem.
I don’t know how long Logan and I talk, but I feel my yawn hit me and I slump a little down into my pillow. I bring the phone with me, and I don’t know if my eyes are playing tricks on me, but I watch as Logan shifts in the bed, putting one of his hands behind his head, perfectly showing off his sculpted arms. I don’t know who came up with the stereotype that video game guys were scrawny nerds, but I’d like to tell them they are damn wrong.
“Love? Are you staring at me?”
“What!” I screech a little too loudly. “No.”
His devilish smile clearly says that he’s not believing me at all. “It’s fine. I like it when you do.”
I swallow a lump in my throat. “I do? You do?”
He laughs under his breath. “Every once in a while I catch you. And it’s fine. Believe me, a man loves it when he sees his wife looking at him.”
I must be tired, because I swear when he just called me “his wife” something happened downstairs that is making me think I need a date with my battery-operated best friend tonight. He’s said it before. I’ve heard the phrase with my own ears, so I don’t know why it’s hitting different this time.
“You’re tired,” Logan says.
“I’m fine,” I say through a massive yawn.
“Go to sleep, Maeve,” he instructs.
“Okay.”
“Thank you, though. This…this really helped.”
“Good,” I say, though I don’t know how much I actually contributed. “Are you feeling better?”
If I wasn’t already laying down, his smile would knock me over. “Better than I have in ages.”