Page 12 of Bittersweet

“Veto? Are you going into politics now?”

“Maybe.” She didn’t want to tell him it was because Savannah wasn’t there, that it would be just the two of them. She didn’t want him to know being alone with him felt dangerous to her, that she worried she wouldn’t be able to resist being close to him.

“The shop’s closed, and I’m hungry,” she blurted.

He laughed. “Bakeries have food.”

She tilted her head and pursed her lips. “I need a proper meal, and you’re going to buy me one.”

His eyebrow raised. “Is that so?”

“Yes.”

“Like a date?”

Her stomach dropped at the smile on his face. “Not a date. A business meeting. If you want us to work with you, I want to hear your pitch.”

“I thought earlier you said you weren’t there to talk business.”

“I changed my mind.”

Logan nodded resolutely. “Business meeting it is then.”

“Thank you.” She combed her fingers through her hair and motioned toward her apartment. “I need a few minutes.”

He took a step over the threshold, and she held up a hand. His forehead creased in confusion.

“Can you wait outside?” she asked.

“Seriously?” He looked up at the sky, thick with clouds, which were threatening to open up at any minute.

“I’ll only be a few minutes.”

He shook his head. “Fine.”

She watched him walk down the sidewalk and slowly closed the door, leaning back against it, and letting out a slow breath.

Once she had run a brush through her hair, twisted it back into a neat bun, and touched up her makeup, she stood tall and stared herself down. Determination took over. She would listen to what he had to say about the business. She would try to hear him out—for Savannah. Then she would bridge the subject of him leaving.

Outside, she walked along the sidewalk and found Logan leaning against the side of the old turquoise ’66 Chevy Chevelle he’d been driving when they first met.

Her eyes widened. “You still drive this piece of junk?”

“Shhh! She’ll hear you.”

She couldn’t help but laugh.

“This lady is a classic. She’ll still be running when your little Kia sputters for the last time and dies an early death.”

“My Kia does not sputter.” She gave his car a once over. “I don’t know if I want to ride in that.”

He held the passenger door open for her. “I’ve taken good care of her. Trust me.”

“We should probably drive separately anyway.”

“What? That’s ridiculous. Get in, Harper.”

Hesitantly, she slid onto the turquoise bench seat and fastened her lap belt. The interior of the car was just as she remembered it, still immaculately clean, like it wasn’t a decades-old classic car but right off the showroom floor.

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