Heart Strings

“Really?”

He smiled and took our empty plates to the kitchen. He came back and slid into the seat beside me. “They’re your parents, Lottie. I want to meet them. I will show them respect as long as they do the same in return.” He ran his finger over my cheek. “My father instilled manners into me. I can behave.”

“I have no objections to your manners. “

He leaned forward, kissing me. “Outside the bedroom, anyway.”

I giggled as he waggled his eyebrows. When it came to sex, he was extremely bossy and dominating in the bedroom. The bathroom. Against the wall or in the kitchen. Aggressive and dirty-talking. Yet there was an underlying gentleness with me I wasn’t sure even he was aware of.

“I like those manners too, but maybe curb those instincts while we’re eating with my parents.”

“I can do that. I’ll use a fork, not pick my teeth, and I won’t talk about how sexy you are and how much I like to fuck you.”

I threw him a look which made him smirk.

“I’ll try not to steal anything either. I’ll wait the thirty or forty years for your inheritance. I’m patient.”

I groaned. I shouldn’t have been so honest with him about what my mother said. He’d found it vastly amusing and had laughed hard.

“Please, Logan.” I took his hand. “I’ve never brought anyone to meet them before who meant so much to me. I just want you to get along. For my sake.”

He became serious. “I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you, Lottie. I’ll be on my best behavior. Do you think they’ll offer me the same respect?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I’d like to think so.”

He shrugged. “It will all be fine. It’s brunch. What can possibly happen over coffee and breakfast foods served late? They’ll ask questions, I’ll respond. I’ll eat whatever they put in front of me and be polite. It’ll be great.”

He stood. “I have to get going. I have an early morning meeting, and I still have papers to grade.” He bent and kissed me. “I just wanted a little time with you. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

He paused at the door. “Don’t worry about Sunday, Lottie. It’s all good.”

He left, and I stared at the door, wondering if either of us really believed that.Sunday morning, I was tired and listless. Logan had spent the night on Friday, but we’d both had commitments on Saturday, and by the time he called later that evening, I was in bed with a headache and feeling exhausted. I didn’t sleep well, my dreams filled with odd images that kept disturbing me. When I got up on Sunday, I wondered how much of it had to do with my nerves about brunch and the dread I could feel in my stomach at the thought of how my parents would treat Logan. Part of me wanted to cancel, but I knew that was a bad idea.

Logan arrived before nine, knocking when he arrived. I bit back my amusement—he only used his key when I wasn’t home. Otherwise, he knocked and waited. I opened the door, not prepared for what I found. He stood tall and sexy in the doorway, wearing a navy overcoat. His hair was shorter, brushed back from his face, the bleached ends gone, leaving it dark and gleaming. His beard had disappeared, just a light dusting of scruff left along his jaw and chin. He smiled at me, his eyes warm. He bent low and kissed me, moving into the condo and lifting one eyebrow at my startled expression.

He slipped off his coat and laid it over the sofa, lifting his arms. “Will I pass?”

His subtle patterned button-down was tucked into my favorite black dress pants. He had the sleeves rolled up, exposing his forearms. There wasn’t a single leather cuff on his wrist. Only one silver ring was on his hand.

I didn’t know how to take it. He looked like Logan, but a sleeker, more professional version. Polished and shiny. Staged to make an impression.

For me.

It hit me he had done this for me. To make the brunch easier. My parents couldn’t glare at his long hair or rocker-style look if it wasn’t there. He wasn’t in a suit and tie and oozing money, but he was every inch a confident, vital man. Still a little dangerous and sexy, but it was more subtle. A glossy veneer meant to defuse my parents’ ire.

Tears threatened, the way they seemed to do these days, always close to the surface. Once again, he had shown how much he cared by trying to make things easier for me.

Logan frowned, stepping forward. “Lottie, sweetheart, what is it? You hate the shirt?” He looked down. “Trev said the white one looked too formal. I can go change it.”

I wiped my eyes. “You look great. Amazing.” I paused. “Respectable.” My voice broke a little. “You-you cut your hair.”