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“I get it,” he continues. “But just as a warning, calling attention to your mouth around me right now is a very risky idea.”

I’m already anticipating the way it would feel if he drew me to him to keep me warm. Or if he came even closer and kissed me. His fingers tighten on my arms and his eyes drop to my mouth again.

A bell clangs in the distance, and we both flinch.

“The dinner bell,” he explains with a wince.

I laugh nervously and step away. “Sounds like they’re waiting for you.”

“Thanks for driving and meeting Susie Q.”

“Thanks for playing pickleball.”

I raise a hand in goodbye and head over to my car. There’s a lot more I want to say, but right now silence seems to be the safest choice.

Chapter Twenty-One

The next morning, I wake up to a photo of Susie Q, along with a text from Logan.

Logan:She misses you

My grogginess fades as I read the words. I zoom in on the adorable photo—she’s drinking from a bottle, which I didn’t get to see last night.

Quinn:That’s because she has good taste, and not just for milk

Logan:You might be right about that

Quinn:Is this an old photo? Please tell me you weren’t up early enough this morning to take this.

Logan:5:30

Quinn:I just died and came back to life at the idea

Logan:I’m used to it

Quinn:Well I’m not and I still need to get ready

Logan:I’ll text with any farm updates

And he does. Not exactly about farm stuff, or at least not only about that. He texts to complain about his English teacher and I reply back about pre-calc. In the evening, I send him a photo of the bracelet I made with his dice, and in the morning I find a series of texts about the novel he’s reading. The following day, there are more texts than the day before. Nothing about them is romantic—I could hand my phone to my mom or Kashvi and there’d be nothing to raise an eyebrow over.

And yet.

I like seeing how he starts his mornings by checking on Susie Q and feeding their goats. I like updating him on the (honestly boring) details of my school day. I find myself wanting to know the funny meme he just found, and his opinions on the latest Marvel trailer, and which novel he’s going to read next. It’s all mundane, but it doesn’t feel that way. Each text is like a secret present just for me.

I almost wish it wasn’t so fun. If he proved himself to be a jerk, then I wouldn’t need to worry about where all this is leading, but he can’t even do me that courtesy. Instead, he’s cool and kind and funny, and it’s maddening.

Thoughts of Logan aren’t the only things plaguing my mind. Ever since I ran away from Paige at the comic book fest, I haven’t stopped thinking about what I told her. Why did I have to mention the livestream campaign? I know why I did it in the moment—because I was desperate for her to know I was fine and nothing she’d done had permanently hurt me—but what if she searches for our livestream? It’s not exactly popular, so a quick Google search won’t turn it up,but if she cared and did a little digging, she could find it. The recordings of our sessions are there for all to see.

I wish they didn’t have this power over me, but I can’t shake the worries. And, for better or worse, there’s one person in particular I want to talk to about it. I pace across my bedroom floor Thursday night, trying to decide how much to say to him. So far our texts haven’t gotten very deep, so I start simple.

Quinn:Busy?

Logan:Watching tv with my parents. It’s their way of bonding

Quinn:I thought you bonded over cow poop?

Logan:No, that’s how WE bond