“Thank you for saying that.”
His eyes narrow. “It’s the truth.”
“I appreciate you so much,” I say. I know I’ve only known him for a few days, but it feels like forever. “Did I tell you enough?” I ask.
“Not by a long shot,” he says with a laugh. “I want to know everything.”
Maybe someday. “Can we take this slow?”
I can’t give him enough info that he could contact my parents. Because I’m afraid he would, thinking he was helping me.
“You’re worried that I’ll betray your confidence?” he asks. He sits back, affronted.
“Some people have good intentions. I know you do. But you don’t understand how much I have to keep my anonymity. I can’t trust anyone.” If I do, my parents will suddenly have the info they need to sweep down and snatch me back into their world.
He nods. He’s somber. I should have known how this would affect him.
“Now that you know where I came from, I understand if you want me to leave.” I turn to reach for my bag, so that I can gather my things.
“What the f**k?” he says, his arm snaking around my stomach as he picks me up and lifts me into his lap. I turn to face him, my legs over his thigh. “Where do you think you’re going?”
I heave a sigh. “I have no idea.”
He tips my face up and looks into my eyes. “I want you here. Will you stay?”
“Will you be satisfied with what I told you?”
He nods. “For now, yes.”
His eyes narrow and I know what his next question is. “Will you tell me your name?”
I shake my head. I can’t. “I’m sorry,” I say.
He nods, settling me against his shoulder. He holds me like that for a minute, and then he jostles me out of his arms. He pulls the covers back and picks me up, tucking me. He climbs in behind me and turns me to face him. “I had hoped for more. But I’ll take what I can get. Thank you for telling me what you did.”
“Thank you for listening.”
I lean forward and touch my lips to his. He’s hesitant. “What’s wrong?” I ask, leaning back.
He pulls me into him, and I feel the length of him against my hip.
“Oh,” I say. My belly clenches. My need matches his.
He brushes my hair back from my face with gentle fingers. “Yeah,” he says with a laugh. “It’s like this crazy torment, having you this close to me.”
“You know we could-” I start. But he puts a finger against my lips to stop me.
“I can wait,” he says. He reaches over and turns off the light. He rolls me into him, and the light dusting of hair that’s on his chest tickles my cheek.
“I think I might love you, Logan,” I say to the darkness.
His head lifts. I can see it in the sliver of light that’s falling from the open curtain. “Did you say something?” he asks.
I shake my head, letting my nose brush his chest so he can feel my answer.
“You sure?” he asks.
I nod, my nose brushing him up and down. He kisses the top of my head, and hitches my leg up over his hip. I wrap an arm around him and snuggle in deeply. “Go to sleep,” he says softly.
So I do.
***
I wake the next morning to a gentle tap, tap, tap on the side of my nose. I blink my eyes open and startle when I see a face looking into mine. Hayley grins at me. “You sweepy?” she says quietly.
I was, until she tapped against my face like a hungry bird. I scrub the sleep from my eyes and look over at Logan. He’s lying beside me with one arm flung over his head, his mouth hanging open. I snuggle deeper into my pillow. “Where’s your daddy?” I ask.
“Sweeping,” she says. She’s dragging a bunny by the ears. “I’m hungwy,” she says.
I cover a yawn with my open palm. I probably have awful morning breath. “Can you go and wake your daddy?”
She shakes her head. “He said to go back to sweep.”
I look toward the window. The sun is just barely over the horizon. “I want a pancake.”
A pancake? “How about some cereal?” I ask, as I throw the covers off myself and get up. I take a pair of Logan’s boxers from his drawer and put them on.
“Dos are Logan’s,” she says, scowling at me.
“Do you think he’ll mind if I borrow them?” I whisper at her.
She shakes her head and smiles, taking my hand in her free one so she can lead me from the room. “You don’t got to whisper. Logan can’t hear,” she says.
I laugh. She’s right. And what’s funny is that it took a three year old to remind me. I hold a finger to my lips, though, as we step out into the hallway. “But your daddy can. Shh.”
She giggles and repeats my shush.
She runs down the hallway, her naked feet slapping softly against the hardwoods until she’s in the kitchen. I search through the cupboards to find a box of cereal.
“Not dat one,” she says, shaking her head. “I don’t wike dat one.” She points to a different box. One with a cartoon character and the word fruit on it. But I know there’s no fruit in this cereal. Or anything else healthy.
“Does your daddy let you eat this?” I ask.
She grins and nods. I shrug my shoulders and pour her a bowl of cereal with milk. She gets her own spoon from the drawer. She knows where everything is. She digs into her cereal, her feet swinging back and forth beneath the chair.