7. Preheat the Drama #2
“It was...” I think of Charlotte’s snobby friends, the weird dynamic between Beatrice and her daughter, the fact that I’m counting down the seconds before I get to visit her page on TOP. Words like concerning and intoxicating roam through my mind, but I shove them down. “Good, good.”
He doesn’t look convinced.
“Were you waiting long?”
“Five minutes.”
I unlock the door and push it open, gesturing for him to come inside. He follows me in, shutting the door behind us as I toe off my shoes and shrug out of my jacket.
“You sure today was good?” he asks, his eyes sharp on me.
I hang my bag on a hook and make my way into the living room, then walk through the small corridor to the kitchen. “Yeah, why?”
“I don’t know. You have that face.”
I pause, squinting. “Face?”
“Yeah.” He runs his tongue over his teeth. “A face like you did some shit.”
I grab a water from the fridge and twist the cap off, drinking deeply. He doesn’t say anything, just leans a shoulder against the counter and waits with his arms crossed.
“Nah. No shit was done.”
Some shit was done.
“Look, I don’t need to tell you that Ian and Amelie are very dear to Primrose. And whatever is important to her is important to me.”
My grip tightens slightly on the bottle, but I cover the ripple of unease with a chuckle.
“What’s funny?”
“The way you talk about them. Like they’re just Primrose’s friends.”
“They are.”
He can’t be for real. “They only gave me a shot at the job because of you , Logan. And besides, you spend all your time with them. Or Shane and Heaven from the bakery.”
Logan just shrugs, ever the unreadable fortress of a man.
“Right. I forgot—you don’t care about anything.”
“Fine. I guess I like them.” Then, after a beat, he adds, “Not Ian. He’s an insufferable man-child who can’t appreciate a second of silence.”
A laugh escapes me before I can stop it.
“But I like the rest of them, so...” He tilts his head. “Try not to screw this up?”
“You got it.”
He watches me for a moment longer, like he’s waiting for further reassurance. When I hold his gaze, he grabs a beer from the fridge, and we head to the dining area.
He sits next to me, and I raise an eyebrow. He delivered his message; this is usually the part where he leaves. Because he has no real interest in being here. So why is he staying?
He doesn’t speak right away, just reaches into the back pocket of his jeans and pulls out a crumpled envelope. Immediately, a knot tightens low in my gut. Something about the way he holds it tells me this isn’t good news.
“What’s that?”
His eyes turn dark. “Just open it, please.”
A beat of hesitation. Then I take the envelope from him and slip my fingers under the flap, tearing it open.
I slide the documents out, familiar words jumping out at me as I scan the lines.
Legal jargon I’ve read before, but it’s different this time—the finality of it.
It’s no longer a hypothetical or a process in motion but a decision made, an ending sealed.
My breath catches as I see the judge’s signature at the bottom.
It’s done.
I’m officially divorced.
For a moment, I simply exist. Stare at the paper. Really let myself feel . Then I set the papers down and look up at Logan. “Wow.”
He stares down at his beer, rolling the bottle between his palms.
“Why are you?—”
“The court sent both copies to Josie by mistake.”
So she sent her ex—my brother —to give me mine.
“This must feel nice for you, huh?” I say, forcing something light into my voice. “Karma or something.”
Immediately, his glare strikes me. “It doesn’t, actually.”
“I know, I know.” I raise a hand, already regretting my words.
“No, do you?” He flicks the papers with the backs of his fingers. “Because if you think I want any part in this, you’re out of your mind.”
I bite my bottom lip until it stings. “I can’t believe she sent you to give me these.”
“She said she didn’t want to make Mom do it. So...” He points a thumb at himself with a humorless smirk. “I got the honor.”
I take another sip of water, letting the silence stretch between us. The kind of silence that’s full of things unsaid and regrets not expressed. Sometimes I think it’s the only silence we’ll ever be capable of.
“Any news on when Josie might come back or...”
“Nope.” Not one single peep from her since the call at Mom’s house, though it must be a step in the right direction. A sign that things are improving. I hope so anyway.
After a long moment, I say, “You ever wonder what would’ve happened if Josie and I didn’t...” The words lodge in my throat, so I try again. “I mean, not that I regret Sadie in any way, but...if she’d stuck with you, would Josie be in rehab right now? I don’t think so.”
He leans back in his chair. “Her drinking isn’t your fault.”
“Isn’t it?”
“Of course not.” His voice is steady, certain. “Divorce doesn’t make you drink. Unhappiness doesn’t make you drink. Alcoholism does.”
“But she might have never developed a problem if?—”
“If she’d never been unhappy?” he offers before a grimace.
“Maybe not. But that’s a part of life, Aaron.
It’s not something you can control.” He fidgets with the beer label.
“You know, toward the end of our relationship, when it was mostly fights...I remember her partying a lot. I was never really concerned—at that age, everyone drank—but now...it makes me think.”
I drum my fingers against the table. At least this got Logan talking a little more than usual. I should try to push him while I have the chance, right?
“Logan, look. Can we?—”
“You been by Mom’s lately?” he cuts me off, looking away uncomfortably.
I pause. “Yeah. Last week. Why?”
“She came with us to the girls’ pediatrician appointment yesterday, and...” He shrugs. “She seemed off, I guess.”
“Off how?”
Another shrug, but this one is tighter, less casual.
“I don’t know. She went to put on her cardigan and was taking forever.
When I went to check on her, she was..
.there. Staring down at it. She almost looked confused, or.
..I don’t know. Then she got weird about it, like she didn’t want me making a thing of it. Said she was tired.”
Confused? Mom?
Mom’s never been confused a day in her life.
“Maybe she was distracted, or...” I wave a hand around. “Worried about the appointment.”
He nods, though he doesn’t look convinced. “Yeah. You’re probably right.”
Sure I’m right. If Mom wasn’t fine, she would tell us.
But now that he’s brought it up...there was that tremor in her hands. I didn’t get the chance to ask, but Darren mentioned she kept dropping kitchen utensils. Does that count as confusion?
He studies me for a moment, then says, “To answer your question—no, I don’t wonder. I’m much happier with Primrose than I ever was with Josie. So I don’t wonder— ever .”
I raise my water in mock salute. “Glad to be of service then.”
His lips twitch, but his gaze doesn’t waver.
“What I mean is...” He pulls his beer closer, fingers tracing the condensation.
“Maybe there’s a woman out there who you’ll be happier with than you were with Josie.
Who’ll make you stop wondering and silence all those questions. A woman who’ll consume your mind.”
I swallow, my throat suddenly dry.
A particular freckled face flashes before my eyes. The face of a stranger, but one who for some reason is consuming my mind.
One who has no business being there.