Page 81 of The Breakaway

Logan, hey

Delete.

Logan,

Okay. Starting point.

Thank you for sending a note! I’m so happy to hear that you’re having fun in Europe!

I paused, biting my lip. I should tell him about my decision to stay at the house for Christmas. He deserved to know. But how much should I tell him? I didn’t want to unload everything on him, but I also didn’t want to keep him in the dark.

I’ve decided to stay at the house for Christmas. I can explain more when you get home.

I deleted that sentence, guilt snagging my middle like a fingernail on pantyhose. I’d spilled my guts to Rob, and Logan was my boyfriend.

I’m actually spending Christmas here at our house. My cousin is staying with my parents right now. The one I told you about. I still feel so angry with my mom for allowing him to be there over the holidays. I tried to talk with her about it, but she doesn’t understand why I can’t be there with him. I can’t do it. So, we decorated for Christmas and I’m going to make the best of it. Sorry. Don’t mean to be a downer.

On a better note, I can’t wait to hear more about your trip! When do you get back? Do you have your flights? I’ll be watching the news for anything World Juniors related!

Sharla

I hesitated, my finger hovering over the send button. Did I really want to send that?

Yes.I exhaled through my nose. I did. If I wanted this to work when he got back, I had to be willing to open up to him. Even if it felt like trying to finish the Saturday crossword.

I hit send, my heart pounding in my chest. It was done.

_____

I loved mornings over break, especially when they smelled like pancakes. My stomach grumbled. It was a Pavlovian response.

The last time I had pancakes, Logan made them. My heart picked up speed. Why was Rob making pancakes? I kicked off my covers and walked into the washroom. My eyes were still not quite back to normal. I had a new crease showing up between my brows.

I washed my face and brushed my teeth, then threw on a sweatshirt and joggers and walked out to the kitchen.

Rob stood at the stove, flipping the last pancake onto a plate. He looked up. “Morning.”

I took in the carton of blueberries and the zested lemon next to the cutting board. “You made . . .” I trailed off, my eyes shifting to the stack of pancakes. They were perfect. Golden brown. “Did Logan give you the recipe?”

Rob’s brow furrowed. “Recipe? I didn’t use a recipe. I just made them the way I always do.”

I stared at him, my brain trying to process the information. Rob made blueberry pancakes? The same blueberry pancakes that Logan had made for me the morning before he left?

I sat down on a stool, my thoughts swirling. “What else?”

Rob moved the pan from the burner and turned off the stove. “There’s butter in the fridge?—”

“No.” I placed my hands on the countertop. “What else did you do that I thought was Logan?”

Rob put a pancake on his plate, his brow furrowed. “Logan wanted that morning to be special for you. He asked me to make these?—”

“But he never told me you made them. He let me believe it was him.”

Rob shrugged. “I’m sure he wanted to impress you.”

“Taking credit for something you didn’t do isn’t impressive.” I took a pancake and drizzled it with maple syrup, then picked up the fork next to my plate and cut a piece. I didn’t take a bite.Instead, I let the fork rest on the edge of the plate and stared at the table.

My chest tightened. I didn’t want to think about it. I didn’t want to believe that the things I’d thought were special between me and Logan were just . . . orchestrated.

---