Heart Strings

My stomach grumbled, and I grimaced as I looked over at the half-eaten tuna sandwich on the corner of my desk. The edges of the bread were dry, the tuna soaked into the bottom piece. My iced tea had long since grown warm. I tossed both in the garbage and decided to head home.

I glanced at my phone and saw I had missed two texts from Logan. One stated he was pleased my flowers had arrived, and the last one asked when I was leaving work. I frowned when I saw it had come in over two hours ago. I decided to call him when I got home. As I turned off the light and headed out the door, I felt a wave of disappointment. There would be no serenade tonight. Even though I knew he would sing to me any time I asked, there was a small part of me that was sad I would no longer be treated to his voice at the end of every day. It always gave me the strength to head home and made the end of my day better. Maybe I would ask him to sing to me over the phone. With that comforting thought, I headed out into the cold, now anxious to get home and hear his voice.

But when I stepped off the subway and rounded the corner, he was there. Playing, smiling at people—and waiting. Our gazes met, and his smile grew wider, the dimple appearing like a small divot in his cheek. He lifted his eyebrows and tilted his head, indicating I should sit, so I did. He strummed his guitar and sang my favorite song, the notes and music swirling in my head. I shut my eyes, letting my stress dissolve, the terrible day fading away at the sound of his voice. As the notes softly finished, there was a lull, and I sighed, opening my eyes to find him beside me, watching, assessing as he always did. His guitar was slung over his shoulder, the case on the ground by his feet.

“Hello, my Snow Queen,” he murmured, leaning forward and wiping under my eyes. “I don’t like seeing you cry.”

“You’re here. Waiting.”

He nuzzled my cheek, his breath warm on my skin. “I walked past your place, and the lights were still off. You hadn’t returned my text, so I figured you were still at work. I came to wait.” He winked. “The food bank is getting a good donation today.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Nope. No sorry is needed.” He laced our fingers together. “It was a bad day?”

“Not anymore.”

He smiled so wide, his beautiful eyes crinkled, and once again, I got a glimpse of his dimple. “Did you eat dinner?”

“No.”

“Diner?” he asked hopefully.

“You can’t eat burgers all the time,” I argued halfheartedly.

“I was going to have a clubhouse sandwich and a salad.”

I narrowed my eyes at him in disbelief.

“Or at least that was what I was going to order for you.” He winked. “I haven’t had a burger since Thursday.”

“Such restraint.”

“Please,” he asked simply, and there was no way I could resist him.

“Yes.”“Your father is a piece of work,” Logan snarled after I told him about my day.

“He is very exacting. He runs a tight ship, and I’m treated the same way as everyone else.”

I speared a piece of lettuce and chewed it slowly. “He wasn’t always that way.” I could still remember the man who picked me up, tossed me in the air, pushed me on the swing, and kissed my scraped knees. I could still recall his love.

“I shouldn’t have asked you to spend the day with me.”

I was quick to object to his words. “Don’t say that. It was one of my favorite days ever. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

“Even losing those accounts?”

I traced the worn Formica on the tabletop. “He thinks I’ll learn a lesson, but if I’m being honest?” I looked up and met Logan’s eyes. “The lower stress is welcome for a while. None of this work is easy, but these are definitely less complex—not as many players or as much money at stake.”

“Well, good. Maybe you can relax a little until he decides you’ve been punished enough. Maybe by then, you can go work elsewhere.”

“Logan,” I warned.

He held up his hands. “Okay, I’ll shut up. I hate seeing you look so exhausted after one day.”

I didn’t have a response that would satisfy him, so I shrugged. “It happens.”

He shook his head, and I changed the subject. “How was school?”

He entertained me with a few stories about some of the antics the kids got up to, all the while encouraging me to eat. What I didn’t finish, he polished off, insisting on a piece of his favorite cake to share. That, he fed me, mouthful by mouthful, in between yawns.

We walked to my building, and he followed me upstairs, stopping in my doorway. “Go to bed,” he murmured gently, stroking my cheek. “Promise me you won’t do any more work tonight.”