Page 188 of With a Cherry On Top

“Holy shit.”

CHAPTER 36

Plated & Rescued

Logan?” I call as we approach, but he doesn’t react.

The sight in front of us is almost surreal. Logan—dressed in a tuxedo—is hunched over the soil, hands digging furiously into the dirt, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and mud streaked across his arms. His hair is a mess, damp with sweat, and his tie hangs loosely around his neck like he gave up on it halfway through. He’s completely engrossed in whatever the hell he’s doing, muttering under his breath as he sprinkles fertilizer over the base of a massive pumpkin vine.

Amelie reaches my side, her forehead creased in confusion. “What am I looking at?”

“Logan?” I call again, louder this time.

He flinches like he didn’t even realize we were standing here. His head snaps up, eyes slightly wild as he takes us in. “Amelie? What are you doing here?” His gaze flicks to me. “Aaron?”

I hesitate, exchanging another uneasy glance with Amelie. “Are you . . . okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He brushes dirt off his hands, not that it helps. “Why?”

Amelie approaches cautiously. “What . . . what exactly are you doing, buddy?”

Logan narrows his eyes, probably catching the wary note in her voice. “I forgot to fertilize the pumpkins. Primrose likes to take a picture sitting on top of the biggest one, and she couldn’t even fit a foot on the ones from last fall.” He turns back to the soil, resuming his manic digging.

I blink at him. “Does she...want that more than she wants to get married?”

Logan freezes for half a second, then shoots me a glare. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Amelie places her hands on her hips. “Logan, you’re supposed to get married. Remember?”

“Oh.” He shakes his head like we’re the ones acting strange. “That’s in two hours.”

“Yes, fair,” she hedges. “But you’re covered in mud. And wouldn’t you like to, I don’t know, drink a beer with your brother? Relax a little before the big moment?”

“Nah, I really need to finish up here.”

He keeps working, completely unbothered, and my stomach tightens further. This isn’t normal. Logan isn’t the kind of guy who runs. He’s been working on his anxiety, on his emotional wellbeing.

I take a small step forward. “Logan, you and Primrose are made for each other.”

“You also have two newborns together,” Amelie snaps.

He tosses a handful of dirt to the side. “What are you two on about?”

“We gotta go back,” I insist. “You need to take a shower and calm down from whatever spiral you’re on right now because you’re gettingmarriedtoday.”

His shoulders tense. Then, suddenly, he throws the too-small gardening tool he was using onto the ground and spins to face me, his face red with frustration.

“I know I’m getting married today.Look at me.” He throws out his arms, motioning to himself. “I’m wearing a fucking tuxedo.”

I watch him, my brain scrambling for something that will snap him out of whatever this is. “Is that the problem? The tuxedo? Because I’m sure Primrose would let you change. Just don’t wear the boots.”

His jaw clenches as he rolls his eyes, moving to pick up the tool again.

“Okay, keep the fucking boots, Logan. Just?—”

“I need to fertilize these pumpkins, and I need to do it today,” he grits out, turning away from me. “So instead of wasting my time, go back to the house, and I’ll see you soon.”

“Why?” I push, stepping forward. “Why do you need to tend to the fucking vegetables today?”

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