Chapter 8
Savannah
“Savannah, darlin’, are you listening to me?”
“I sure am, Mama.” I’m not. She’s been waxing poetic about the latest gossip at the country club, and I’ve been staring at my cat for the last five minutes, trying not to worry about the way he’s watching the door so intently.
Waiting for Logan.
“If you’ve been listening, then tell me the name of the plastic surgeon who just moved into the neighborhood.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m not going on a date with him, so what does it matter?”
My mother scoffs. “I should hope not. He’s far too old for you.”
Huh. I should have been listening better, since I can’t think of any other reasons she would want me to pay attention. “Oh.”
“His son, on the other hand…”
I groan loud enough that Beef actually interrupts his vigil to look at me where I’m leaning on the counter of my kitchen island.
His ears twist down, a clear sign of distress, and I appreciate his solidarity.
“Mama, I’m not buying a plane ticket to South Carolina just to meet a plastic surgeon’s son. ”
“Good, because he’s in California. I knew you weren’t listening.” An outside observer might hear my mom’s pained tone and think she’s genuinely hurt, but I know better. She knows her way around manipulation. I’m just glad she’s not a cruel person, or she could do some real damage.
“California or not,” I say, “I don’t have time to date. My business is—”
“Your business is clearly not good for you if you’re having to work this hard,” she interrupts, almost like she was waiting for me to give her an opening. “We never get to see you, Savannah! When are you going to realize that your time would be better spent here?”
In other words, she thinks I should be attending garden parties and charity balls, preferably with the intent of finding a wealthy man looking for a pretty wife. It’s unseemly for a woman to run a business on her own.
“Mama, I’m not having this argument again. I love what I do.”
“Aren’t you lonely all by yourself out there?”
Beef flicks his tail and glances at me again, and I almost wonder if he heard my mother’s question. I was lonely, until I wandered into a shelter and saw him staring down at me from the top of a giant cat tree like the king he is. And thanks to him, I met Moxie.
I met Logan.
My stomach twists, and I shove that thought down deep before it has any room to grow.
“I don’t have time to be lonely. I need to get back to work, Mama.
Thanks for calling, but please don’t set me up with your neighbor’s son.
Tell Daddy I say hi.” I hang up before she can try to keep the conversation going, though I do feel a little guilty for being so abrupt.
She means well, but would it kill her to just once accept that the path I’m on is different from the one she wants me to take? Why can’t she be proud of what I’ve accomplished? Sure, I don’t have the kind of stability I wish I had, but if I can get Logan to introduce me to his team’s owner, then…
My guilt grows, leaving me slightly nauseous. That will only happen if I get Logan a conversation with Mrs. Shafer, which has been impossible so far. He’s stopped asking, which is nice, but that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten our deal. Or how little I’ve tried to follow through on my end.
Sighing, I tuck one foot behind the other ankle to take the weight off it. I should have sat down after I finished Logan’s meals for the week, but he’ll be here in just a few minutes to pick them up, and my restless energy has been growing all morning as ten o’clock creeps closer.
It’s not just my cat who’s anticipating his arrival.
Groaning again, I switch my weight to the other foot and narrow my eyes at Beef. “This is your fault, you know.”
His tail twitches again, ears turning toward me, but he doesn’t look back at me this time.
His eyes remain fixed on the door. Fur-Ever Homes, the shelter group I adopted Beef from, has a handy help forum, so I reached out to them last Tuesday after Beef was especially moody, since I don’t think his obsession with Logan can be good for him.
None of the suggestions have been helpful, which means my cat has spent the last six days moping around the house like he’ll never be happy again.
As soon as Logan knocks on the door, Beef will be back to his usual emotive self, and I’ll start having thoughts I shouldn’t be having because no good will come from Logan spending more time here. Beef will only get worse, and I’ll start thinking my mama might be right about me being lonely.
The thought has crossed my mind more than once that once Logan connects with his birth mom, he won’t need me anymore. And I don’t like that.
This is ridiculous! My cat is obsessed with someone he only sees for a couple of hours every week, and I’m over here counting down the minutes because I’m equally aware that Logan will arrive soon and am too frazzled to get anything done until he does.
I should not be frazzled by Logan Callahan. He’s a client. He’s a piece of work with an ego. He’s remarkably talented at texting me things that are so sweet I might have squealed into a pillow a time or two over the last week and a half.
Like the emotional sap that I am, I pull up our text thread on my phone because rereading some of the texts he’s sent me lately is better than pretending I’m not anxiously waiting for the man to show up.
Logan:
Can you make that chicken and broccoli dish again? I may have licked the pan when I was done.
Logan:
Did you know you hum when you cook? Whatever song you were listening to in your head on Monday, I liked it.
Logan:
In case he hasn’t told you, Beef and I decided that you don’t charge enough for your services. You’re worth more than you seem to think.
Logan:
At the risk of sounding like the egocentric drongo you’ve accused me of being, I have done very well at keeping my thoughts about my teammates to myself this week, and I credit my hard work for last night’s win.
And also you. You make me want to be better, so the Thunder are in your debt. I’m in your debt.
I have no idea where this Logan came from. One minute I was accusing him of having a terrible personality, and then suddenly he’s sweet and notices things and is…flirty? No, he can’t be flirting with me. He has no reason to. But how else am I supposed to interpret some of these?
When he was here last week to talk about road food, he spent all his time on the couch with Beef while I put his meals together.
(Could I have prepped his food before he got here?
Sure. But I didn’t.) While I was working, I swear I felt his eyes on me several times, and every time I looked up, there he was.
Watching me. With a corner of his mouth pulled up in that almost-smile that hints at the real thing I’ve still only seen once.
He’s texted me every day after that, and I’m pretty sure he’s figured out when I’m likely free to respond because he tends to reach out when I’m on the couch taking a rare break or at the grocery store loading up for my next client.
I’ve received plenty of strange looks from fellow shoppers this week after some of my reactions burst out of me instead of staying internal. No one should be expected to stand in the produce aisle and read “I’ve never looked forward to Mondays the way I do now” without giggling!
He could very well be talking about his meals and how much he enjoys the food I make for him, but there’s a larger part of me than I’d like that hopes he’s as excited to see me as Beef is to see him.
But what if he isn’t? What if I’m setting myself up for heartache and yet another reason to give up on my dreams because they’re all clearly unattainable?
I groan and exit out of our texts. After that phone call, my mother has clearly gotten into my head. “Pull yourself together, Savannah!” Logan isn’t supposed to be here for another fifteen minutes, which means I need a distraction before my stress causes an ulcer.
I did make his meals this morning in the hopes of avoiding the fluttering sensation that fills my belly every time I think about Logan spending time in my apartment. If he has no reason to stay, I have no reason to hope he does.
So, to keep myself occupied, I go back to the Fur-Ever Homes website to read through some of the other issues people have had with their pets.
At ten o’clock on the dot, Logan knocks. I’m in the middle of reading a blog post about an adorable pot-bellied pig who needs a new home, so I shout for Logan to come in because I am riveted. Enough that I’ve almost forgotten how excited and nervous I am to see the man.
I’ve come across other posts about Princess the Pig on the shelter’s website, but this is the first time I’ve paid attention.
According to the recap on the latest post, Princess’s last owner died, leaving the pig homeless, and Fur-Ever Homes has had a hard time finding someone who can take her.
There have been some big names—NBA stars, MLB players, and even international soccer stars—trying to get her a home, but so far luck has not been on the pig’s side.
Probably because she has about a million issues. She’s making Beef look like a piece of cake by comparison.
From her diapers to needing daily insulin shots, she’s not exactly a casual pet. But the fact that she wears dresses and tiaras might be the cutest thing I’ve ever seen, even if it makes her a diva.
“Everything okay?” Logan asks after far longer than I would expect.
I look up, grinning despite myself when I see he’s taken up his usual spot on the couch with Beef sprawled out on his chest, sound asleep.
As worried as I am for my cat, I can’t deny how much I like seeing the two of them together.
Matching giants who have me wrapped around their large fingers. Or toes, in Beef’s case.