Page 62 of Somewhere Without You
As he stepped outside to wait, I closed the door behind him and pressed my back against it, exhaling slowly.
Maybe it was a mistake.
Maybe it wasn’t.
Either way, I was already moving toward something I wasn’t sure I trusted yet—but couldn’t quite walk away from either.
Thirty Six
ThedrivetoClarksburgwas awkward. Neither of us said much, just sat there listening to the wind whip through the open windows. Logan kept apologizing for the AC being broken. He kept meaning to fix it but hadn’t gotten around to it yet.
The heathad died down, but the humiditylingered, and the airwasthick enough to make my clothes stick. Iwasrelievedwhenwe’dfinallystopped in Bridgeport, at a small nursery a few miles outside of town.
Onceinside, Logan started chatting with the owner—a round man with dirt under his nails wholookedlike a potted plant himself.
Afterwards, we spent the next half hour wandering the aisles, making small talk as we passed rows of bright, blooming flowers.
“What about roses?”Logan suggested, holding up a vibrant crimson bloom.
Memories of Jackson flooded back—howhe’dusedbouquets of them as a cheap attempt to gloss over his violence.
“No roses,” I said,my words sharper than I intended.
Logan raised an eyebrow.“You’ve got something against roses?”
“Justnever been a fan,”I mumbled, avoiding eye contact.Naturally, he picked up on the edge in my voice but,thankfully, didn’t press any further.
It didn’t take long to fill the cart.By the timewe wheeled it out,we’dgrabbeda little of everything—marigolds, black-eyed susan’s,evena buddleia bushthatLogan insisted would attract butterflies.
“I don’t remember you ever having a green thumb,”I teased, helping him load the back of the truck.
“Idon’t,”he admitted with a grunt.“ButI helped Gary out with some repairs on the nursery last summer,”he added, nodding toward the building.“The first crew he hired ran off with a bunch of his money. Almost put him out of business. I offered to do the work for free, but he wouldn’t let me. So now I send folks his way, and he does the same for me. Fair trade.”
“That’s actuallyreallythoughtful of you,”I said, handing over a pot of zinnias.
Logan hopped down from the truck bed.“You sound surprised.”
“MaybeI am.”I meant it as a joke, but it landed wrong. I winced.“Gran would say we’re goingtotallyoverboard with all this,”I added with a laugh.
“And she’dbe right,”Logan chuckled as he lifted heavy bags of soil, compost, and fertilizer into the back of the truck with ease.
I glanced over, noticing the way his arms tensed beneath the weight, a bead of sweat trailing down his sun-warmed skin. Whendid hegetso. . . solid? The boyI’dgrownup withwasleaner, a little clumsy and a bit awkward.Butthe man standing in front of me nowwasmore grounded, more sure of himself.And, well, helookedgood.Reallygood.
“Like what yousee?”he teased, a slow grin spreading across his face.
I rolled my eyes.“You’ve got dirt on your face,”I said, motioning to my own cheek before climbing back into the truck.
We rumbled back onto the road as we pulled away from the nursery. Clarksburgwasonly ten minutes out. Silence settled in again, soft but not as awkward this time. The windowswerestill down, letting in warm air now thick with the scent of fresh soil and sun.
Logan drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, glancing over once or twice like he wanted to say something buthadn’tquite decided how.
“Youknow,”he saideventually, “I don’t think I’ve been back to Clarksburg sincethatday your Gran got a wild hair up her ass and made us drive all the way out here to buy copper plates fromthatweird little shop.”
Ilookedout the window, watching the blur of green roll by.“Yeah. Shewasconvincedthey would help‘cleanse the air’or whatever.”
He laughed.“Shewasagoodwoman. Scared the hell out of me when Iwasa kid though.”
“She scared everyone,”I replied with a sigh.“Butyeah, shewasprettygreat.”
