Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
Harper
T he morning light woke Harper. They’d forgotten to pull the curtains closed the night before and sunlight streamed in the window. She snuggled into the warmth of the covers as she yawned and stretched. Logan mumbled behind her, and threw an arm around her middle, tugging her toward him so her back was tucked against his front.
Against the insistent part of him that was pressing against her.
“Morning,” he rumbled, his voice rough from sleep.
“Morning.” She turned in his arms to face him, lifting a hand to push back the lock of brown hair that had flopped over his forehead.
He smiled, his green eyes only half open as he stared at her.
“So,” she said.
“So.”
They grinned at each other. She was a little sore, but in a pleasant way. After the first time, Logan had insisted she stay in bed while he’d grabbed water for them both and a warm, dampen cloth for her to clean up with.
And then there had been a second time, after which she’d fallen asleep. Some time during the night he’d woken her up by trailing soft kisses across her back and one thing had led to another.
She giggled and pulled the sheet up over her head, cheeks heating at the memory of Logan kneeling behind her as he held her upright against the headboard. That time had been slow and sensuous, a game of see who can last the longest.
She’d never felt like this. Never felt so comfortable, and yet so utterly desirable.
I could get used to this.
Logan yanked the sheet from off her head. “No hiding, princess.”
“I wasn’t hiding!”
“Sure you weren’t.” He smirked, then yanked the covers off her entirely. “Up you get.”
Harper squealed and jumped out of bed to stand naked in front of him. Logan climbed across to her side and stood next to her, but not before he’d looked her up and down with a growl.
“Come on, princess. Let me get some food into you.”
She screwed up her face. “Shower first.”
They took turns in the bathroom like they’d been moving around each other in the space for years. They shared the large shower, and then stood wrapped in towels as they cleaned their teeth.
The easy domesticity they shared had Harper floating.
She dressed in jeans and a loose, cropped sweater. This one in a deep green that made her feel happy whenever she pulled it on. Looking at her reflection in the mirror in the bathroom she nodded, pleased with what she saw.
Logan had headed downstairs to start breakfast, warning her that it would be much cooler than she was used to for this time of year in California.
Harper stopped, halfway down the stairs as she headed to the kitchen. She wrapped her arms around her middle and grinned.
How was this her life?
Oh god. Her life.
Why did she have to meet Logan now? Under these circumstances?
Don’t overthink things. You had an amazing night, just go with it.
Squaring her shoulders, she continued down the stairs.
She found Logan in the kitchen, humming under his breath as he worked at the bench, his back to her.
His feet were bare, a pair of old worn jeans cupping his butt in a way that should be criminal. Another flannel shirt, this time in greens and black, pulled snugly against his broad shoulders as he moved.
He must have heard her, because he turned around with a smile. Her breath hitched at the warm look in his eyes.
I could get used to this.
“Morning princess.” His eyes looked her up and down, lingering on the way her jeans hugged her hips. “Don’t you look like a snack.”
She laughed, any questioning thoughts disappearing. She stepped into the kitchen, quirking a brow at what he was doing with his hands.
“What are you making?”
He looked down at the bowl. “Omelet. Is that okay?”
“Sounds delicious.”
While he cooked, Harper sat and watched, enjoying watching him move confidently around the kitchen. When they’d eaten—Harper deciding it was the best breakfast she’d ever had—she insisted on cleaning up.
“You cooked; I do the dishes. It’s only fair,” she said, pushing him gently on the arm to get him to leave the kitchen.
“Alright. I know when I’m fighting a losing battle,” he joked, hands up in mock surrender.
Logan grabbed his coffee and pulled one of the stools out from the island, settling in to keep her company as she worked.
“Harper?”
“Hmm?” She was mid-way through attacking the dishwasher and looked up to see him staring down at her phone, a frown on his face. “What’s up?”
He looked up and pointed at her phone. “Have you checked your phone this morning?”
She’d left it downstairs the night before. The battery was dead when she’d checked it so she’d plugged it in to charge while they ate breakfast.
“No, why?” She straightened, a feeling of foreboding making her stomach turn.
“You might want to look at this.” Logan slid it across the counter toward her.
Harper took the few steps to bring her to the island, gripping the edge tightly with her hands to stop them shaking.
It didn’t matter how much she told herself it was just a phone—that it couldn’t hurt her—she still had the odd feeling that if she touched it, something bad—maybe worse—would happen. Again.
She reached out with shaking fingers and touched the now black screen, waking it from sleep.
“Oh shit.”
She shot a look at Logan, who mirrored her grim expression.
“How can I have that many messages? It was only off for…” she trailed off.
How long had her phone been off? Surely not even 12 hours.
She unplugged the phone and picked it up, unlocking the screen and swiping to see the missed calls.
How had she missed all these calls?
Harper stared at the screen of her phone dazedly, sitting down with a thump on one of the stools at the island.
She jumped when one of Logan’s hands landed on her shoulder.
“Sorry,” she said absently as she scrolled through the voicemails. All from her father, except one. That one was from King’s number. She hit play. Isla’s voice flowed from the tiny speaker, Harper sagging onto one of the kitchen stools in relief.
Whatever he says, don’t believe it. I’m ok. Love you more than a chocolate shake with sprinkles.
Harper’s eyes filled with tears.
Something loosened in her chest, and she turned toward Logan, who had come to stand next to her, burying her head against his stomach and wrapping her hands around his waist. Her chest heaved as she sobbed in relief. Isla was OK.
After their mom had died—and their father had been lost in grief—the girls would take their bikes and ride to a little mom and pop diner they had visited with their mom. The same diner that their mom had taken them to after Isla’s dance performances and, later, her singing competitions. It wasn’t the same as being there with her, but it helped them feel closer to her than they did at home.
Isla and Harper would wait until the same booth they’d always sat in was free. They’d slide onto the red vinyl seats and read through the laminated menu, even though they didn’t have enough money for more than a chocolate shake each.
They’d each take it in turns to remember something about their mom. They still did it, fifteen years later. And Isla still insisted on buying Harper a chocolate shake with sprinkles on top.
And when they’d finished their shakes, Isla would smile at Harper and say “I love you more than a chocolate shake with sprinkles.”
She hadn’t realized just how worried she had been, pushing it down and trying not to think about everything going on with her sister. But hearing those familiar words? Knowing what they meant?
She burst into tears.
Logan murmured soothing sounds as he rubbed her back. “It’s going to be alright, princess.”
She clung to him like a shipwreck survivor clings to driftwood; letting go of the storm of her emotions.
Long minutes later, when her breathing had finally evened, she pulled away swiping at her eyes.
“Oh god, I must look a mess. “ She laughed self-consciously as she looked up at him through watery eyes.
“Never.” He dropped a kiss to her lips and then pulled back.
Her fingers trailed over his hip before dropping to her side. She didn’t want to stop touching him.
“Coffee?”
“Please.” She was seriously undercaffeinated.
She watched as Logan poured her a mug and handed it to her. Harper picked up her phone again and took it and her coffee to the couch. Picking up a throw cushion, she sat down and tucked her legs underneath her. She hugged the cushion and flipped through the messages again.
She played Isla’s voicemail once more, this time with a frown. What had her sister meant by whatever he says, don’t believe it ?
That was confusing.
Did Isla mean King? Or someone else? Their dad?
She quickly scanned the list of voicemails, but there weren’t any more from Isla. Just from their dad and a few from Isla’s agent.
It was hard to know where to start. There must be easily a hundred messages on here.
One day at a time.
That was easier said than done sometimes. But she could do one message at a time.
She started at the beginning, with the oldest ones.
Why aren’t you answering your phone?
Where are you?
These were from her father.
It made sense he wouldn’t know where she was. She was meant to be at Mason’s house, not with Logan.
The next few were more of the same, so she skipped to the ones from Isla’s agent. But they were just polite ones asking her to call them back. And there was even one from a guy she’d had one date with last year telling her he was there for her if she needed him. The same guy who’d made it clear the only reason he’d asked Harper out was on the chance he’d get to meet her sister. The jerk. She scoffed.
She flicked over to her text messages and found just one from her father. Never one to write in anything other than full sentences with punctuation, even in a text message. She rolled her eyes.
Harper. Call me as soon as you get this.
No ‘please’. No checking to see how she was. She pressed her lips into a thin line. That was it.
She went back to the voicemails.
Harper. You’re still playing games.
Harper’s eyebrows shot up into her hair at that. What games? She continued to listen.
She’s gone and it’s your fault. You’d better have a plan to fix this mess.
She pulled the phone away from her ear and looked at it, confused. The voicemail ended and she let her hand flop to her lap, the phone held loosely as she stared off into space.
Isla must have been talking about their father. What had she said? Something about not believing whatever he said.
Logan sat down on the couch next to her. “Everything okay?”
She shook her head. “It’s so weird. I don’t know what to think.”
She explained about the messages and then played the voicemails for Logan. He listened, a serious expression on his face.
“Your dad is your sister’s manager, right?”
Harper nodded. “Yes.”
“And yours too?”
“What? No. I don’t have a manager.” She laughed.
Logan nodded. “But he gives you instructions and you follow them?”
“Well, yes.”
“Does he control when you get paid and how much?”
Harper frowned. “Yeah, but that’s because I’m Isla’s PA. That’s what I get paid for.”
Logan sighed and ran his hand over his face. “You don’t get paid for all the songwriting you do?”
“What are you suggesting?” She pressed a hand to her middle to calm her roiling stomach.
Should she have been paid for her songwriting? But that was just what she did. She helped her family. It’s what she liked to do. It made her happy.
Why would she ask for money? The salary she earned was more than enough to cover her expenses. She was thankful for what she had. It was enough. That and the love of her family was everything.
She looked across at Logan who was leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. His head was lowered, the slightly too long hair hanging over his face and hiding his eyes.
What if the love of her family wasn’t enough?
The phone in her hand leaped to life, vibrating to alert her to an incoming call. She jerked, and looked down at it, her heart leaping into her throat.
Dad.
Bile rose in her throat. She looked from the phone to Logan, who gave her an encouraging smile. She gripped his hand with her spare one and swiped to answer the call.
“Hello?”