Chapter Eight

Angela

“Does this say ‘desperate stalker’ or ‘I may have casually noticed you once or twice’?” I ask Audrey, holding another dress in front of me. It’s a classic little black dress that doesn’t seem special at all. She’s sprawled across my bed, which is covered with every other item of clothing I’ve rejected this afternoon.

“It says ‘get in my vagina.’ That’s what it says.”

I roll my eyes. “You are absolutely no help.”

She hops off the bed and forces me to face the full-length mirror hanging on the back of my closet door. What I see is an eight-year-old redhead little girl still crushing on a boy who once said she looked like a superhero. Beyond that, I see all my flaws—my thick thighs, asymmetrical boobs, my dark blue eyes, and the freckles dotting my shoulders. I blow my bangs out of my face and meet Audrey’s gaze in our reflection.

“I’m no help, because you don’t need help, Al. Every dress will look great on you. You’re a gorgeous girl. Logan won’t be able to take his eyes off of you. Side note, how did cleaning out your mom’s house go yesterday?”

“Oh my god, it was more than I could handle. I spent five hours there and came out with six bags of trash, two bags to drop off at the church for donation, and a pile of newspapers so big it filled the backseat of my car.” I sigh. “They’re still in my car until I drive to Franklin on Monday to bring them to the recycling center.”

“That sounds like a nightmare. Did you even make a dent?”

“I did. The front room and kitchen are clear. I’m not sure I have the strength to finish the whole house. My mom even gave me a big box of my dad’s comic books. She said he always wanted me to have them.” I look down at the dress again then toss it onto my bed and stare at the pile of inadequate clothes. They seem to stare back in a standoff, their feelings hurt for being judged and rejected.

“It doesn’t matter what I wear. I’m going to be awkward. I’m going to say the wrong thing. He’s going to realize he’s made a mistake and run for the hills. You know I’m a big dork!”

Audrey nods and fishes through the last items of my closet. “Yeah, you’re a dork, but it’s adorable. You’re adorkable. Haha.”

“Why couldn’t I get a normal fairy godmother?” I ask, looking toward the ceiling and pressing my palms together.

“I’ve got it!” Audrey yells. She turns and reveals a teal dress. Not just any teal dress—this is the dress I wore when I broke up with Danny. It’s a bandage dress with a high neck and low back. The color transitions from a bright teal into pastel blue at the hem.

“I can’t wear that. A, I can barely breathe in that thing. And B, there’s bad memories associated with it.”

She shoves it at me, heavy brows over serious eyes. “So take shallow breaths and associate some new damn memories. Get dressed.”

…

At exactly 6:58, I hear Logan pull into my driveway. My pulse soars as I listen to him leave his truck and make his way up my front steps. Three quick knocks on my front door and I take deep breaths as I slip into my heels. My insides seem to buzz and I can’t tell if it’s from excitement or nausea. I stand in place for a full minute, making him wait, like I haven’t been ready and pacing the house for almost an hour.

Finally, I run my fingers through my hair, tug at the hem of my dress, and unlock the door. When it swings open, neither of us says a word. Logan grins as his gaze starts at my feet and slowly makes its way to my face. He’s wearing a crisp blue button-up shirt that makes his eyes shine, and jeans that look soft and comfortable. They are relaxed and at the same time hug his thighs just a bit. I want to pinch myself just to make sure that Logan Sawyer is actually standing on my porch.

“Hi,” I say.

“Wow,” he breathes out in a gush of air. “You look…wow.”

I duck my head to hide my red cheeks and mumble thanks.

Logan’s fingers gently nudge my chin, bringing my eyes back to his. “What’s so interesting down there?” he asks.

“Well, my shoes, for one. And have you seen my welcome mat? I got it online last week.”

Logan looks down between his feet and chuckles when he sees the iconic blue Tardis from Doctor Who and the words “It’s bigger inside.” I’m proud of my impulse purchase after binge watching the show for three days straight. I figure I might as well be upfront. This is who I am—sci-fi shows and comic book heroes.

“You’re on time,” I point out.

Logan grins. “Always.”

I grab my clutch from a nearby table and pull the door closed behind me. We stand facing each other beneath the yellow haze of my porch light. Moths flutter around the bulbs, making shadows dance across the space. The chirping of crickets is a soundtrack to this awkward standoff.

“Ready?” I ask, when we’ve been standing in silence for too long.

“Yes,” he answers, grabbing my hand to help me down the steps and out to his truck. That hand is everything I imagined—strong but gentle, warm and smooth. Just his touch sends an electric shock up my arm that flows through my body like water rushing over me. If holding the man’s hand feels this good, I may drop dead if it goes any further. At least I would die happy.

Logan leads me to the passenger side of his truck. He opens the door and notices me hesitating—his eyes volley back and forth between me and the open door. Heat rushes into my cheeks as I internally curse my telling blush. In this dress, I know the odds of lifting my foot high enough to climb into his truck are slim. After a few moments and no way around it, I decide to just go for it.

I lift my left foot up, trying to place it on the truck. The dress doesn’t stretch enough and I miss completely. I try again, with a bit more effort, and end up kicking the bottom of Logan’s truck.

“Are you okay?” he asks, amusement seeping into his question.

I slap my hand over my face and hide behind my fingers.

“Sorry,” I say. Why on earth did I wear this dress? I didn’t think this through at all. I make a mental note to kill Audrey when I see her. “Um, this is embarrassing, but I don’t think I can climb up there in this dress. I can go change if—”

“Absolutely not,” he interrupts. Before I know what’s happening, Logan’s hands are around my waist and he lifts me up onto the seat like it’s nothing. I let out a little squeak of surprise, but when his hands leave my body, I already miss them. He gives me a wink before shutting the door and jogging around to his side.

“Thanks for the help,” I say, once he’s in the truck.

“No problem. It was a great excuse to get my hands on you,” he says with a smirk.

I grin, knowing that Logan would never need an excuse to touch me. But it’s nice to know that he wants to get his hands on me.

Soon we’re on the road heading out of Crowley, with nothing but Midwest crops as company. I’ve traveled this road so many times I could do it with my eyes closed—every trip to Franklin bringing me closer to my degree. But the road feels different this time. It leads to something more, something unknown, something so filled with possibilities it can’t be defined.

I glance at Logan’s profile and memorize every detail of this moment. A beautiful sunset is the backdrop for his profile. The colors from the sky fill the truck with golden hues and I know exactly how I would paint it. I’d fill my palette with cadmium orange, cobalt violet, and medium magenta. I would cover a canvas with Logan Sawyer, painting only where the light touches his skin, letting the shadows define his strong jaw, the pout of his lips, and the curl of his overgrown hair.

Logan glances my way and I know I’ve been caught staring. The look in his eyes says he doesn’t mind one bit. I wonder if he’d feel differently if he knew how often I’ve stared at him over the years.

Music plays through the truck’s speakers, but it’s too low for me to recognize. The quiet, his calm, the fading light, all seem to add to my anxiety. My frazzled nerves feel electrified. I fidget in my seat, crossing my legs and pulling down my dress. Logan’s eyes flick to my legs and back to the road more times than I can count. I turn my head toward the window to hide my smile.

“So, this is your truck, huh?” Thirteen years of longing for this man and I ask him the most ridiculously rhetorical question. I clasp my hands together in my lap—as if in prayer—and wish for some kind of intelligence and grace to find me this evening.

“Yep. This is Janine.” One hand leaves the steering wheel, rubbing over the dashboard affectionately. “Oh, the stories she could tell.”

“Janine?”

“You didn’t name your car?”

I shrug. “Sometimes I call her ‘Please start, you piece of shit,’ but I don’t think that counts.”

He smirks and I want to kiss that smirk right off his handsome face. I envision pressing my lips to the corner of his lopsided grin, right where mouth meets dimple. It makes my heart want to leap out of my chest. In the enclosed space of his truck, I catch a hint of his cologne. It’s kind of woodsy, kind of sweet—nothing I’ve smelled before, but everything I’d expect from Logan Sawyer.

“So, where are we off to?” I ask, unable to take the silence between us any longer.

“My favorite place in Franklin,” he says. His fingers tap against the steering wheel as we fly down the highway. “I hope you like Thai food.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever tried it.”

“You’ve been missing out, then. Don’t worry, I’ll help you order.”

I nod as my brain scrambles to keep the conversation going. Everything I think of sounds silly, so I keep my mouth shut. Logan doesn’t seem to mind the quiet. He shifts in his seat and takes another sideways glance at me. I uncross my legs and cross them the other way just to feel a tiny bit of power in the way he squirms.

“Can I ask you something?” I say, forcing the question before I can chicken out.

“Sure.”

“Why did you ask me out?”

Logan looks at me and back to the road.

“I’m just curious, because, you know, we’ve grown up in the same town our whole lives. You’ve been coming into the diner a couple times a week for years. Why now?”

Logan shrugs one shoulder, and as he answers I can’t help but stare at his profile. “I don’t know. It’s like all this time you were there, but I never really saw you, and then suddenly, BAM! There you were with your pretty smile and your flirting and your pie. Plus you came highly recommended,” he says with a grin.

I chuckle. “Yes, endorsements from my mom always work in my favor.”

His gaze slides to me, one eyebrow lifted higher than the other. “She wasn’t the only one.”

“What? Who?” I ask, a little surprised that I’d be the topic of conversation anywhere in Crowley.

“A little birdie,” he says, grinning. I wait for more, but he doesn’t expound on that.

We make it to Franklin in twenty minutes because Logan drives fast—very fast—which I find ironic for a sheriff’s deputy. The outside of the building is plain with a simple sign above the door. Inside, the restaurant is decorated in deep, rich colors accented with paintings and intricate wood carvings. A fat Buddha statue sits near the hostess stand, an offering of fruit, candy, and a few coins at his feet. The scent of garlic and unfamiliar spices makes my mouth water and my empty stomach growl.

“Sawyer, reservation for two,” Logan says. In the very short walk from our parking space to the restaurant, my shoes have already started to pinch. I shuffle my feet, trying to soothe the aching in my little toe. No matter how I move or stretch my feet, there is no relief for the little guy. I know better than to wear new shoes out on a date, but they make my legs look so long, I couldn’t resist.

“I’m sorry, sir, but we don’t have a reservation under that name.”

Logan looks to me and back to the hostess. “I called two days ago. Logan Sawyer. Seven thirty. It should be there.” He cranes his neck, trying to take a peek at the list she has in front of her.

She reads over it again and shakes her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t have it.”

“Are there any tables available?” he asks, donning his megawatt smile. “You’re a resourceful girl. I’m sure you can find something for us, right?”

I’m a little embarrassed by this and turn to look at a beautiful fish tank on the opposite wall just to occupy myself.

“I’ll see what I can do,” she says, her tone overly sweet. A minute later the hostess grabs two menus and motions for us to follow her.

Logan pulls out my chair and slides it in as I sit, totally ignoring the doe-eyed look the hostess is giving him.

“Thank you,” I say, unfolding my napkin and laying it in my lap. I rest my elbows on the table, then remember the hundreds of times my mother complained about manners. I immediately remove them and sit up taller just to make her proud. “Well, that was interesting.”

“What?” he asks while looking at me over the menu. “Getting a table without a reservation? It’s impossible to get in here on a Saturday. But some can get by on charm, right?”

I give him a small smile. While it’s endearing that he wants to share his favorite restaurant with me, it’s kind of ballsy to just assume you can get in on looks and charm alone. Of course, he pulled it off, so I guess he’s justified in thinking that. Lord knows I’d give him anything he asked for.

When our waiter appears, he asks for our drink order and I shrug, not knowing if I should play it safe or have a cocktail. While a drink could definitely help me relax a bit, it could also make things worse. I decide to follow Logan’s lead. He orders a beer, so I order a glass of white wine. When we’re alone again, we both look over our menus.

“So, what makes Thai food your favorite?” I ask, peeking over the top of my menu to see his face.

“It’s got all the great things about Chinese food, but with heat. It’s a combination of tastes. A lot of the popular Thai dishes were originally Chinese, but with influence from other places, it’s grown into what we have today. And if you ask for something spicy, know that they are not messing around. It will probably burn your face off.”

I raise my eyebrows. “You suddenly seem very cultured for a guy who’s never left Crowley.”

He genuinely looks embarrassed but shrugs his shoulders. “Lots of down time at the station. I’ve been known to fall into a Google black hole or two. This leads to that, which leads to something else, and almost always ends up on videos of cats knocking things off of tables.”

I chuckle. “Yes. Everything on the internet circles back to cats.”

After our drinks arrive, Logan passionately explains his favorite dishes to me. I’m surprised at how easy he is to talk to, how down to earth he seems to be. I study the menu, even though I have no idea what I’m looking at.

“I don’t know what to get,” I admit.

“Would you like me to order for you? We can get a few things and share. That way you get to try all my favorites.”

I fold my menu closed. “That sounds perfect.”

When the waiter returns, Logan places our order and hands over the menus. “I hope you like it,” he says.

“I’m sure I will.” I take a sip of wine and feel it ignite my empty stomach.

“So,” he says, swigging his beer then setting it down. “Your mom mentioned that you won’t be a waitress forever. Got big plans?”

I give a nervous laugh and swallow down another mouthful of wine. “Wow. Not even to the appetizers and you’re asking for my life plan?”

“Should we start with something easier?” he asks.

“No, life plans it is. I’m in night classes at Franklin U. I graduate in December with a degree in Fine Arts. Then it’s on to a teacher prep program for elementary education.”

“You want to be an art teacher?” he asks.

I nod.

“That’s cool. Sounds like a fun job. And summers off sound even better.”

“And you? Vying for your father’s job one day?”

Logan leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. I recognize his closed-off body language and immediately want to take back my question.

“Not sure if I’m sheriff material. The rest of the guys at the department give me a really tough time. They think I haven’t earned my job, that I’m just there because my dad is sheriff. And maybe they’re right.” Logan gives a shrug. “I guess what I’m looking for is a way to prove to them—to myself—that I’m worthy. I’m actually interested in becoming a detective. I’d have to go outside of Crowley to do that, but there are plenty of places nearby. Though, it would be a bit more schooling, and I’m not sure I’m down for that.”

“Why not?” I trace the edge of my wineglass with the tip of my finger. His eyes follow the movement. When I stop, he remembers to answer.

“I don’t know. I’m a simple guy. I did well in school, but it was something I worked really hard for.”

I lean forward and hold his gaze. “You never know until you try. I bet you’d be great.”

Logan matches my position and we are suddenly much closer than we were seconds ago. The overhead light casts shadows across his face, softening his features. “What makes you say that?” He takes another sip of beer.

“Because what you lack in experience, you’ll make up for with effort.”

Logan laughs then starts choking on nothing but air. His eyes water as he beats on the middle of his chest with a fist. Even in distress, an unmistakable smile graces his lips as he surely recognizes the words he said to me before.

“Are you okay?” I ask, feeling confident for the first time this evening.

“I’m great, thanks,” he says, his voice a bit raspy.

“Your spring rolls,” the waiter announces, sliding the plate onto the table between us. “Did you need another beer, sir?”

Logan shakes his head. “A water, please.”

“And you, Miss?”

“The same,” I answer. “I love appetizers,” I say to Logan. “You don’t have to commit to one dish. You can order a bunch of appetizers and just get small tastes of everything.” We both dig in to the spring rolls. Logan watches me carefully. The crispy wrapper filled with veggies is amazing, and the tangy sweet sauce is the perfect compliment.

“Well?” he asks as I continue chewing.

“Very good,” I say, nodding and dipping the opposite end of my spring roll into the sauce. I bring the bite to my mouth and groan when a drop of sauce slides down my chin. Grabbing the napkin from my lap, I wipe the sauce away and look up to find Logan watching me. I give him a shrug. “Damn. I was hoping you were too busy eating to notice me being a klutz.”

Logan chuckles. “No such luck, I’m afraid. But I am concerned about you double dipping in our sauce.” His eyes are mischievous and teasing, a look that sends my calm into a faltering tailspin.

“I did no such thing,” I argue.

“Did you, or did you not, dip, take a bite, and dip the same spring roll again?”

“Yes, but I turned it over to the other end. It doesn’t count if I didn’t eat off of that end.” I lace my fingers together and rest my chin on them. “Am I being interrogated, deputy?”

He holds my eyes, challenging me, but I don’t back down. Finally, he cracks a small grin.

“I guess you’re right. Though I doubt it matters anyway. I’ll be kissing you later, so what’s a little double dip between friends?” His tongue sweeps across his bottom lip as my heart tries to break free from my chest.