Page 168 of Riding the Sugar High

My cowboy.

The cowboy I haven’t properly talked to in two weeks, because I’ve barely had time to breathe.

But today is launch day. I’ve worked my ass off for six months, and Uncandy is hitting stores all over the country. After a few more weeks of promotion, I’ll be back at the farm.

I know Logan feels neglected.

He hasn’t said a word, of course. I miss most of his calls, but he never seems upset when I call back. The only thing he truly seems worried about is whether I’m eating and sleeping enough. The one question he keeps asking me is,Are you happy?

And I am. I really am.

Imostlyam.

The only times I’m not exactly fond of is when I’m back home, between one trip or another. When I return to an empty apartment and hear traffic noises through the windows.

They never bothered me before, but they don’t compare to the silence of the farm, interrupted only by Logan’s deep voice.

I miss him. I miss him so viscerally that it feels like his absence is creating scarring tissue around my heart. Like I’m constantly deprived of the best part of my life.

Not to sound ungrateful, because my career trajectory has changed for the better, but it couldn’t have happened at a worse time.

“Primrose?”

I flinch when the event organizer gently cups my shoulder, focusing on the young girl before me. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I?—”

“Primrose has been signing autographs for several hours,” she explains. “She’s just a little tired.”

“Yes, that’s it,” I rush to say. “Here.” I autograph the girl’s promotional box, then smile at her. “I’ve written down my phone number. My boyfriend is a vegan, and if you ever want some tips, or to talk about something?—”

“Oh my God!” Her eyes widen as she takes the box. “I can text you?”

“Please do.”

She smiles wide at her mom, who gently nods in a silent thank-you before walking away.

“Katie, I’m going to take a break,” I tell the organizer as the next people approach.

“Of course.” With a gesture at the woman helping with the line, she informs the crowd we’ll be taking a short break, then points me to the back of the shop.

Thank god.

Just thinking of Logan has me craving the sound of his voice. We’ve texted this morning, and he’s recently figured out voice messages, but replaying a mumbled “g’morning” doesn’t cut it.

I take out my phone, tap on his contact and bring it to my ear, sitting at a small desk.

“—llo?”

Oh, his voice. I swear it has the ability to heal me better than Penicillin. “Hey, can you hear me?”

“Hello?”

“Logan?”

“Yes, hey. Hi,” he says in a rough voice. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine. I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“I thought you had that signing today.”

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