Page 81 of Riding the Sugar High

When I turn his way, Logan forces his smile to flatten out.

“I pestered the owner until he gave me a part-time job there, thinking I’d learn how to make candy, which, of course, I did not—he just bought it.” He smiles again, small wrinkles forming at the corner of his hooded eyes. “But I worked there for years, and Isawcandy bring happiness to everyone. Cute couples bickering over what flavor to buy, kids darting left and right while their parents tried to contain their joy. Candy is a treat you use to celebrate something good or to feel better after something bad. It's a sweet, fluffy joy.”

For a long moment, he doesn’t say a word. Then he exhales. “I like listening to you speak.”

When my mouth opens wordlessly, he cringes and clears his voice. “Uh, I also hate it when you ask a billion questions.”

Oh my God. He likes to listen to me speak.

“So, hmm...” He uncomfortably glances at my shocked but pleased expression. “That’s when you decided to be a candy maker?”

“Yup. YouTube tutorials.” I widen my eyes and speak slowly. “YouTube is aninternetwhere you watch videos.”

“Funny.”

He seems relieved about the change of topic, so I fish into my bag and take out a lollipop. I need this horrible taste off my mouth. “I decided I’d make candy for people who were told they couldn’t have it, like me, because nobody should miss out on happiness. And one day, my candy will be at that very same shop in Mayfield.”

His eyes dart to my lips, wrapped around the lollipop. “I have no doubt you’re right.”

God, I can’t take it when he’s so sweet. It almost makes up for his shitty attitude ninety-nine percent of the time. But now that I’ve answered his questions, surely he’ll answer mine. “What is exactly the problem between you and your brother?”

“Barbie,” he warns.

“Come on. I told you about my candy, didn’t I?”

He groans, rubbing a hand over his beard, then probably deciding I’d eventually wear him down, he mumbles, “Aaron bailed on me. We were supposed to manage the farm together—he inherited all this money from his dad, and we’d agreed he’d invest part of it in the farm. He went to work for his uncle instead.”

As he re-lights his joint and brings it to his lips, I ask, “Is your mom...”

“It’s his mom too, yes. Aaron’s dad died, and she remarried with my father. They come from money, and all we ever had is...” He sighs. “The farm. By the time he went to work for his pretentious uncle, Aaron and I already weren’t on the best terms, and that just...sunk us.”

“Well, it’s a dick move,” I whisper. And at least part of the reason why the farm is struggling, I’m sure.

“Yes, itwasa dick move. The last dick move I tolerated from him.”

My heart twists for him, but offering comfort would probably be met with some bark or grunt, so I ask, “Why weren’t you on the best terms?”

He seems particularly annoyed by this question, his lips thinning as he clenches his teeth. I guess I must be close to the heart of the issue.

“He stole all of my porn magazines.”

Of course.

“And my favorite pages were encrusted shut.”

“So gross. If you don’t want to tell me, just say so.”

He winks. “I don’t want to tell you, Barbie.”

“Fine.” I cross my arms, and when light gusts of cool wind whistle around us, goosebumps rise on my skin, and I rub my naked arms.

“You know, you should start throwing some real clothes on.”

Eyes wide, I lift my head. “Excuse me?”

He shrugs. “I’m just saying. You’re not in Mayfield anymore. It gets cold here at night, and watching you shiver drives me up the wall. Also, you don't live alone.”

“And?”