Page 32 of Savior

“What?” He refocuses on my face. “Oh, no.”

“No?” What a confusing man.

My expression makes him grin, changing his whole brooding, devilish face into a younger, more boyish version. “I’m a recovering alcoholic, Sienna.”

I glance down at the bottle in my hand in abject horror. “But you said . . .”

He laughs. “Relax. I always want a beer, but I haven’t had one in about a month.”

Shaking my head, I put the beer back on the shelf. “Sweet tea okay?”

“Perfect.”

The kitchen is only big enough for a small table and two chairs and with Logan’s huge form standing in the middle, it seems even smaller. He takes a place at the table and makes an appreciative noise when I set a glass of iced tea in front of him.

“Thanks. You know, you’ve only been here a couple weeks and already this place feels more homey than mine.”

I pull dishes from the cabinets and set them on the counter. Glancing back over my shoulder, I say, “Why’s that?”

“Probably because I’ve never unpacked.”

“How long have you lived there?”

“Three years,” he says, and even though I can’t see him, I hear the smile in his voice.

I sputter, laughter bubbling in my throat. “Three years and you haven’t unpacked?”

“I figure boxes are practically ready-made storage.”

Rocky bumps his head into my legs when he scents the casserole I’m spooning onto the plates, and I idly pat his head with my free hand. “I bet it drives Diane crazy.”

He smiles behind the glass of tea. “Oh, yeah. She hates it, but she refuses to unpack it for me, too.”

The microwave beeps, and I pull out the first plate. “Good for her. She shouldn’t be doing those things for you. You’re a grown man.”

When I set the plate of food in front of him he grins. When he reached out and wraps his long fingers around my wrist, I freeze. “What?” I ask.

“Got you to make me dinner, didn’t I?”

I pause and then my eyes widen. “You little sneak! So that’s why you keep coming around. You’re worse than the dog.” Rocky, who’s been begging for food since I opened the casserole dish perks up. I roll my eyes at the pair of them.

With my own plate in hand, I sit across from Logan. Rocky settles in between our feet under the table. It’s . . . cozy, which is funny because Logan and cozy don’t seem like they’d correlate, but I forgot how nice it is to justhang out with another person. I take a fortifying sip of my own drink. “Why’d you need to get out of your own head?” I ask.

He glances up at me and chews his bite of food slowly before swallowing. “I’m sure you’ve probably figured it out.”

“Rough call from last night?”

“You can say that.”

“I’m not sure it’s worth much, but I’m sorry.”

“You’re feeding me, so at least something decent came of it.”

I wave it away. “I’m just being neighborly.”

“For someone who habitually carries a gun, you’re being very hospitable.”

Shrugging, I take a bite of casserole. “Turning over a new leaf.”