Page 56 of Everything Has Changed
Did you run it by your fiance first?
What are you talking about?
Maybe you should ask her about her visit to the cafe today.
I don’t want to talk to her. I’m asking you.
What happened?
Are you home? I’m stopping by.
Yes, I’m home. But I’m fine. It was a long day. We can just talk tomorrow.
Ididn’t respond to her last text, already on my way back from the one stop I made on the way home. It was a long day for me as well, playing the beloved son under my father’s thumb. After I finally made it to the meeting—nly six minutes late and slightly out of breath from running all the way to Town Hall from the other side of Main Street. The glare from my father said all he needed to say as I found an empty seat next to him at the conference table. The other seat fillers stared back with mechanical smiles that didn’t reach their eyes.
Except for Camila’s father, who is sitting in the place mirrored my own. His slimy sneer and twinkling glint in his coal-black eyes had me ready to get back to the apartment to scrub my skin off. First, I had to sit through the investor meeting, talking money that was way too highto be simple small-town numbers. No, this was a reach beyond what I even imagined.
My mind was spinning by the end as everyone excused themselves. A clap on the back as they passed by, welcoming me to the team. It took everything in me not to throw up all over the table.
I managed to sneak away at lunch to refresh myself. Which was needed not only physically, but mentally. If I were to spend the rest of the day by my father’s side, I needed the breather to regroup before I started spewing words that I couldn’t reel back in. I needed to gather as much information as I could.
My mom caught me in the hallway after our last meeting. Her face lit up at the sight of me, so when she asked me to meet her for dinner, I couldn’t say no. And not just because I bailed on her last night. It was only the two of us, stopping by the diner to have burgers and fries like old times. She admitted that more often than not, my father would skip dinner for one reason or another. The sadness in her eyes had me ready to go back to his office and knock him upside the head for being such a fucking idiot.
We talked about life back in the city. About the changes that have and haven’t happened in Willow Grove while I was away. And she excitedly talked about the festival. Which reminded me where I needed to go before I ever made it back home after one of the longest days in recent history.
Knock, knock.
Through the door I can hear muffled talking, and I wonder if she has someone over, until the noises halt. Footsteps faintly move toward the door, stopping right on the other side of it. I can’t help the smile that begins to rest on my face, a natural reaction to knowing she’s right there.
I may not have properly noticed Gwen when we were younger and many years have separated us since then, but I have to wonder if that was part of the universe’s design. I wasn’t meant to know the magnetic pull of Gwendolyn Prescott until now. A feeling that feels right as she slowly opens the door.
“Logan,” she says by way of greeting, propping her shoulder on the door as she keeps one hand on the door handle and one hand on her hip.
Her plaid pajama pants sit low on her hips, oversized on her petite frame. A well-worn cut t-shirt shows off a sliver of her toned stomach. Her long hair is parted over to one side as if she had been running her hands through it. I ached to reach out and do the same. She pops an eyebrow up in amusement when I don’t say anything back.
“Do you need something?”
I hold up the paper bag in my hand, knowing I picked the right place when her eyes brighten. “First, I need to apologize. May I come in?”
She cocks her head to the side, sizing me up. “Depends. What’s in the bag?”
“A fresh pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream with a side of hot fudge.”
Gwen’s green eyes narrow. “How did you know that was my favorite?”
I chuckle. “I can’t take mind reading credit, I’m not Mary. Harley said this was the way to your heart if I really wanted you to forgive me.”
She gives me one more good stare, making me wonder for a second if she was going to turn me away. But she pushes the door open all the way, stepping to the side to let me by. I brush by her, heading straight for the kitchen so I can make sure the hot fudge is warm enough.
“Spoons?” I ask. She points to the drawer by the fridge, taking a seat at the island. I find a mug in the cabinet over her coffee pot, confirm it is microwave safe, and pour the chocolatey goodness inside to give it a reheat in the microwave. The bowl comes next, which I begin to scoop a large serving of her ice cream into. Then, I repeat the process with my own flavor. When the microwave beeps, I pull it out and cover both of our desserts with chocolate.
I push her bowl toward her as I take a seat on one of her stools. Before she digs in, though, I lean down to capture her eyes.
“I am so sorry you had to take care of my drunk ass last night.”
She looks away, nibbling on her lower lip. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not. It wasn’t on you. And if I said anything embarrassing, please don’t hold it against me.” I visibly cringe, hating to admit as a grown man that I can’t remember much after a drunken evening.
