Page 39 of Because of Logan

Logan plucks the candles off the cake and grabs a single plate and two forks. He cuts a huge slice.

“Vanilla cake with chocolate ganache is my favorite. How did you know?”

He shrugs.

“I didn’t. It’s my favorite too.”

I moan at the first bite. He stills, eyes on my lips. I freeze too. Logan leans in and licks the corner of my mouth. Then he smiles.

“You had a little bit of chocolate right there.”

I have the urge to cover my entire body in ganache.

His smile widens and turns into a knowing smirk. And I don’t know if I said that out loud or if he just read my mind. I’m pretty sure my entire body is flushed red right now. He laughs and stands up.

“Be right back.”

When he returns, he’s holding a gift bag and pushes it toward me.

“Got you something.”

The surprise must be evident on my face.

“Don’t look so surprised. You didn’t think I’d forget it’s your birthday, right?”

“No, it’s just that I wasn’t expecting anything else. You didn’t have to do this—all of this.”

I gesture at the space around us.

“I know, but I wanted to.”

A small smile plays on his lips. He watches my every move.

“Go on, open it.”

Curiosity takes over me, and I reach for the plain brown paper bag and look inside. Two packages wrapped in tissue paper. I reach for the smaller one and unfold the paper, revealing a narrow powder-blue box. I find a beautiful silver bracelet inside with three charms dangling from it—a book, the number twenty-one, and... is that a cop car?

“This is beautiful, Logan. I don’t know what to say. Thank you. I love it.”

“I figured the book for your love of reading and the number for your birthday, and the cruiser for the day we met.”

He looks at me and there’s anticipation in his eyes.

“This is so thoughtful. I really do love it.”

He takes the bracelet from me, opens it, and looks at me, waiting. I give him my left wrist. His fingers brush my skin, sending shivers up and down my spine. My nipples get hard and send a little thank you to whoever invented padded bras, glad that Logan can’t see how his simple touch affects me.

I turn my arm so I can see the pendants, and the silver shines under the kitchen lights.

“There’s one more,” he reminds me.

I can’t imagine anything that would top the bracelet. When I reach inside the bag one more time and remove the next wrapped gift, I can tell it's a book and get that old feeling of anticipation every time a new book comes my way. When I remove the tissue paper, words escape me.

He smiles at my reaction. I look at him and then back at the book and back at him again. And repeat this another half-dozen times. Still fighting to find my speech, all I can say is, “How?”

He shrugs.

“I don’t understand. This book is not out until next week. How did you get it?”

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