Page 17 of Breathless

Not if he’s still making after-hoursplans.

A sad sense of resolve settles overme.

Not wanting to overhear Logan making arrangements with another woman, I reach for the remote and click on the flatscreen, flipping channels until I land onYou’ve Got Mail. Heck, yes, I could definitely use some Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks magic. A girl can never see that movie too manytimes.

I take a minute to call my cousin Dawn and let her know I’malive.

She squeals in my ear. “Joey, the salon looks amazing! We just have to paint next weekend and hire two more stylists, and we’ll be allset.”

“I’m so sorry you’re having to do all this work without me. I swear I’ll make it up to you when I get back.” The thought of leaving so soon feels like a leaden boulder on my chest, but I can’t wait around here for Logan to get aclue.

Dawn and I catch up for a few minutes, and then she sighs. “How’s the dickhead treatingyou?”

“He’s been great, actually. Not a dickhead atall.”

“Yet.”

“Yet,” I reluctantlyadmit.

In the background, I hear her mother mumblingsomething.

“My mom says not to let that boy bamboozle your heartagain.”

I chuckle and agree to be strong. After we get off the phone, I kick off my flip-flops and curl up on the couch and tuck Rambo under myarm.

It’s a comfort to see that everything in the living room is the same. From the hand-me-down couch to the horse magazines on the coffee table and the worn recliner, it’s tidy and clean. Logan’s a neat guy and takes care of his things for the most part. And despite the money the farm is raking in these days, he lives a modestlife.

Reaching behind me, I grab the blanket that’s draped over the back. Logan loves to keep the house chilly at night, probably because he works in a swelteringbarn.

The long day catches up to me, though. Meg Ryan hasn’t even met Tom Hanks yet when I pass out. I’m pretty sure I’m drooling on the puppy when a knock on the front door jars meawake.

“Keep thechange.”

Hearing Logan’s voice makes me smile. I’ve missed him somuch.

His footsteps draw near before the pizza box hits the coffee table. “Whatcha smiling about,Bitsy?”

My throat is scratchy and dry, but the words tumble out anyway. “Just like being here with you.” It’s an honest moment. Maybe toohonest.

I crack open one eyelid to see how he’s taken what I said, but he’s grinning. Of course, food might be the reason for his joy. The couch dips with hisweight.

“I like having you home too.” He stuffs a slice in his mouth like he’s been starved for aweek.

Rambo nestles closer to my neck, and I take a big whiff of his sweet puppyfur.

Logan lifts an eyebrow. “Did you just sniff thedog?”

“Maybe.” I scratch under his ear, and he pants in my face. “Though I have to say I never had you pegged for this kind of pet. I thought you’d get a rottie or aboxer.”

Logan’s eyes shift to me. “You saying Rambo isn’t manlyenough?”

I snort and shake my head. “No, I’m saying this fuzzball is more my speed than yours.” Quietly, I add, “I always wanted a puppy, but my parents never let me get one.” We didn’t have the money for food and clothes, so a dog was out of the question. By the time it was just Silas and Gran, I had too much going on to take care of apet.

“I remember.” He returns his attention to ESPN. “You should have some pizza.” Before I have a chance to respond, Logan tosses two slices on a paper plate and hands it to me. “Eat up,buttercup.”

With a groan, I set Rambo on the ground and try to sit up, but every muscle in my body protests. I’m tangled in the blanket and too tired to deal. I flop back indefeat.

“You okay?” Logan unwinds the fabric from my body and helps me swing my legs to thefloor.

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