“I think I’m crying.”
I sniff to prove it.
He laughs and shakes his head. “They’ve been married twenty-six years.”
“What a story. Sheesh. My parents met at a bar then a few months later, my mum got knocked up with me and they sort of both agreed, Well, we might as well give it a go, right? Never had a proper wedding or anything, just exchanged rings and went round to my gran’s for some tea and cakes afterward.”
“Do you think they regret it? Getting married just because your mom was pregnant with you?”
I think of the way my mum dotes on my dad, the way he’s always teasing her and making her groan in annoyance and swear she’s had it up to here with him, though we all know she secretly loves it.
I can’t help but smile. “No, I don’t think so. They’re happy in their own way, even if it’s not quite in the perfect fairytale sense, you know?”
He nods. “Do you have any siblings?”
“Just me. The parents love to joke that I was all they could put up with. Very wild child, so to say. I argue that they’re just laying it on, but I’ve seen photos and I do look rather untamed most of the time. Sort of big-eyed and round-cheeked and quite rambunctious. What about you?”
“Just a sister. You know, Briggs’ mom. She lives in the city too.”
I smack my forehead. “Duh. Of course you’ve got a sister. Stella, right? That’s Briggs’ mom? I think I’ve only met her the one time right after winter break.”
“Yeah, I don’t see her much either. She and Bobby, her husband…they’re…well, we don’t really speak a lot.”
“Did you have a falling out?”
“No. They’re just busy with work, and I’m busy too, I guess. I don’t know. I think they could probably pay more attention to Briggs, but maybe that’s just me being judgmental. I don’t know what it’s like to be a parent.”
No, he’s spot on. Briggs is such a tender child, and I know how little time he gets with his parents. I’m glad Logan sees that too.
He shrugs and pushes up off my bed then.
“I’m going to go pour you some of that broth if you can stand it. It’ll make you feel a lot better if you can keep it down.”
“Oh, all right. I’ll try to stomach it for you.”
The moment he walks out of the room, my body seems to remember how crappy it feels. With him in here, distracting me, it’s like my food poisoning took the back seat. Now my stomach rolls and reminds me how awful I feel. I turn on my side as his mobile buzzes again.
The screen illuminates, and I’m more than a little curious to see who’s bothering him so late on a Sunday evening. I know it’s wrong to go around poking into people’s private lives, but well, I’m already facing that way and it would be more inconvenient for me not to look. I see the preview of an incoming email pop up, along with all the notifications he’s missed sitting right underneath it.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Charity Golf Game - THEY WANT YOU!
Logan, I’ve attached the invitation from Tiger’s team. They’re desperate to have you. Let me know how we can—
And then it cuts off.
Below it, another email.
From: [email protected]
Subject: SI Interview Request
Jeff is requesting a follow-up interview for the feature we did before the Super Bowl. They’re suggesting—
Then below that, a text.
DARIUS: Training bumped to 6:30 AM tomorrow. Did you see the email Coach sent? I’ll swing by and pick you up on the way.
Next, there’s a final email header.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Jimmy Fallon
I can’t see a preview of that email because it’s fallen off the screen, and it’s not like I can reach out and scroll to read it. It’s one thing to look and another to actively snoop.
My stomach hurts twice as much as it did before I looked at his mobile. It’s not like I just read a bunch of texts from ladies begging for a lay or anything like that, but sometimes it’s easy for me to forget who Logan is. I met him at preschool pick-up. To me, he’s just a normal bloke with an exceptionally defined rear end. But that’s not really the truth, is it? Logan’s a proper celebrity with a schedule that reflects it. I don’t think I can quite imagine just how busy he is on any given day, and not just in the way I am, flitting from one job to the next, meeting my flatmates for a drink.
Logan is managing a successful career, and on top of all that, he’s in my flat right now heating me up some broth out of the kindness of his heart.
Suddenly, I feel terrible for adding to his stress, for being one more thing he has to manage in a day. I immediately sit up on my bed, ignoring the wave of nausea that threatens to overtake me, and put on a real cheesy grin when Logan walks back into my room carrying a small mug of broth.
“You know what? It’s kind of a miracle—I feel loads better.”
He tilts his head in confusion. “Are you sure? You don’t look better.”
“Oh, ha.” I force a laugh. “Thanks for the compliment. It’s my English skin—always a bit flushed.” I reach out for the broth, set it on my nightstand, and then take his wallet and mobile in hand so I can pass them back to him. “But really, you don’t have to do all this, the broth and the drinks and the putting up with my flatmates. I bet Kat really took advantage of you when you put her up on the sofa.”
He takes his things and puts them in the back pocket of his jeans. “Well, she did try to grab my butt when I gave her a blanket.”
I groan and cover my eyes with my hand. “See? Can’t take us lot anywhere. We’re positively feral.”
“It’s really not that big of a deal. I’m happy to help.”
I split my fingers in front of my eyes and look up at him. My heart lurches in my chest and I feel a foreign, yet somehow familiar feeling creeping in like a vine. It’s the predecessor to the four-letter word every poet knows by heart. It’s not love, per se, because that’s mad, but I definitely like Logan more than I should. The man standing in my room with his heavenly hair and to-die-for face and, most of all, his golden heart—he’d so easily do me in. No one need bother trying to fill the gap after he’s gone. There’d be no point. I’ll just turn into an old maid, adopt a few cats, and develop an addiction to the Home Shopping Network, just like Mum. How depressing.
But who cares? Who cares about the after because I so desperately want the now—badly enough that I’ll march into the headmistress’s office first thing on Tuesday morning and lay all the facts out there. Hell, I might even camp out there Monday night, right in front of her door so she’ll have to shove me aside if she wants to get in, all to ensure I get to talk to her as soon as humanly possible.
“Okay, well if you need anything, just call me,” Logan says, stepping closer.
“Sure thing. Thank you for coming round. You were brilliant.” I drop my hands to my duvet cover, letting my gaze follow.