Chapter 10 Logan #2
She half smiles. “There were three fire escapes. Besides the suspiciously large, practically human-size fish tank, your place looked safe enough. For now. I’ll get a better look later.”
I couldn’t bear the thought of trapping the goldfish in a small bowl, so I got the biggest tank I could carry. Then I went back to get the fish a friend.
“I’m surprised you listened,” she says.
“Not only did I listen, I got two.”
She looks pleased. “I’m not used to anyone following my advice.”
“Well, apparently their gold color is lucky, and their movements create good energy,” I say, repeating back to her what she told me after I fell into the lake.
“I love when my research is put to good use.”
“You want to name them?”
Her face brightens. “Really? I’ve never had a pet.” She looks out at the Hudson River, the choppy waves reflecting the glow of orange above the horizon. “What about Goldie and Kurt?”
“It’s perfect. I take it you made it to the amnesia portion of your movie marathon.”
“I watched Overboard this past summer,” she confirms as Toffee jumps up onto a bench and sniffs the air. “Isn’t Toffee supposed to be Mrs. Walker’s cat?”
“Officially, he is. Toffee stays with me when Mrs. Walker’s out of town. She’s helped me out a lot over the years, so when she travels, I return the favor.”
“Well, your apartment’s really nice.”
“Come on, I’ll give you the full tour,” I say. “You can even look in the closets and my medicine cabinet.”
“I’m for sure doing that,” she says with humor in her voice.
Back at my apartment, Hazel removes her shoes at the door and takes her time looking around while I wipe Toffee’s paws.
“I feel okay spending the next few hours here,” she says.
I make a show of wiping my brow. “What’s happening in the next few hours?”
She pulls another bag of gummy numbers out of her purse. “For you.”
I laugh at this ongoing joke. “I hope you’re getting a good employee discount.”
“Dangerously good. Gloria, my pseudo-coworker, somehow got ordering privileges. She’s obsessed with trying to find candy Emma has never heard of.
It’s like, her whole personality right now.
” Hazel laughs a little like she’s remembering something funny.
“So she got these matcha KitKats, which of course Emma had heard of. Anyway, I brought some for you to try.”
She drops a handful of individually wrapped KitKats on the counter.
“Sounds like you’re enjoying it,” I notice.
Hazel looks surprised by my comment. “Oh. Yeah. I guess I am. The customers have been pleasant, too,” she says. “No matter what kind of day you’re having, you can’t go into a candy store and be mad, you know?”
I snap half a green KitKat between my teeth. “It’s a law.”
She removes a cookbook from her bag. “Ready for Phase Two?” she asks, holding up two fingers. “I call it Lucky Foods.”
“Hey, I know them!” I turn the cookbook around to face me. On it, Chrysanthemum Hua Williams and her aunties smile from behind a kitchen counter. “I stayed at their inn once.”
Hazel glances over at me. “Really? Looks like they heal heartbreak.”
I nod but don’t want to bring down Hazel with the details.
That years after the accident, I wasn’t physically broken, but I still felt it.
That my mom had heard from a friend of a friend’s cousin about this small inn on Whidbey Island and had to practically beg me to go.
That by the end of my week there, I was changed for the better.
“Yeah, I was going through a rough few years. Feels like a lifetime ago.” I turn the cookbook over, skimming the words on the back. “I didn’t realize this had come out already.”
“It was on the New in Cookbooks table,” Hazel says as she unloads the bags of groceries she brought. She stops me when I try to help. “Their food’s supposed to be very healing.”
“It’s also delicious.” I organize what she unpacks so I have something to do. “I was so thankful for their help that I made them a bunch of heart-shaped chairs,” I recall with a laugh.
That place meant a lot to me. Knowing that other people were going through something similar, having the safe space to be able to voice the heartache. I’ve forgotten what that’s like. I’ve forgotten how to do that.
“Those sound pretty. Did you make that, too?” She nods to the far wall. A trunk of a tree is rooted in place, its branches stretching up along the wall. At various points, custom shelves sprout out from the branches, holding up all my thriller and nonfiction reads.
“I made everything in here,” I admit. “But before you’re impressed, know that I created a lot of my furniture when I was just starting to learn. I can’t open half of the drawers that hold my clothes, and I wouldn’t recommend sitting on that chair.”
Hazel smirks. “Your clothes are trapped, so you’re left to wear that.” She points to my orange and yellow swirled long-sleeve shirt.
I feel a smile start. “I know they look goofy, but Mrs. Walker made these for me, thank you very much, and she’d be appalled to hear you say that, even though she’d agree. She went through a tie-dye phase.” I shrug. “Honestly? They’re some of the most comfortable shirts I own.”
“That’s actually sweet.” She runs her hand down my arm, rubbing the cotton between her fingers. “Somehow, you pull them off. And that’s a big compliment,” she says with a chuckle before growing serious again and giving my hand a squeeze. “For you to go to this inn… you must’ve really been hurting.”
I consider what to say that might help alleviate her concern. “I needed to get away.”
It sounds dramatic, but at the time, it felt true. Urgent. Necessary.
For a second, I forget that my left hand is out of commission, and I ram it into the bag while trying to reach for a can of pears.
“Go rest while I make food,” Hazel says. Then she points at my casted arm. “Hope an infection sets in and you never heal.”
I laugh, remembering the night at the pizzeria and our break-a-leg conversation. “Okay, maybe we shouldn’t make that a thing.”
She nods in agreement. “Probably for the best.”
I resist her commands by stepping closer.
“I’m not making you cook for me while I lounge.
” Walking Toffee, being here, unloading groceries…
it all feels so natural with Hazel. We’ve slipped into an easy rhythm together.
I make a point to remove a bag of rice with my hurt arm.
“See? I’m fine! If anything, it’s my ego that took a hit.
There’s no graceful way to fall down a flight of stairs while ending up covered in lo mein. ”
“And that flip you did at the end, wow.” She draws a loop through the air with the taro she’s holding. She turns serious. “This is a lot, especially with everything going on at work for you. And now you have to miss work. It’s so shitty.”
I’m unsure how to respond. She’s not downplaying my fall or comparing it to something worse. There’s no mention of luck or good timing. She’s just calling it as it is.
And shitty is exactly what it is.
She peers over her shoulder at me. “Are you doing okay otherwise? If there’s anything else I can do to help, please tell me.”
Share all your pieces.
My arm hurts. I’m stressed. Everything’s falling apart, and I don’t know what to do.
“I could’ve broken my back” is what I end up saying. “At least I’ll still be able to be at the theater and help where I can.”
Hazel stops what she’s doing, holding a package of goji berries midair.
Instead of pushing back, she just nods. “I’m making almond tofu with fruit, pork, and taro stew, and eight-treasure sticky rice.
They’re lucky foods, which is the point.
In some European countries, almonds have been a good luck symbol.
We’ll eat those with oranges, which in Chinese culture represent good fortune. ”
“I bought you a Band-Aid. You’re making me a three-course meal. This hardly feels like a fair exchange.”
“It isn’t,” Hazel says with a grin. She moves to the sink and washes her hands. “But it’s happening. You did also keep your word about splitting the money. I sent the money to my brother.”
What a relief. “I’m so glad to hear that.”
“I did also pay off the rest of my student loans.”
“Congrats! That’s great.”
“Yeah, I never thought I’d see the day.” She sucks in a long breath through her nose, shaking her shoulders on the exhale. “I’ve never spent that much money all at once before.” She looks over at me. “Hey! Why are you not on the couch?”
“Tell you what,” I say, standing firmly in place. “While you make that, I’ll make dessert.”
“No. You’ll just get in my way.”
I place my hand over my heart. “I’ll stay so far out of your way. All-the-way-over-on-this-side-of-the-counter out of your way.”
She props her hand on her hip. “You think that flirty voice you’re using is going to work? On me?” She takes a confident step forward.
Hazel’s strong. She has her walls bonded together with mortar. She’s also soft. She’s given me glimpses of her pieces, which show me that her walls may be strong, but they’re not very high.
And if I need to be a chisel to break those walls down, or if I need to climb over them to meet her on the other side, I will.
“I do think so,” I say, dipping my head. “Or maybe I just hope so. I found a new recipe for a dessert I think you’ll like.”
“Unlucky, but still pressing your luck,” she says, a smile playing on her lips. She takes a long breath in. “Just because I’m not picky with candy doesn’t mean I’m not picky with desserts.”
I take a step. The step. The one that closes the distance between our bodies. The one that leaves no question what I want.
“I won’t let you down,” I say, looking directly into her eyes. The tips of her fingers graze my uncasted forearm as she leans slightly into me.
I miscalculate how far I need to bend to reach Hazel. Our mouths miss each other entirely, my lips landing on the tip of her nose instead.
A surprised laugh spills out of her. “That was… really special.”
“Promise I’m not normally that clumsy of a kisser,” I say, feeling my cheeks flush.
Hazel angles her chin up, giving me an easy target. “Prove it.”
So I do. And this time, it’s a bullseye.
She wraps her hands around my waist right as the sound of something hitting the floor startles us.
Toffee’s sitting on the edge of the counter with his paw midair, looking down at the pumpkin seeds he’s just successfully bopped to the ground. We freeze for a second, regarding each other. Waiting for the other to make a move.
There’s a fifty-fifty chance Toffee will have ruined yet another moment.
Hazel still has her arms around me, though, so I like my chances. Her eyes sweep from Toffee over to me. She takes one hand off me, and now I’m sure this is the end of whatever it was we just started.
But then she swipes the box of Lucky Charms cereal straight off the counter. It lands on the floor with a soft thud.
Without breaking eye contact, I mimic her movements, toppling the bottle of peanuts sideways.
Hazel taps a bag of jujubes that flips midair to the floor.
I knock the walnuts on top of those.
Toffee gives us an annoyed meow before jumping down.
“Who knew Toffee was such a sore loser,” I say.
“We just defeated a cat at his own game.” Then, without another word, Hazel sweeps the other ingredients to the side, clearing the counter next to us. I lift her up onto it with one arm.
I position myself between her thighs as she slides her hands over my triceps, resting them on my shoulders.
I inch forward slowly, and this time, she drops a quick, soft kiss on the tip of my nose.
She bites her lip as she smiles, bending forward the rest of the way to catch my bottom lip between hers.
Gone are the clumsy near-misses. Unlike our first rushed, spur-of-the-moment kiss, this one is slow and purposeful.
I keep my hands steady on Hazel’s waist as she hooks her calves behind my thighs and pulls me closer, wrapping her arms more tightly around me. We release twin sighs—hers breathier while mine’s released from somewhere deep. Somewhere needy.
“Didn’t even have to make the food,” I whisper against her lips, “and the ingredients are already doing their job.”
Hazel searches my face as she traces her thumb across my cheek. She pulls her hand back and drops a whisper-soft kiss in its place. “They’re useless on the floor,” she finally says. Then she pats my chest and hops down. “We should start cooking.”
A low grunt escapes my throat. I don’t want to stop kissing her. Then I recall what she said at the firehouse about wanting to go slow. “I’ll get the oven going.”
“I meant it when I said I was going to help you get lu—” She clamps her mouth shut before finishing her sentence. “Get some luck.”
My eyes don’t leave hers as the air crackles around us, just like it did that first day.
Like there’s a static fuzz that makes time stand still when we’re around each other.
That’s what spending time with her feels like: moments frozen in time.
Like nothing bad can touch them. Like nothing bad can touch us.
We spend the next few hours cooking side by side, me only getting in Hazel’s way twice on accident and once on purpose.
She skips the eight-treasure rice because it turns out that the rice needed to soak, but my M&M-covered chocolate pizza makes up for it. Hazel likes it so much she eats three slices.
As the evening slips into night, I share more of my pieces with Hazel. The messy, the shiny. The clumsy, the smooth.
And in return, she shares more of hers with me.