Page 21 of Burned By My Mate

Logan moves beside me, his presencesolid, steady.“I’m sorry.”

I nod tightly, not trusting myself to speak. I turn away, heading for what used to be the kitchen, stepping over debris as I push open thehalf-burneddoor, and that’s when I see it.

Abox. Tucked into the corner,half-buriedbeneath a collapsed beam.

My chesttightens as I recognize it right away.

It’s my grandmother’s box.

Without thinking, I move forward, dropping to my knees and shoving the debris aside. The lid is scorched, the edgesblackened, but when I pry it open, the inside isintact.

My grandmother’s recipe book. Her old photographs. A stack oflettersshe wrote to me before she passed.

I let out a shaky breath, my hands trembling as I brush soot from the edges. It’s noteverything, but it’ssomething. And right now? That’s enough.

Logan crouches beside me. “You got what you need?”

I nod slowly,hugging the box to my chest.“Yeah.”

His jaw tightens, his blue eyesburning.

“We should go.”

I stand, my legs shaky, and let Logan lead me out, and as we step back into the daylight, I realize something. I don’t feelaloneanymore. Not when Logan’s beside me. And that settles something inside of me.

“I’ll take you home. Harris is going to come by the house to go over a few things in a bit,” he says, and I nod, clutching my grandmother’s things as we make the drive back to his place.

When we get home, Logan gives me my space. I think that he can sense that I need a few minutes to compose myself. I set my grandma’s things on the dresser and peel open her recipe book, flipping through the familiar pages.

I’m so lost in thought that I don’t hear Logan approach or open the door.

“We can make one of the recipes if you want,” he says kindly, but I shake my head.

“Not right now,” I whisper, and he nods.

“Did you want to go get some stuff from town?”

“No. No, I just want to stay here, I think.”

“Do you want to be alone?” He asks, and I shake my head.

“No,” I admit. “Let’s talk.”

He seems surprised but doesn’t argue. I follow him down the hallway and into the living room. He takes a seat on the couch, and I plop down across from him on the loveseat.

“What do you want to talk about?” He asks me carefully, and I would swear that he seems nervous.

“Have you heard anything else about who burned my house down or why they did it?”

“No, not yet. I need to talk to Ryker and Griffin and find out what those two men said yesterday.”

I nod, my mind spinning in a million different directions.

“I’ll tell you as soon as I do know anything,” he promises me.

“I need to contact the insurance company and see what needs to be done with all of that,” I murmur, and he nods.

“I can help you with that. I’ll get you the reports that you’ll need to give them.”

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