Finally, a hint of a smile, followed by a grim frown.
Danger. I shouldn’t poke this sensitive spot. It’s not the right time. He doesn’t seem to want to talk about his parents.
Where the hell does Ashley tie into this?
Love tangles me up inside. It’s obviously too painful for him to talk about. I shouldn’t keep probing. He’ll tell me when he’s ready.
“Yeah. She had a soft spot for him,” he answers after a lengthy silence. “My aunt did too.”
“Ah, so he’s always been a lady-charmer.”
“More or less.” He taps his thumbs against the steering wheel. “Why so many questions about Jiggy and me?”
“I just want to know more about you.” And it’s like pulling teeth. “You know everything there is to know about me.”
“I doubt that.” He glances over. “Had to learn about your tomato allergy when you were in the hospital.”
Excellent deflection, Logan. “Fine, let’s start there. Are you allergic to anything?”
“Bullshit.”
I reach over and tap his thigh. “I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
I growl in frustration and stare out the window.
“Help me out here, Shelby.” He gently squeezes my knee. “What are you looking for?”
Why’d your ex ruin my morning?
“Where did you grow up? Tell me about your family.”
His expression morphs into one more guarded and cautious. “Are you hungry?”
“Not really.”
“There’s a state park maybe an hour north. Nice, quiet beach, plenty of camping spots. At least it used to be. We can pick up some seafood at a market and hunker down there for the night.”
“Sounds fine to me.”
“We’ll pass some other pretty beaches along the way.” He finally glances over. “Where we can talk.”
Sure, I understand wanting to air out whatever ugliness Ashley tried to reveal in a separate location from where we’ll spend the night.
“That sounds good too.”
We’re silent after that. Poking into all his prickly spots while he’s driving seems like a bad idea, so I sit back and enjoy the scenery. Or try to anyway.
The road ahead is empty but Logan slows for some reason, finally flicking on his blinker and stopping. I barely make out a small road and sign for a park.
“Are we going to fit?” I ask.
“It’ll be tight but we can do it.” He glances over and winks. “I’m good at fitting big things into tight spaces.”
There’s the cocky man who stole my heart. “You have a gift for it,” I agree. My heart melts with love for him. “You’re in the driver’s seat. I trust you.”
Seeming satisfied with my answer, he eases the truck down the gentle slope. Branches swish against the roof. The road twists into a tight left turn. Too late. There’s no way to back up or turn around now. Logan all but slows to a crawl to clear the corner and keeps moving forward.
“It’s about two miles ahead.” He points out the windshield.
“Two miles of this? What if a car comes the opposite way?”
“We’ll either stop and pull to the side if we have room, or they will.”
Again, not reassuring. I glance out my window. Our “side” is nothing but a smooth rock wall.
But as we continue, Logan’s right. Along the way there are numerous little patches of dirt meant to be used as a pull-off. Still, it’ll be tricky if we encounter another vehicle.
Ten seconds later a low-slung sports car appears on the road ahead. The vehicle slows and pulls to the side to let us pass. I cringe the whole time Logan inches us forward. We’re so close, I can count the hairs on the driver’s head. Logan waves and thanks him as we clear the vehicle.
“Phew.” I fall back against my seat. “That was close.”
“Nah, we’re fine, chickadee.”
Finally, we pull up to a tidy, brown shack. A serious-faced guard steps out, park-ranger hat and all. “You can’t park overnight here, sir,” she says, gesturing toward the RV.
“Not planning to. Just here to walk the beach for a few minutes.”
She grunts. “Twelve dollars.”
Twelve bucks to park? Guess I don’t get out much. I reach for my purse, quickly grabbing a ten and a five, thrusting the cash into Logan’s hand before he has a chance to protest.
The guard passes him the change and an orange ticket to stick on the dash.
“Pull all the way around and there should be a space on the left where you’ll fit.”
“Thank you.” Logan nods and pushes the button for his window to slide up.
Only a few of the spaces are taken. Logan slides into the spot the guard suggested, under a thick canopy of trees. The parking lot’s in a neat circle so we won’t have to back out before returning to the road of death later.
As soon as he turns the ignition off, I unclick my seat belt and flip the middle console out of my way.
Logan’s gripping the steering wheel, staring straight ahead.
I slide over the buttery-leather seat, turning my body and hitching my leg over him, until I’m straddling his lap. Not in the fun way we’ve done before. No, this is purely to touch and to be touched. To ground each other. To force him out of his head. Away from whatever memories are putting that haunted emptiness in his eyes.