Page 88 of Single Mom's Guide to Love

“I had a small idea,” he admits. “But today I started fiddling with it, and it…I don’t think it’s there.”

“Okay, then,” I say, sitting up. This I can help with. “Let’s talk it out.”

“Talk it out?”

“Yes,” I say confidently. “When I can’t see something, but I know it’s there, I call one of my sisters and just ramble.”

“And they help?”

“Oh, absolutely not. They don’t know the first thing about design besides basic color coordination. And even Quinn doesn’t know that. But me getting the words out there sometimes helps unscramble my brain. So, let’s unscramble.”

“Maeve, you don’t have to…”

“Logan,” I say sternly. “I know. I want to.”

There’s a silence for a second before he just starts spewing ideas. Admittedly, I don’t know much about games besides the few I played as a kid, but I’m happy to listen. I ask questions when I think he needs me to, and I throw in counterpoints when needed. But mostly I’m just here. Because that’s what I can do. In this moment, this is how I can fix the problem.

I don’t know how long Logan and I talk, but I feel my yawn hit me and I slump a little down into my pillow. I bring the phone with me, and I don’t know if my eyes are playing tricks on me, but I watch as Logan shifts in the bed, putting one of his hands behind his head, perfectly showing off his sculpted arms. I don’t know who came up with the stereotype that video game guys were scrawny nerds, but I’d like to tell them they are damn wrong.

“Love? Are you staring at me?”

“What!” I screech a little too loudly. “No.”

His devilish smile clearly says that he’s not believing me at all. “It’s fine. I like it when you do.”

I swallow a lump in my throat. “I do? You do?”

He laughs under his breath. “Every once in a while I catch you. And it’s fine. Believe me, a man loves it when he sees his wife looking at him.”

I must be tired, because I swear when he just called me “his wife” something happened downstairs that is making me think I need a date with my battery-operated best friend tonight. He’s said it before. I’ve heard the phrase with my own ears, so I don’t know why it’s hitting different this time.

“You’re tired,” Logan says.

“I’m fine,” I say through a massive yawn.

“Go to sleep, Maeve,” he instructs.

“Okay.”

“Thank you, though. This…this really helped.”

“Good,” I say, though I don’t know how much I actually contributed. “Are you feeling better?”

If I wasn’t already laying down, his smile would knock me over. “Better than I have in ages.”

25

logan

“Logan Matthews. We need to talk.”

I lean back against my rental car, which is parked outside the small executive airport in Los Angeles as Maeve walks toward me, fresh off her trip from Nashville on the private plane I’m renting.

And probably buying.

“What’s that, Love?”

She shakes her head. “Don’t you ‘Love’ me. A private plane? What happened to my frugal billionaire?”

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