Page 104 of Meet Me in the Valley
I can’t say it out loud.
“Let me rephrase that.” He swallows. “Is this what youneed?”
My breath hitches at the way his question hits me hard between the eyes. Something in me softens at the way he so innately understands me.
“Yes,” I whisper, full of truth, but still painful to confess. “It’s what you need, too.”
Logan doesn’t respond right away. He just stands there, shoulders rising with a slow breath—like he’s absorbing my answer, letting it settle somewhere deep.
“Don’t tell me what I need when I’m already holding it in my arms.” His jaw tenses, like there’s more he wants to say, but he swallows it down, letting the rest of the silence speak for him.
I hold back the sob catching in my throat as my tears fall silently on his shoulder. My fingers grasp the fabric of his shirt, desperate and full of pain.
“Okay, T.” He steps back. “If this is what you need, then so be it.”
In my heart of hearts, I know this is the right thing to do. Because if I let him see how much it’s killing me inside, we’ll slip right back into that same old comfort—the escape hatch we’ve always taken. And we’ll never get out. So I steel myself.
Strong feet. Steady heart.
Logan trudges toward my front door, and every step he takes is a battering ram straight through my chest.
When he opens the door, it’s a steel-toed boot to my ribs.
He leans in close, and for a second, I don’t know if he’s going to kiss me. Our faces inch closer, with breaths mingling.
And just as my heart makes an impulsive, reckless decision to take one last taste of him, just enough to survive, he stops us.
Logan grips my chin gently but firmly between his thumb and forefinger, halting the moment just before it breaks open. His head tilts, lips brushing the shell of my ear as he whispers low and certain, “Next time you wonder if I’m going to kiss you, you won’t have to. You’ll know.”
Then, he presses the softest kiss to the corner of my mouth—a promise and a punishment—and pulls away, leaving me breathless and barely standing.
And when I hear the rumble of his bike and watch him ride away—cast beneath a full moon—I fall apart.
Chapter Thirty-Two
LOGAN
My hands tingle. My knee bobs. My pulse skyrockets to staggering heights. I’ve never had a peanut allergy, but the tightness in my chest and the way my throat’s closing up feels pretty damn close.
I’m waiting for the blonde woman with kind eyes to show up. When I saw her picture online, I thought she looked respectable. Demure. There was something about the way she sat up tall in her picture that oozed confidence.
She had hair that didn’t go past her chin, cut into a sleek bob that somehow made her seem more mature. It gave me a weird sense of comfort, like she’d know what she was doing—experienced.
I know looks aren’t everything, but trust starts with a feeling. If I don’t see it in their face, how could I give them any part of me?
And that’s what this was about, right? Trust? Well, I’m shit with trust. I’ve seen trust vanish right before my eyes. Hell, I’ve been the one to make trust vanish. But it’s just as bad to be on the receiving end, too. I’ve been in both roles. Both fucking suck.
I haven’t been waiting too long. Five minutes tops. But it feels like a lifetime. Every second ticking is a Herculean effort to notpass out from the nerves. I’ve never done this before. I didn’t think I’d ever do this.
But Ihaveto do this.
Then she’s here, the woman I’ve been waiting for, greeting me with a friendly smile that somehow disarms me quicker than I had expected. I was right about her eyes being kind. Big and glacier blue. Ironically full of warmth, despite the cool tones in her irises.
“Hi, Logan. I’m Charlotte. It’s really great to meet you.” Her voice is bright, but not annoyingly chirpy. It’s soothing, and I can imagine she might have a good singing voice. Her smile isn’t overbearing. Far from condescending. It’s genuine, and that puts me at ease.
“Hi, Charlotte. It’s great to meet you, too. Is it okay? If I just call you Charlotte?” My throat works down a swallow, and my clammy palms feel weird as I rub them up and down on my jean-clad thighs.
“Of course. No need for formalities. I want you to feel comfortable.” I nod at that, absentmindedly cracking my knuckles. Charlotte grins politely, sensing my nerves.
