“I look forward to it,” I said, then turned back to close the drawer. “Can you grab my bag from the hall closet?”
Logan left the room, and the excitement of imagining him behind the easel painting me sent my arousal into overdrive. He reentered a moment later and opened my closet.
“So, just out of curiosity…Natasha’s painting, the one Oliver showed me…” My voice lowered, unsure of its next words. “Are there others you have of her? I mean, that are up in your studio?”
“No. I only have that one because…” He seemed to think it through as if he didn’t already know the answer. But that look was cleared from his expression within seconds, and his confidence returned. “I thought one day Oliver might want to have it. It’s the only image of her that I held onto for him.”
“She found an apartment in town,” I blurted out.
“And?”
“She wanted to tell you herself, but I figured you might want to know sooner rather than later. I’m sure you’re relieved she’ll be moving out.”
“Yes, I am.”
I’d been expecting a different reaction—surprise, at least. But he didn’t seem surprised at all as he opened my closet door casually and flipped through the hangers.
He already knew.
“She already told you,” I guessed.
He peered back. “No, I believe she wanted to wait till her apartment was ready—a reason for her to show me she was capable of responsibility.”
It was true, but how did he know that? “Jax told you?’
“Sweetheart, nothing happens in my home that I’m not aware of—nothing.” His thick voice was smooth with resolve.
My brows pinched together at his assured tone. As I thought over how he could’ve known without Natasha or Jax telling him, I realized he wasn’t just looking through my closet—he was full-on inspecting my clothes.
“What are you doing?” I asked, bewildered, watching with wide eyes as he continued.
“You need something warm for this weekend,” he said matter-of-factly.
What was this weekend? Did he have something planned?
“Warm for…?”
With a beige turtleneck I’d never worn in one hand, he turned to show me a heavy wool sweater in the other. Both items had been tucked into the furthest depths of my closet.
“These will do,” he said, removing them from their hangers.
“Um, no.” My attempt to grab them from his hands was botched when he jerked them back.
“Why not? They’re very…” He looked them over appraisingly before adding, “Cute.”
“Great, but that’s not exactly what I’m going for around you.”
He smiled. “You’re cute now,” he said, watching me stuff the sweater in the bag but toss the turtleneck back into my closet, where it would remain.
“I guess that will do.” He moved behind me, brushing against my back. “I’ll be there to keep you warm if you catch a chill.”
My breath caught at his words—a living, breathing entity full of promise.
Oliver is waiting with dinner! Stay on task!
“So where exactly will I be wearing this?” I prayed it was somewhere deep in the forest with no other humans around—only animals that could appreciate warm layers.
“That’s a surprise.” He glanced at his watch, then to me. “Come on. Oliver will be complaining if I don’t get you home.”
Get me home? The sound of that brought a smile to my lips. “I am home,” I said, sauntering over to him. I dropped the final handful of clothes into the bag and zipped it shut.
“You know what I meant,” he said, placing the duffle strap on his shoulder and taking my hand.
“I do.” I smiled to myself.
The very second the front door to Logan’s house shut behind us, Oliver came stomping out from the kitchen.
“It’s cold now!” he pouted.
Logan placed my bag on the floor, chuckling lightly. “Blame Cassandra. She kept me distracted.”
I feigned innocence. “I did not. Your father got lost.”
“Lost?” Oliver questioned, his brows knitting together.
I approached him, nodding. “He sure did. Couldn’t find his way back from my house.”
Oliver debated what I was telling him for a moment, then slowly, a smile curved his lips. “Daddy needs a map! It’s not far. I know how to get there all the time.”
I followed him into the dining room, throwing a quick wink to Logan. “I think a map is exactly what he needs.”
Chapter Eleven
Regrets
Growing up an only child, I’d often dreamt of what it’d be like to have a brother, sister, and real family meal. Delighted smiles and pleasant streams of conversation about our days was how I’d painted the image, but for the first time I realized that might’ve been a skewed vision.
Dinner at Logan’s that evening was the perfect domestic image I’d craved, with Oliver reciting events from his school day and Logan’s easy smiles cast continuously my way alongside an occasional wink. Life in the West home was everything I could ever want.
That was, until lurid giggles burst into the room, followed by the piercing slap of what I assumed to be someone’s ass. The chair beside me pulled out and the redhead sat, plate in hand.
I glanced her way, annoyed that she hadn’t bothered to fix her matted hair or wipe away the mascara smeared under her eyes. Jax sat across from her beside Oliver, and the room became eerily quiet aside from Oliver’s exclamation of, “Uncle Jax!”
They filled their plates and Jax stole Oliver’s attention, telling him about some new dinosaur movie he’d picked up for them to watch. More silence followed, producing the first of many pointed scowls between Logan and Jax and awkward squirms for me.
The redhead never spoke a word. She simply ate quietly, sending flirty looks over to Jax and shifting occasionally in her seat. At one point, that shifting was followed by a disturbing smirk that spread across Jax’s face.
There is no way they’re playing just footsie under the table. I focused back on my food, occupying my mind before it wandered to what exactly they were playing.
Oliver brought a welcome distraction in the form of a discussion about whether he could have glasses like his best friend in class. Our family meal was heading back on course; my relief eased the tension that had been building in my shoulders.
Just when I thought we were in the clear, the front door slammed. We all looked up to see Julia rounding the corner into the dining room, her hands full of textbooks.
“What’s for dinner? I’ve been studying all day and skipped lunch.” She dumped the books on the counter and peeled off her gloves, coat, and hat.
“Stew,” Oliver told her, his spoon in his mouth. “I made it!”
I smiled over at him.
“Is that so?” she asked, strolling over and leaning down to kiss the top of his head. “Did anyone help you?”
“Daddy did, but he said I made it. Right, Daddy?” Oliver looked to Logan.
“You did most of the work,” Logan assured him, eyes full of pride. “I simply cut a few vegetables.”
“See? Told ya.” Oliver lifted his glass of juice and took a sip.