Page 38 of Because of Logan

“I do too. The thing is, as much as I want to, there’s a part of me that’s terrified of taking that leap of faith.”

She stops abruptly, as if in confessing her fears, she has said too much.

“I can understand that.”

“You can?”

“Yes. Faith requires trust. And trust is not something that comes easily to everyone.”

“No, it doesn’t. Especially if that trust has been broken before.”

The wordtrustfloats between us long after it was said, as if suspended in wait. Invisible, intangible, and yet heavy with fear and need.

The need to trust.

The fear of trusting.

Two sides of the same coin.

We don’t say anything for a while, and the first cords of a familiar melody start to play, “I Don't Want to Miss a Thing” by Aerosmith.

I wonder if Grandpa is whispering in my ear again. The first time I heard this song, he played it to me and told me to make sure to never hold back because I don’t want to miss anything.

Chapter Fifteen

I’m leaningon the counter and watching as he makes us coffee. It’s not late, but it’s been a long day. I stifle a yawn.

“I’m sorry.”

He smiles as he turns to me and kisses me on the cheek. It’s such a sweet gesture, so filled with tenderness. My heart skips a beat.

“Nothing to be sorry for. It’s been a long day. But I enjoyed every minute of it.”

His hand is on my hair again. He twirls a lock on his fingers and then lets it drop. He’s done it a few times tonight.

“Take a seat.”

He guides me back to the now cleared kitchen island where we had dinner less than an hour ago.

He gestures for me to wait and gets us both coffee. Then goes back to the fridge and brings out a cake. He places it in front of me. A homemade cake, twenty-one colorful candles on top of it. A rainbow of colors against the dark chocolate ganache.

He lights the candles, but it’s my heart that goes up in flames.

“Happy birthday, Skye.”

Words I’m not capable of saying try to spill out of my eyes. I blink to stop the rogue tears. Of all the things he could have said or done, this simple gesture, a birthday cake he’s clearly baked himself is what touches me the deepest. I throw myself into his arms. He hugs me back. A muffledThank youleaves my lips as he squeezes me harder and kisses the top of my head.

This moment, with his arms tight around me—it feels right. Maybe we can give trust a chance because I just realized I don’t want to miss a thing either.

I pull back just enough to look at him, and like before, I go on my tiptoes and kiss him. It starts as a gentle kiss, a pass of lips, a chaste taste. My lips part for him, and he dips in once, twice, and then pulls back.

He looks over my shoulder.

“As much as I hate stopping myself right now, you’d better make that wish before the cake burns the house down.”

We burst out laughing.

I look at him and back at my twenty-one candles. I make a wish and blow them out. Twenty-one little spirals of smoke rise up and dissipate, each one of them a message to the universe, a reminder to make my wish come true.

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