By the time I finish with the bath and step out into the living room, I decide not to overthink this. I will simply let this amazing man woo me.
I find
him in the kitchen. He changed into a fresh pair of jeans. These, too, hang low on his hips, fueling my imagination.
“Whatcha cooking?” I ask him.
“Tenderloin beef with mango salsa.”
“Wow, this sounds fancy.”
“Nothing but the best for the lady. I must impress you enough so you won’t have second thoughts about staying over tonight.” He glances at me from the corner of his eyes.
“I was thinking about that in the tub. How did you know?”
He turns to me. “I could tell you were afraid this is moving a little too fast.”
“Is it?”
He smiles. “Maybe, but who cares? As long as we’re happy, I don’t see what the problem is. I’ll be honest. I don’t know where this will lead, but let’s not worry about that. Being around you makes me happy. Being inside you makes me even happier.”
I roll my eyes at him. “You’re such a man.”
“And proud of it. Do I make you happy?”
“Very,” I admit. “You spoil me.”
“Glad you approve, because I plan to spoil you a lot more.”
We fall into silence and, as I watch him proficiently cook, an unwanted truth slips out of my mouth. “No one’s cooked for me in years, even before I moved to college.”
“How come?” he asks with a frown.
I fold my arms over my chest, preparing to back out of the conversation because I haven’t talked about this to any man I’ve dated. Instead, more truth slips past my lips.
“Mom was sick all the way into my high school years.” I can tell him the whole truth, can’t I? He won’t judge. “She suffered from clinical depression, but didn’t receive treatment until I was a high school sophomore. They were desperate years. I felt like the adult in our house most of the time.”
His grip on the panhandle tightens. “Your dad?”
“Left when I was five.”
I don’t feel overwhelmed, the way I always do when I remember those hard years. Instead, I’m relieved. I tend to loosen my tongue when I’m around Logan. I trust him more than I’ve trusted another man, and that scares me.
“Now I understand,” Logan murmurs, pushing the pan away from the stove before turning his attention to me.
“What?”
“Why you don’t accept help easily.”
“I do—” I catch myself. “I really don’t, do I?”
“Nope.” He smiles brightly, his delicious dimples making an appearance. “You don’t trust people will stick around, or follow through on their promises. But don’t worry, I’m more stubborn than you are.”
I appreciate his light, playful tone and that he isn’t prodding me with more questions.
“Let’s eat. I’m starving.”
“Sure. Can you give me some plates? They’re in the cabinet behind you.”