Chapter 14 #2
“Okay, so here’s everything you might need,” he said. “Uh, there’s the school contact info… class schedule… emergency numbers, uh, allergy—”
“Wait, she has allergies?” I interrupted, trying not to panic. He chuckled nervously.
“Just to bee stings,” he replied quickly. “There’s an EpiPen in her backpack, the bathroom, and in the kitchen first aid kit, but it hasn’t been an issue… yet. Here’s one for your purse.” He said, handing me the device.
“Okay, good,” I said, relief washing through me. “Because if she were allergic to something common, like peanut butter, we’d both be living in constant fear.”
“She’s allergic to mornings,” he deadpanned. “But I don’t think there’s medication for that.”
I laughed. “I can relate.”
He turned another page in the notebook, tapping it like a general reviewing strategy. “School drop-off is at 8:15 am. Pick up is at 3:00 pm. Dance class is on Mondays and Wednesdays at four. Dinner at six, bedtime by eight—she likes one story, sometimes two if she’s had a good day.”
“Strict schedule, huh?”
“Structure helps,” he said with a small smile. “She thrives on routine.”
I nodded, glancing around the room again.
Everything in this house had a subtle order to it, the kind that comes from someone who learned to survive through organization.
My eyes lingered on the schedule, a flawless plan laid out with precision.
I nearly succumbed to its strictness, but with a small smile, I reminded myself that rules were meant to be danced around every now and then.
“I get it,” I said softly. “Still… you sure there’s no room for spontaneity?”
He looked up, brow furrowed. “Spontaneity?”
“You know,” I teased, leaning on the counter. “A little fun. Bedtime rebellions. Impromptu ice cream trips. Maybe dancing around the kitchen?”
He gave me that look, a blend of amusement and curiosity. “You’re planning to corrupt my little girl?”
“Absolutely not,” I said, feigning innocence.
He shook his head then, and laughed deep in a way that reached his eyes.
“She’s… excited you’re going to stay with her. I think that’d helped make her feel better.”
“That makes two of us,” I said with a grin.
He tilted his head, studying me. “You nervous?”
“Maybe a little.”
“About what?”
I pretended to count on my fingers. “Keeping a small human alive. Following the world’s most detailed schedule. Accidentally traumatizing said small human by using the wrong toothpaste flavor.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “You’ll be fine. Honestly, you’re already her favorite person.”
“Yeah, well, she’s biased.”
“Not even,” he said, and his voice softened just enough to make my heart skip. “She really adores you, Dani.”
The air buzzed around us. It was not in a romantic or sweeping way, more like a quiet recognition. My heartbeat quickened just a bit, a subtle warmth spreading from my chest, grounding me in the moment.
I looked away first, then back at the folder. “Okay, let’s see. School, dance, bedtime—check. What about you? When are you heading out?”
“In a few minutes,” he said. “I’m heading out before the traffic kicks up.”
I nodded, pressing my lips together. “You ready?”
“Not even a little,” he admitted, his voice laced with a vulnerability that was hard to miss. Logan’s jaw tightened, a fleeting moment of tension that betrayed his inner turmoil. “I hate leaving her.”
I wanted to say something comforting, something eloquent, but all I managed was, “You’re coming back. She knows that.”
He gave a small smile. “Yeah. I just wish it didn’t hurt her so much in the meantime.”
“She’s six,” I said softly. “Everything feels big when you’re six.”
Logan nodded slowly as his gaze drifted toward the hallway where Harper was now singing to herself. “Yeah.”
When he finally stood, he looked at me again. “You sure you’re okay with this?”
“I am,” I said softly. “Go do what you need to do.”
He hesitated at the doorway, shoulders tense like he was trying to memorize everything before he left. Then he smiled in a small, grateful, slightly sad way.
“Thank you,” he said. “Really.”
“You already thanked me, remember?” I teased lightly. “Twice. I’m keeping count.”
He smirked, shaking his head. “Fair enough, counselor.”
We both laughed, the sound fading as our eyes met again.
It was just us.
Standing too close in a too-small doorway, caught somewhere between gratitude and something we didn’t have words for yet.
He reached up, like he was going to run a hand through his hair, but his fingers brushed mine instead. It was clearly an accident, soft and brief, but enough to stop both of us cold.
His green eyes lifted to mine, and suddenly, the air felt heavier.
“I’ll call when I land,” he said finally, his voice low.
“Okay,” I whispered.
He nodded once, lingering a heartbeat longer than necessary before turning toward the door.
A few hours later, as I sat in the school pick-up line, I thought about the look on Logan’s face when he’d left, that mix of fear and trust.
He’d handed me his whole world.
And I planned to take care of it as if it were my own.