Page 118 of We Were Something
Giggling, I agree to the boat search, and the three of us wrap up our check before wandering off down the long, seemingly endless rows of yachts and sailboats and dinghies and pontoons.
“I would never buy a boat,” Hannah says as we wander, the sun setting in the sky. “I’d rather buy a plane.”
I jerk to a stop, eyeing Hannah before bursting into laughter. “God, you’ve been spending too much time with Wyatt,” I tell her. “What happened to the girl who thought nine dollars was too expensive to add international minutes to her phone plan when she spent a few weeks in England?”
Hannah’s head falls back as she belts out her own laugh.
“I think it’s down this one,” Lennon says, turning to the right and leading us off toward some of the larger boats to the east of the club.
“I don’t know how anyone remembers where anything is in here,” I say as we pass by boat after boat, so many of them looking the same. “I’d get lost in a second if I…”
But my voice trails off as we come upon a familiar boat.
Not just a familiar boat, but a familiar face.
Logan, standing onSeas the Day, watching us.
“He wants to talk to you,” Hannah tells me, and my head jerks in her direction. “And I think you should listen to what he has to say.”
I look at Lennon, who gives me an apologetic smile before she points a finger at Logan and says, “Remember what we talked about” in a tone that brooks no argument. Then she grabs Hannah by the hand and the two of them hurry off.
Overwhelmed with surprise, I turn back to Logan, finding him still watching me, and then my eyes take in the fact that he’s surrounded by a dozen or so little lanterns illuminating the boat.
I’ve never been one of those girls who envision the grand gesture or the romantic moment with the man of their dreams. I always assumed moments like that were bullshit. Fake. Totally blown out of proportion and much less meaningful in real life.
Which is why I’m overwhelmed by how seeing him standing there, with lanterns surrounding him and several bouquets of beautiful flowers on the deck, makes me feel inside. It feels like the heart that was broken inside of my chest is already starting to feel the tiny pinch that comes along with repair. With the beginning stitch a doctor would put in to save it.
“I was wrong,” Logan tells me.
A cool breeze blows off the water and sends a shiver skittering along my skin.
“I know you were wrong,” I say back, crossing my arms.
He laughs at my response. “I love you, Paige.”
My nostrils flare and I look away, not understanding why this feels the way it does. Not understanding why I can’t just tell him it’s not enough and leave.
He broke up with me. He threw me away when he told me we couldn’t do that to each other.
What doesanythingcoming out of his mouth matter?
“I love everything about you,” he continues. “I love how you say exactly what you’re thinking. I love your laughter. It’s my favorite sound in the world.”
I look back at him, wishing I could make my feet move but feeling stuck right here. With each thing he says, I feel another stitch working to repair the heart he threw away. He’s trying to salvage us from the wreckage he caused, and I can’t help but let him.
Because I’ve never…felt this before. Never had a man come back and try to fix things. Get me back. Convince me that I matter. Thatwematter.
So I stay silent and listen, because I don’t want to miss a single word.
“I love the way you tease and play and keep things fun. I love the way your eyes twinkle when you’re being mischievous, which is all the time.”
He steps forward, closer to the edge of the boat, and rests his hands on the railing.
“I love when you’re tucked in my arms and how it feels to press my lips to yours. There’s nothing else on this earth like it, and I want it back.” He pauses. “Please, Paige. I am so sorry. I tried to do what I thought was right, but it wasn’t right. How can something be right when it means we’re not together? Because us together—it’s real. You and me, we are something so real and so special. So rare. And I will apologize for the rest of my life if you’ll forgive me.”
Not sure what to say in response, I say the only thing that comes to mind.
“I’m moving to New York,” I tell him, not addressing the platitudes that are slowly stitching me back together.
