Page 27 of Meet Me in the Valley
My knees buckle, sending me crashing to the dock at our feet. Logan guides my way down gently and lifts my head to his lap.
He strokes my hair and wipes away my tears with his fingers until my breathing evens out and my eyes run dry.
We stay like this for a while, time not really existing. It’s just the two of us with the company of this place that always draws us in. Our escape.
Logan breaks the silence, his fingers still in my hair. “Whenever you’re ready, I’m here to listen.”
I nod against his lap, my thoughts quieting as his hand drifts through my hair. When his fingers brush along my jaw, it’s not charged—just intimate in that rare, wordless way. The kind built on trust. On knowing you’re safe.
I’m safe here to let myself go and pour out my grief. I tell Logan about my mom and the pies. I tell him how, at dinner earlier, we sang “Happy Birthday” to my dad while I held back the wave of tears as reality sank in. I tell him about the look on my dad’s face as he ate a slice of pie with shaky hands and watery eyes, but that the smile on my mom’s face gave enoughmotivation for the both of us to swallow it down with a glass of milk.
“I couldn’t hold it in anymore, Lo. It was eating me from the inside. I couldn’t let my parents see me like this, so I came straight here.”
“God, I’m so sorry. But I’m glad you came here,” he whispers. “And I’m glad you called.”
I sit up to meet his gaze. His thumb swipes some wetness beneath my eye, his hand lingering on my cheek. I look at him. Truly look at him—and everything inside of me tells me nothing will ever be the same. At least that’s the truth for me.
I see him more clearly than I ever have. It was like my heart knew I needed him before I could come to realize it.
“Thank you for being here. I didn’t want anyone else,” I say, my voice low as I meet his gaze—those deep brown eyes filled with something tender and aching.
He’s hurting with me. For me. And even though part of me bristles at the thought of being pitied, that’s not what this is. This is him holding the weight with me. And for the first time today, I don’t feel alone.
“I’ll always come when you call. You’re my best friend, Tia. I’ll drop everything and anything for you.”
Best friend.
Is that all I’ll ever be for him? It’s selfish to feel bitterness at the way he reminds me. Am I naïve to think that maybe I could be the woman who changes Logan Harper’s ways?
No. Falling for Logan is asking for a slow kind of ruin. He doesn’t have it in him to give more. I know this. But then he’s there—fingers in my hair, warmth in his touch, racing across town like I’m worth chasing. And suddenly that fragile spark of hope ignites, lighting up the corners of my mind with impossible dreams.
I push down those far-fetched thoughts before I can give them any more life, smiling at him as I wrap my arms around his shoulders.
“I’m so grateful for you, Lo.”
I wish it could be more.
Logan presses a kiss into my hair, something he has done a million times. But this time it sends an army of butterflies in my belly. It lifts me up off this dock and straight into the night sky. But I don’t let him see it. I hide beneath a platonic smile as I rest my head on his shoulder.
“So, what now? What happens next?” Logan asks. He digs up a flat rock in the overgrown grass on the edge of the dock, tossing it across the lake as it skips a few times until it sinks down.
Watching Logan skip rocks pulls an old memory to the surface, one that settles in my chest with a flicker of warmth.
“My sister and I used to skip rocks on camping trips with Mom and Dad every summer,” I share, unable to stop the smile that spreads across my face.
He digs up another rock, surveying it with keen eyes, before handing it to me with a smirk. Biting my lip, I envision at least five skips across the water. The second the rock leaves my hand, it sinks. Logan chuckles, finding me another rock so I can try again.
“It’s because I’m sitting. If I stand, I can get over three skips I bet.”
“Sitting or standing, you suck at this. It’s okay. You can admit it,” Logan teases. I jab him in the rib with my elbow. He grunts, then pulls me up to stand with him.
“Tell me more about your sister. You haven’t talked about her in a really long time.”
I gnaw on my thumbnail, trying to picture Nora’s face in my mind.
“Nora was the first person I wanted to call when Dad told me about Mom’s Alzheimer’s.”
Logan hums thoughtfully at my response, searching for more rocks in the brush.
