Shannon hugged him back. “That… Knowing that’s the right thing for Maia right now… That’s how I know you can do this. You have been there for me more than Dad ever was, Logan. You can do this. It’s who you are.”
His arms tightened around her and I felt tears prick my eyes. I brushed them away quickly, but Cole caught me. He grinned cheekily at me.
“What?” I huffed, drawing Logan’s gaze as I wiped at the tears. “I’m really bloody tired, okay? It makes me emotional.”
They all grinned at me now, and I rolled my eyes, turning away from them. I looked at them again only to say good-bye as they were leaving. Cole was almost out the door and Shannon had just passed me when she abruptly turned around and came at me.
I tensed, relaxing only when she put her arms around me.
“Thank you.”
I hugged her back. “You’re very welcome.”
She pulled away and smiled. Hope glimmered in her beautiful eyes. “This is exactly where he was meant to be,” she whispered, and walked away before I could ask her to explain.
The door shut behind her and Cole.
“What did she say?” Logan said.
I shook my head. “Just thank you.”
He didn’t look convinced, but he dropped it. “What now?”
“Come over.” I gestured to the door. “I’ll make you and Maia dinner.”
He did that staring-at-me-intently thing again. “Why are you doing this? Is it for Maia, or for me?”
Blame it on my exhaustion or temporary insanity, but I found myself confessing a little of my story to him. “Because to a certain extent I’ve been where Maia is. I know what she’s going through. There was no parental figure there for me, trying. You’re going to try, and I admire that. I’d like to help you both, I guess.”
Logan was quiet so long I was starting to feel stupid for revealing that about myself.
“We better go next doo—”
“You’re a good woman, Grace Farquhar,” Logan interrupted solemnly. “I won’t forget this.”
Not sure how to respond to his words or the way they pressed down on my chest in painful pleasure, I smirked. “Um… you might not think that once you taste my cooking.”
Maia was standing in my sitting room before the bookshelves that lined the full length of one wall.
She was so still and tense that Logan and I could tell something wasn’t quite right even with her back to us.
“Maia, are you okay?” Logan said gruffly.
“Maia?”
She looked over her shoulder at us, tears in her eyes. “You have so many books.”
Confused, I nodded. “I do like to read.”
“But it’s like a library. You own all these books.”
“Yes, I do.”
“And you have really nice furniture.” She gestured to the room.
I looked around at my place, drinking it in as if from her perspective. I took pride in my home, not just because it was who I was, but because I worked from home and so I liked to be surrounded by nice things. My style was shabby chic. Everything was pretty but comfortable. Lots of cushions and throws and books and artwork.
“It does look like a fucking magazine spread,” Logan muttered, staring around at everything.