Page 19

S helby throws the towel down from her shoulder. “That’s it. What is going on, young lady? You’ve been ouchin’, hissin’, around here all morning.”

Ugh. I’m awful at pretending like my whole body isn’t screaming out in pain. I took pain relievers this morning, but those bastards have since worn off. Shelby stares at me like a worried yet pissed off mother. Lying to her will only keep me up at night.

“I was sort of attacked last night.”

She gasps, covering her mouth. “Oh, my word, child. What happened?” Shelby takes my hand, walking me over to a chair.

My butt collides with the wooden seat and my body relaxing in defeat. I’m completely unguarded, causing the released tears to flow.

It’s strange to be so comfortable, so relaxed, so exhausted around this lady. Maybe because she’s been incredibly kind, or maybe it’s because she reminds me of a sincere grandmother.

With my face buried in my hands, I cry silently. I cry because of Mark. I cry because of Jason. I cry because I missed my father so fucking much. And I cry because I lack a plan for my future. Who I am. Who I want to be. Wondering if I’d constantly feel unsafe. Always looking over my shoulder.

“It’s okay, dear. It’s going to be okay.” Shelby scoots her chair closer to me, wrapping a warm arm around my shoulders. “Frank! Close up. We’re done for the day.” Her voice carries to the back of the café.

“Yes, mam.” Shelby’s husband wipes sweat off his brow while huffing out a sigh of relief.

It has been extra busy.

My crying comes to a pause. “No, please, don’t close because of me.”

“Nonsense. Besides, having an early day might not be so bad.” She looks like her husband, both tired and overworked. “Now tell me what happened. Do we need to call the police?”

Police. Every time I’m hit with that suggestion, my stomach sinks to the floor.

“That won’t be necessary. It’s handled… for now,” I tell her, then begin the quick version of what happened.

“That weasel punk. If I see him around. I’ll… I’ll… ugh!” She balls up a fist, my heart warming at the sight. Here’s this sweet old lady ready to brawl… for me.

“It’s okay. I just needed a good cry. Thank you.”

Concern draws her mouth taut. “Does Logan know?”

What a weird question to ask, but I told her that someone had pulled Mark off me. I just left Logan’s name out of it.

“Well, actually, he was the one who stopped Mark.”

Her body relaxes. “That’s a fine young man. Always liked him.” She holds my stare, slapping her hands to her apron covered thighs. “It’s settled. No arguing. I’m sending you home to rest.”

Being on my feet made my body ache more. Rest is probably a good idea.

“I’ll be back tomorrow morning. I promise.”

“Take all the time you need, dear.”

I make my way to my car after having thanked Shelby a million times for her kindness. It’s lunchtime, and I decide before heading back to Lana’s that there’s somewhere I need to stop.

As I walk up to George’s Tow service carrying an order of chicken tenders and fries, I feel foolish. What if Logan already ate? What if he doesn’t like chicken or fries? What if he doesn’t eat carbs? He definitely eats sweets.

Logan is a persistent presence in my thoughts.

Whether he swirled in my mind in the shower, making coffee, baking at the café, he popped up like a ghost waiting to rest. The pull to him is too powerful and clouds my judgement.

I suppose him showing up to my rescue all the damn time has something to do with it.

It may also be the safety aspect of it all.

Maybe it’s selfish, or maybe this is what an actual relationship felt like.

Of course, we are nothing but friends. Well, friends might even be a step ahead, but it brings me some sort of comfort.

Also, the idea of being with someone like Logan is entertaining.

Though I can’t pursue a relationship for obvious reasons. I’m still married to the devil himself.

I halt dead in my tracks.

This is dumb.

I spin to leave but change my mind, trudging back to the garage.

Fuck it, I’m already here. Entering the front, I glance around the area, which looks identical to the first time I saw it.

Paint is still chipped from the walls even though I swear he was getting the shop painted, but there are no signs of fresh paint anywhere.

I contemplate leaving the bag and bolting, but Logan steps up from the back, wiping his big yet greasy hands off with a rag.

He freezes when he sees me.

“Logan.” I wave embarrassingly. A little girly pageant wave I wish I can take back.

“Sora.” His stare entrances me as it always does. “Everything all right?” He’s wearing a cut off today with jeans that hang perfectly low around his waist. His glowing, sweaty skin layered in those tattoos, and his facial beard is thicker than normal.

Why am I noticing all these things? And it must be odd that I am here, hence why he asked if I’m all right.

“Yes. Sorry. Everything’s fine. Shelby let me off work early.

Well, she demanded I go home to rest. But I thought, if you haven’t already eaten, I brought lunch…

as a thank you.” I hold up the medium size paper bag.

“Chicken and fries. Do you eat carbs? Because well you look like… that, so maybe you don’t.

” I wave my free hand, tracing the air of his figure.

“Not that I’m checking you out. You’re just kind of hard to miss.

” I huff out a breath. Dear God. Make it stop. “Wow, that was embarrassingly long.”

He blinks with a grimace, and it looks like he’s suppressing a genuine smile. Why doesn’t he ever let me truly see his smile? I bet it’s beautiful.

He takes a step forward and accepts the bag, grazing his fingers with mine. “I eat carbs, Sora,” he says as a matter-of-factly.

“Good. That’s good.” I mentally roll my eyes. “Anyway. I’ll let you eat in peace.” I want to bolt out of here in a full-blown sprint, which makes me wished I ran more. I go to exit his shop, taking what’s left of my pride.

“Wait.” His deep voice seems to echo off the walls.

I don’t dare face him, but I instantly feel his presence. The warmth coating my back.

“Did you eat yet?”

I shake my head, lacking speech but turn slightly, capturing the sight of his large form.

“Have lunch with me?”

Such a simple question causes my heart to race. “Uh, yeah. Sure. I can do that.”

We both sit on his sucky ass couch, but I ignore the roughness and the way the old spring stabs my left ass cheek. I also pretend to ignore how it claws at my sore back.

On the table in front of us, he lays the food on top of the bag; me going first as I plop a fry into my mouth.

I am starving. Tasting the deliciousness of the greasy food, I hold back a moan.

This differs significantly from the meals I had cooked for me.

I miss indulging in foods like these. Reminds me of my father, and how he’d always take us to the burger place near the trailer park.

As I bite into another fry with the grease hitting my tongue, a moan escapes this time, and Logan swallows in a lustful stare. I’m also hyper aware that if I move an inch, my leg will brush up against Logan’s.

“How’s your back today?” Every time he asks, his eyes darken fiercely.

I shrug. “I definitely feel like someone threw me down a flight of stairs, but nothing a little aspirin can’t fix.”

With a darkened sigh, he leaves the couch, heading toward the back. Not a minute later, he returns with a pillow. “Here. Move up slowly.”

I do just that and he slips the pillow gently behind me, the softness instantly taking the pressure off my back.

“Thank you. That feels better.” I slink back into its comfort. The lingering scent of his swirls around me and I’m almost positive this is the pillow he sleeps on.

“You’re welcome.” The couch dips next to me. “But stop feeling like you owe me.”

The food. He must think I brought him lunch to owe him. Well, he might be right. But this is also an excuse to see him.

“I don’t think I’ll ever stop feeling that way. You’ve done a lot for me so far and it’s the least I can do.”

“I don’t mind.” He manhandles his fried chicken tender before tossing it between his full lips.

“Thank you.”

“And stop saying thank you,” he mumbles with a full mouth.

“Why would I stop saying thank you?”

“Because it’s unnecessary.” He untwists the cap to his water, and I watch as his throat bobs with each swallow.

He has a nice neck, I oddly notice. It’s strong. He gives me a water and I start to say thank you but then stop.

“I thought you were having the place painted?” I scan the room.

He pauses mid-chew, then clears his throat. “They had to reschedule.”

Ah. Now that makes sense.

If he needs someone to paint his shop, I can do it.

I love painting. Not canvas painting like Lana, but walls.

I like to paint walls. I bet a forest green would look good.

Or maybe that’s too dark. I’m lost in thought but notice Logan studying me carefully.

His eyes hold me prisoner. One who doesn’t want to leave.

“You do that a lot.”

“What’s that?” I ask with my leg accidentally falling to his, but he keeps it there, not bothering to move it and I don’t move mine either.

“Your mind wanders. You look peaceful.”

I smile at the positive effect his words have on me. “I was just thinking about how I can paint your shop for you.”

His brow twitches. “Sora. You are not painting my shop.”

“Why not?” I turn my body more toward his. “I swear this is not me trying to pay you back. It could be fun. We both can do it, and it’ll save you money.” Not sure if Logan needs to save money, but if there’s a way, who doesn’t want to?

He chews a fry while staring at me cautiously. “I’ll think about it.”

My smile widens with confidence.

“Don’t gloat. I haven’t said yes yet.” His eyes catch mine.

“True. But saying you’ll think about it means there’s a good chance.” I poke him. Right in his chest—right in his solid chest. I snap my hand back, placing it in my lap.

Refraining from feeling up, my ridiculously hot neighbor needs to be on a list somewhere. I’m not sure if my touch bothers him, but Logan grows tense sucking in a heated breath.

Deciding not to make a further fool of myself, I sit in silence for a while. It’s normal for us, but I am curious about something, and, for some reason, my impulses never seem to miss a beat.

“I can’t help but wonder.”

Logan groans. “See.”

“Whatever.” I roll my eyes in fun. “Your dad… does he own the shop? I guess I’m curious since his name is on the sign.”

The reaction is immediate and right then I knew I messed up. My stomach turns sour at the thought of upsetting him.

Logan stands to his intimidating height, tossing the empty bag into the trash. “I gotta get back to work. Thank you for lunch.” And just like that, he disappears to the back, leaving me here dumbfounded on his terrible fucking couch.

With the shameful drive back to Lana’s, my mind turns and turns. Suddenly, I want to know everything there is to know about Logan and whatever his last name is.