Page 60 of A Dash of You

He sighs. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Sora. I shouldn’t have left you like that.” With a brief pause, he blinks, his attention finding the wall behind me. “My dad became sick,really fast. He was diagnosed with stage four lung cancer. Started developing body sores that wouldn’t heal. Old man smoked like a damn chimney.”

There’s love, but exhaustion written on him as he speaks about his father.

“That’s why you have all those surgical supplies and how you knew how to dress a wound.” It’s not a question, but a knowing statement.

“Yes. When I left…” There’s a quick halt before he shifts his words. “My dad moved in with me. I took care of him for the rest of the time he had left. It wasn’t easy, but he was my dad, and I loved the stubborn bastard.”

I feel myself leaning a little closer. “You don’t have siblings that could have helped?”

He shook his head. “Just me.”

“And what about your mom?”

Logan’s eyes turn heavy. “She died. A long time ago.”

“Oh God. Logan, I am so sorry. That had to be so difficult.” I empathize with him in more ways than he knows. I get it. Understand the pain of losing people you love.

He shrugs. “I was four when she died. I don’t even remember her, really. Just from a few photos my dad kept.”

I want to reach up and comfort him somehow. I want him to know I’m here for him, but I don’t.

“He left me his towing business when he died.”

Hence the nameGeorge.

My eyes widen. “You kept his name.” I smile in sadness as he nods. “Is that what you wanted? To take over the business?”

“At first no. I was involved in…” He stops whatever he was about to say, catching himself like before. “Let’s just say it worked out, and I didn’t have the heart to sell it.”

I’m not sure what all those unspoken words mean. Logan is always so coded, but I don’t want to push anymore because I’mgrateful for him being open, even if it is only a small bit. I enjoy hearing about Logan’s life. I craved getting to know him like I craved seconds of dessert.

We both share glances, him surveying me and any reactions to the information he just shared. All I can feel is compassion.

The thunder cracks again, my body involuntarily jumping into Logan’s chest. I bury my face in his warmth. Leaning on his strength.

Oh God.

When I go to scoot back, Logan’s arm wraps around my back, keeping me pressed to his hardness. My breath catches in my throat, and I inhale the scent of cedar. “Sorry. My imagination must have spooked me more than I thought.”

His arm—his touch is a silent vibration against me. There’s never a time when I feel completely secure, but as Logan holds me like this, that secureness arises.

“I don’t mind,” his whisper of a breath feathers my neck.

The way he talks hits in all the right places.

I close my eyes, listening to the rain hammer down on the motel roof. If this is what it’s like to be cared for… then damn, I really wish I can have it.

My head falls on his biceps and we lay together in fallen silence. I’m not sure if he’s still awake and I don’t want to move to check, afraid the fantasy would become reality, and I’d wake from this impeccable dream.

When my eyes grow heavy and my body begs for sleep, I close them, drifting off.

Twenty-One

My neck is stiff as I cuddle into the warm body before me. When I whip my eyes open, the remembrance of who exactly I’m cuddling with comes flooding back. Logan’s arm is still caressing my back, and I desperately want to fall back to sleep soaking in just a few more minutes—no hours of this.

With the sunlight beaming through the curtains, I catch Logan staring at me. Man, he looks good in the morning. His hair is disheveled, and the sunlight magically radiates off his skin.

He eyes me from my hair, down to my mouth, and down to my breasts, which are inches from pressing to his chest. “Morning.” The man has a morning voice. Scruffy, deep, and raspy.

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