Page 12 of Our Pucking Secret (2-Hour Quickies #4)

Amanda

Logan's penthouse feels different tonight. The city lights sparkle through floor-to-ceiling windows, but I barely notice them. We're both quiet, processing.

"Your parents..." I start, then stop. How do you describe people who should have raised you?

"Yeah." He hands me a whiskey, then settles beside me on the couch. "And yours..."

I take a sip, letting the burn ground me. "John has your release."

"What?"

"When he throws. That little pause, the way he sets his feet. It's exactly like you."

Logan's quiet for a moment. "Your mom can't tell red from green."

"And Patricia has my condition." I curl closer to him. "Annalise has my dimples."

“A million people in the world have your condition. Or dimples. But what I felt? Left no doubt. ”

We sit in silence, the weight of certainty settling around us. All those little signs, those moments that felt like puzzle pieces clicking into place.

"They're so different," I whisper. "The LaRues with their perfect manners and European wines. The Collins with their pot roast and baseball in the backyard."

"But they're both good people," Logan says softly. "Just... different kinds of good."

I think about Patricia's careful gardening stories, Laurent's gentle smile. About my dad's warm hugs and mom's endless supply of love.

"Do we tell them?" My voice cracks.

Logan pulls me closer. "And break their hearts? No. Let them keep their children. The ones they raised, the ones they love."

We hold each other in the darkness, two pieces of a cosmic puzzle finally understanding our shapes. The truth sits between us—too big to speak, too heavy to carry alone.

But we're not alone anymore.

"Stay," he whispers.

So I do.

Because tonight, we're the only two people in the world who understand exactly what the other is feeling. Tonight, we're the only family we need.