Chapter Twelve

Angela

“I need two eggs—wreck ’em, an order of pig—well done, and a stack in the alley.”

“Scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, and pancakes on the side. Got it,” KC responds, confirming my order.

“It’s for the reverend, so make sure that bacon is extra crispy,” I say.

“Got it,” KC repeats.

I make my way down the diner’s front counter, refilling coffee cups as I go. Everyone thanks me with a grunt or a nod, the same familiar faces I’ve been looking at for years. I place the half-empty coffee pot on the warmer and lean against the counter for a much needed break. We’ve been nonstop this morning and all I can think about is seeing Logan for lunch. Will it be awkward or are we friends now?

“You got time to lean, you got time to clean,” Audrey says, squeezing past me with a tray full of dirty dishes.

“Bite me.”

“You know I’m into that kinky stuff, Al. Don’t rev the engine if you’re not ready to race.”

I roll my eyes and laugh. “What does that even mean?”

Audrey ignores me and shuffles off to one of her tables.

When the diner is almost empty and I can’t stand staring at the clock anymore, I decide to take my break. I sit at the small table in the back room and force myself to take slow bites of my sandwich. I tell myself not to rush, but in ten minutes, my food is gone.

Trying to kill time, I take the pencil from my apron pocket and start sketching on my napkin. The sharp lines and round curves connect to create something I’ve been drawing for so long it’s effortless. With Logan’s eyes masked and a flowing cape behind him, he’s almost unrecognizable. I run my fingers over the napkin and it stirs a memory from the back of my mind.

The cafeteria is packed. As usual, I sit alone at a table near the windows, because it has the best light. With my home-packed lunch ignored, I study the stark white page of my sketchpad. I know what I want to draw, but it already covers more than half the pages of this tablet.

Even though my dad doesn’t know the sketches are of Logan, he has been telling me to branch out and draw new things, but there is something about Logan Sawyer that calls to me—an attraction that makes him appear too often in my illustrations.

I scan the room and find Logan and his buddies. There are two tables and exactly thirteen people between us. He is wearing my favorite blue shirt. Shaggy brown hair curled up on the ends shifts into a mess when he runs his hand through it, only to fall right back into place.

I sigh, put pencil to paper and start to draw. I always begin with his face, because I know it so well. The noise of the cafeteria and everyone else seems to fade away as I get lost in my drawing. That is, until a plastic tray slaps down on my table. I jump, dropping my pencil, and look up to find Charlie Singer taking a seat.

He gives me a nod before ignoring me completely and focusing on his pudding cup. Charlie doesn’t eat lunch in the cafeteria often, but when he does, he always sits with me. I think it’s his only option. While I am the kind of nerd who is invisible at this school, Charlie is the kind of nerd that is a bully magnet. His mom works in the office and I suspect most of his lunches are spent there, away from the kids who like to torment him.

We don’t chat often. It is more of a mutual understanding of solitude and a shared safe space. We’re halfway through our freshman year and high school is nothing like I imagined. Kids who once all played together have broken off into exclusive groups. They start dressing alike and talking alike, little clubs of clones. Charlie and I have no place in anyone’s group.

“Charlie! My friend!” Charlie and I both startle as Tank Jones slaps Charlie on the back. His voice is so loud the entire cafeteria stops to see what the commotion is. “Where you been hidin’, huh?”

Charlie keeps his head down and remains quiet. Tank’s face displays nothing but an evil smile. My heart is in my throat as I recognize the signs of a bad situation.

“You’re not going to eat that, are you?” Tank says, poking his finger into Charlie’s burger.

Charlie just shakes his head.

“Good. I’m still hungry.” Tank grabs the burger and takes an enormous bite out of it, chewing with his mouth open and growling like a feral dog.

The fear and anxiety inside me is quickly replaced with anger. But shame also takes hold, because I know I’ll never do anything about it.

“Mmmm. That’s a good burger.” Tank holds the burger up to show the whole room before shoving the rest into his mouth. His cheeks balloon out as he struggles to chew and I hope he chokes. “Thanks for sharing, man.”

Food flies out of his mouth as he says those words and slaps Charlie so roughly on the back that his glasses slide down his nose and fall onto the table. A few people in the cafeteria laugh, but most are just watching silently.

“What about that milk?” Tank asks, his mouth still stuffed with burger.

“Here, Tank. Take mine,” Logan says, appearing between the two boys, holding his tray of food.

Tank is surprised and doesn’t know how to react. He just stands there dumbly, his eyes volleying between the two boys. Logan hands his milk over, shoving it into Tank’s chest.

“Can I sit here?” Logan asks Charlie. Charlie just shrugs while I feel like I might die. My eyes are wide as Logan slides into one of the chairs between Charlie and me. Tank, sensing that the fun is over, frowns at the two of them.

“Oh! Don’t forget this, Tank,” Logan says, pulling a note that says “Biggest Loser” off of Charlie’s back and pressing it to Tank’s forehead. With that, the entire cafeteria breaks out into laughter and even a few cheers.

Charlie and I wear matching grins as Logan rips his burger in two, giving one half to Charlie. Within seconds, Tank is gone and everyone is back to normal—everyone except Charlie and me.

That was the day my childhood crush blossomed into something more, something made of solid feelings and lopsided love. That was the first day I sketched Logan Sawyer as a superhero, cape and all.

I check my reflection in the mirror in my locker before deciding I’ve been gone long enough. When I return from break, Logan is already parked in his usual spot. His hat rests on the stool next to him and his hands are folded on the counter.

“What’s it take for a guy to get some service around here?” he asks.

It’s so easy to forget myself when he’s sitting here with that smirk on his face.

“What can I get for you today, deputy?” I lean on my elbows on the counter in front of him. My heart thumps so hard in my chest, I’m sure he can hear it. I try to seem cool and casual, but I’m afraid he can see right through me.

“Cheeseburger and sweet tea. I’m a creature of habit.”

I give him a nod, write up his ticket, and deliver it to the cook’s window before returning with a glass of tea.

“Here you go,” I say, setting down the drink.

I stand there, not knowing if I should stay or go. I don’t know if we’re hanging out or if we’re still waitress and customer. Should I try for conversation or take my awkward ass to the back? “Whatever happened to Tank Jones?” I ask.

Logan’s eyes widen. “Haven’t heard that name in years.” He looks at the ceiling and back to me. “I think his family moved away when we were in high school. Heard he ended up at one of those reform military schools. What made you think of him?”

I shrug, not wanting to give anything away. “No idea.”

“What’s your favorite season?”

“Fall,” I answer, not having to even think about it. “I love the leaves and the weather, warm apple cider, Halloween, boots and scarves, big chunky sweaters.”

Logan takes out a small notebook and pen from the front pocket of his uniform and writes something down.

“What are you writing in there?” I ask, leaning over to look.

He quickly closes it and tucks it back into his pocket, snapping the flap closed for good measure.

“Just official sheriff’s office business, ma’am,” Logan says. “The guys down at the station give me shit all the time about my low-tech note taking, but nothing I do is right in their eyes. They’re just mad I’ve got style.”

I give him a questioning look, but decide to let it go for now. “You’ve got a smudge of dirt or something on your cheek,” I say, reaching out and swiping my thumb across his face.

“You have no idea how dirty I can be,” he says, giving me the smirk-dimple combination that has been my weakness for far too long.

“Break it up, you two,” Audrey says. “You’re giving me hot flashes.”

While my face is on fire, Logan doesn’t look the least bit flustered. He drinks his tea and grins like he didn’t just say something incredibly scandalous. A montage of very dirty images floats through my mind and it’s all I can do to keep my composure.

“So how would you rate our date on a scale of one to disaster?” Logan asks.

His question catches me off guard. I audibly swallow and lean against the back counter. “If I’m being honest?”

“Always,” he says, running a hand through his hair.

“Somewhere in the middle of that scale, leaning toward a 6 or 7.”

Logan blows out a breath and mimes stabbing himself in the chest. “Right through the heart. I can do better. Give me another chance?”

I decide to play it cool and inspect my fingernails as a distraction. “I don’t know. I figured someone with your reputation would get it right the first time. From what I hear, you’ve had tons of practice.” Even I’m impressed with these confident words.

Logan grins now, and I can’t tell if it’s pride or embarrassment. “I don’t usually have to work so hard, you know?”

“Mmm hmm,” I hum. “So, you’re saying that most women just throw themselves at you?”

He nods.

“Well, I’m not most women, and I’m worth the work.”

“I believe that,” he says. His eyebrows lower over those pretty blue eyes and I believe he’s genuinely surprised at his admission.

The diner is quiet and I feel as though we’re caught in some sort of standoff. I keep my gaze on Logan, waiting for him to say something cocky, or try to convince me that I’d be lucky to have a guy like him. I’m surprised when it doesn’t happen.

Ding. I retrieve Logan’s food and set it before him with a few extra napkins.

“Can you join me?” he asks, motioning to the seat beside him.

I shake my head and frown at him. “Millie doesn’t really like us to—”

“Millie’s not here!” Audrey shouts from across the diner, giving me an exaggerated thumbs-up. I glare at her before moving around the counter and taking a seat next to Logan.

He bumps my shoulder with his. “You always follow the rules?”

“Mostly,” I admit.

“Well, as a man of the law, I can appreciate that. I’d hate to lock you up.” Logan takes a sip of his sweet tea, those eyes still on me. His playfulness is so new and comforting at the same time.

“Sorry, deputy. No reason to use those handcuffs on me yet.”

His grin is surprised as he replies, “I think I may have underestimated you, Angela Louise. Now, about that second date…”

“Even after learning you’ll have to work for it, you want a second date?”

“What can I say? I like a challenge.” He takes a huge bite of cheeseburger.

The door chimes as four people come in and take a seat at the nearest booth.

“I’ve got to get back to work,” I say, standing and smoothing down my apron. I run my hand across his wide shoulders before tapping his badge.

I distract myself with the new customers, keeping busy and refilling Logan’s sweet tea when it’s nearly empty. After delivering the new table’s drinks, I turn to find Logan leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, watching me. The bulk of muscle and tan skin, crisscrossed and stacked, makes me stumble. I catch myself on the back of a chair and give him an embarrassed shrug.

“Now it’s my turn to get back to work,” he says. “But you never gave me an answer.”

Clearing his dishes, I don’t say a word as I drop them off in the bucket and dump out the rest of his drink. I can feel his eyes on me, watching, waiting. I like the power it gives me. All this time I’ve felt like the helpless little girl with a crush, when I was the one in control.

I want to get to know the real Logan Sawyer. I want to learn his quirks, his secrets, the boy who reads comic books and stands up to bullies. But I’m not sure that person exists anymore. Maybe he never did.

I turn to face him. “I’ll give you another chance. But I better be wooed. And no floozies.” I hold my breath, a little surprised at my attitude.

“Excellent,” he says, throwing his hat onto his head, a look of amusement painting his handsome face. “There will be wooing.” Logan leans over the counter now. “You’re not like the other girls in this town. Where have you been hiding?” he asks, eyes so serious it makes every nerve in my body still.

“In plain sight.”

He nods, straightens the collar of his shirt and tips his hat at me. “Ma’am.”

“Deputy,” I reply.

And then he is gone.

…

I am ten minutes late to class. When the door shuts behind me, the professor stops what he’s saying for a few seconds but then continues. I slide into a desk and take out my notebook.

Professor Truman paints me with a look of disappointment and I feel the heat creep into my face. I’m not sure why it affects me so much. Maybe because I associate the professor with my father so closely, I feel like disappointing him would be letting down my dad. Just focus on class, I tell myself. Take notes. Pay attention.

That notion proves to be more difficult than I imagined. The time ticks by, questions are asked and answered, readings are assigned.

“That’s all for tonight, ladies and gentlemen. Remember to study the acts of Pyotr Pavlensky for tomorrow’s quiz.” Everyone starts packing up and heading out. “Miss Lavelle, please see me for what you missed at the beginning of class.”

I hustle to get up to his desk while there are still other students in the classroom. He keeps his head down, writing as I stand there waiting.

When everyone else is gone, he hands me the sheet of paper. “I covered a few key points in those first minutes.”

“Thanks.” I tuck the paper into my book and turn to go.

“Angela, wait.”

I stop and turn back to face him. “Yes, sir?”

Silence sits between us, until he finally speaks up. “How’s your mother doing these days? I feel like a tool for not checking on her sooner.”

“She’s okay most days,” I say, not wanting to go into the agoraphobia or hoarding issues.

“Good. Good to hear. Well, tell her hello for me, would you? We spent a lot of time together with Nick. Just let her know I’m thinking of her.”

“Will do.”