Page 24

T he smell of summer mornings and fresh baked cinnamon rolls is my favorite. When I pull the tray from the oven and set it down on the cooling rack, I inhale deeply. The scent of spices and browned butter fills my senses with joy.

When Shelby told me to do something fun for myself on our time off, I tried dipping into my memories to pull out my father’s more detailed desserts he shared with me, but I drew a blank.

I despise the fact I can’t remember them all. It had been a while since we last baked together. I was only a young teen at the time, but the guilt heavily pounds through me like a hammer to a nail.

As I stand staring at the fresh cinnamon rolls and pour the white blanket of icing over them, realization hit me.

My dad’s recipes.

At our old home in the trailer park, they were still there, and I want them. No. I need to have them. I had nothing of my fathers since my mother donated everything he owned. And what she hadn’t, my stepfather sold for extra cash. I despised the air that man breathed .

Guess I’m making a trip down memory lane. Since spontaneous is my middle name, I’m leaving. Today.

A noise breaks my thoughts, and I peer out the open window in front of me. Not just any car, my car, pulls into the driveway, and, adding to my confusion, Logan gets out from the driver's side.

Wait, a damn minute.

Why did he have my car? And how the hell did he get my keys? I check the hook where they normally hang from. Gone.

I take off the pink tie dye apron I borrowed from Lana and fling it onto the table. Just as I’m about to go storming out of the house demanding answers, Lana walks downstairs yawning.

“Do you know why Logan was driving my car?” I ask nervously, tapping my finger on my hip.

Lana inhales the warm buttery scent that takes over the kitchen. “Oh, yeah. Logan asked for your keys while you were still sleeping.”

“And you gave them to him?”

Why would Logan take my car? And for what?

“Yessss,” she drags out. “It’s Logan.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It means…” Lana stands over the tray, practically salivating. “I trust Logan with my life. I figured if he wanted to take your car somewhere, he had a good reason. Can I have one of these?”

It makes me uneasy for many reasons. The car I kept secret and used as a getaway vehicle was enough to send a sharp warning through my gut. I’m not sure what I fear, but I don’t like it.

She rips her hungry eyes away from the rolls to me. “Shit. You’re mad. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said yes without your permission.”

No. She shouldn’t have, but this is Lana. My only friend who opened her home to me while I ran from my husband. I can’t be mad at her. And she did slap Mark in the face for me.

“I’m not mad at you, but I do have a bone to pick with our neighbor.”

“So, does this mean I can have a cinnamon roll?”

“Yes!” I shout, stalking down the steps, and without hesitation I bang a fist to Logan’s door.

For the first time since meeting Logan, I don’t give a flying fuck what I look like. My hair’s a mess piled on the top of my head. Flour dust covers my yoga shorts, and the oversized band shirt I bought from the thrift store already has a hole in the sleeve.

I tap my foot, then pound my fist to his door again, and this time, the tall oak wood comes flying open. Logan stands there on the other side, wearing nothing but a towel around his hips.

A motherfucking towel.

I fight desperately trying to pry my eyes away, but I’m stuck. Paralyzed.

Water trickles down slowly, sliding over every ridge of muscled abs before hitting the top of the terry cloth and disappearing.

Is this seriously how he always answers the door? This reminds me of the first time I stood here, brownies in my hand. With Logan always being shirtless, it has me questioning if he owned enough shirts.

“Sora.” The sound of his smoldering voice sends my vagina into a frenzy mess.

I blink, finally drawing my eyes up and away from the gorgeous image in front of me.

With astonishing will, I keep my eyes forward.

“Why did you steal my car?” Don’t look down.

Don’t look down. “I’m not sure who you think you are, but you can’t go around taking people’s cars.

Not to mention, you’ve been pulling your bullshit on me again.

” I’m not sure why I let that slip, but since it’s been bugging me, I thought I’d throw it in.

He crosses his enormous arms over his sculpted chest. “My bullshit?”

“Yes. You know. When something incredibly embarrassing happens between us, usually me, then you bolt for a week avoiding me.”

He raises his brow. “Is that what you think I do?”

“Yes.” I scowl at him, my hands on my hips and even though I feel controlled, my heart is beating crazy fast.

Logan holds me captive with his fierce gaze, and I get lost for a second like I’m washed out at sea because, wow, they are so blue.

“I wasn’t hiding.”

Now he’s just being na?ve.

“No?”

“No,” he counters.

I don’t believe him. But whatever. We can have that argument another time. I’d like to know why he had my car.

“So. Why did you steal my car?”

“I borrowed it.”

“That’s a technicality.”

“It’s the truth.” Logan’s thick shoulders rise, then fall as he takes in a deep breath. “I took your car so I can put new tires on it.”

I blink. “What? Why would you do that?” How incredibly insensitive for him to just do something without my permission, but also… how incredibly, stupidly nice of him.

I glance over at my car. Sure enough, as the earth is round, there they are. Four shiny brand-new tires sitting at each corner. I feel like fighting Logan but also hugging him tightly. This man is consistently helping me.

Okay, guess I’m finished being angry. “Thank you.” My voice cracks in a whisper. “But I can’t keep owing you. My tab is going to be as long as Santa’s effin’ Christmas list.”

“Sora. I told you already, you don’t owe me a damn thing and I mean it.”

“But it’s too much, Logan. I barely know you.” It’s true. While I don’t know this man entirely, he keeps on being way too sweet.

“Your old tires were completely bald. It’s dangerous to drive on them like that.”

My whole body warms at the thought of him being worried about me.

I swipe my tongue across my bottom lip, the gesture not going unnoticed. That part is obvious as he stands there in just his towel, watching my mouth like he wants to devour it with his. I might be reading the signals wrong, but the way my body is unraveling, I’d say I’m right.

He clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “I should probably put some clothes on.”

No, you really shouldn’t.

“Yes. Good idea.” I throb, pulse between my thighs. Walk away Sora. Walk away.

Logan’s throat bobs with a nervous swallow, and it’s sexy for no reason at all. It’s a crime, really.

“I will find a way to pay you back for everything,” I finally tell him.

He goes to speak but I throw up a hand, stopping him. “No fighting me on this. I don’t like owing people.” I take a deep breath, letting it out. “Okay, well. Goodbye.” I scurry away.

Go. Go. Go.

“Sora,” he calls after me and I turn, locking eyes with his. “I won’t be hiding anymore.” He pauses and my mouth parts. “Just so you know.”

I swallow the rock in my throat and as he shuts his door, disappearing behind it, I’m glued to where I stand. They’re just words. I should not be over analyzing them. It’s nothing. There is no hidden meaning.

He bought me tires.

This is all new to me. Someone does nice things because they generally care and without any backhanded meaning.

I close the door, resting my forehead on it.

“That man has it bad. At first, I thought he was just being gentlemanly, but now… no way.” Lana smiles with a half-eaten cinnamon roll in her mouth.

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about Logan being obsessed with you.”

“You’re crazy. He’s just being nice,” I say as the sticky icing coats my fingers when I grab a cinnamon roll, pulling it apart.

“All I’m saying is no man has ever bought me new tires.” Her brows rise while her mouth forms a grin.

Logan is not obsessed with me. Maybe he feels responsible since he’s the one who originally helped me.

Whatever the reason, he would never have those types of feelings toward me.

Not only did Claire say those words, but they are also facts.

I have no alluring qualities. Unless he wants to be fed dessert every day.

“Like I said, he’s just being nice.”

“That’s an expensive, nice gesture.”

“Fuck. I’m going to have to find a way to pay him back.”

“Oh. I’m sure he has ideas.” Lana giggles but my insides flood with heat.

I pick up an oven mitt and send it flying in her direction. “I hate you and your dirty mind.”

“You love me and don’t even try to deny it.”

He’s only being nice; I keep telling myself. There is no underlying meaning. Still… I sometimes wonder what it’d be like to have a man like Logan. Tires and all.