He bends down and places his lips against mine. The sweet, familiar taste of orange lands on my mouth and I breathe him in. Despite him not texting me back for most of the day, my anger subsides, quickly replaced with relief. He sits down in the chair beside me, leaning back and resting his elbows on the armrests. I can tell he isn’t sure what else to say, waiting for me to make the first move. I hold my breath, unsure of what I want him to say. Maybe his apology was enough.
My eyes shift to my still open laptop. The logo I had been working on for the salon in Tennessee is almost complete. I was adding the last finishing touches when Logan had walked out onto the patio, satisfied with how it was turning out. I save the file then gently shut my laptop.
When I turn back to Logan his eyes shift from my laptop before moving past my shoulder, toward the yard. “You’ve been busy this morning.” A small laugh escapes his breath and the corner of his mouth turns up into a smirk. He’s changing the conversation, letting the silence between us swelter in the mild mid-summer heat.
I twist in my chair to look at the pile of splintered wood and shrug before turning back to Logan. “I don’t know. The urge to tear it down became overwhelming. I had the energy so thought it was time to get rid of it. Now I just have to figure out what to put in its place.”
Logan’s eyes soften, the gold flecks in them reflecting off the sun. “I really am sorry I didn’t text you back, Len.”
I sigh and stare at Logan. Despite his silence this morning, I do trust my husband enough to know there must be a reason he didn’t message me back. The heaviness and worry that weighed on my chest this morning is beginning to lift and I’m ready to move on, ready for it to disappear completely. “How did the training go with the new chef?”
Logan sits up, clearly happy I’m showing interest in his work. “It went great. Max always hires the best chefs.” I ignore the smirk that plays on Logan’s mouth, implying he’s one of those chefs. Logan’s always been modest about his culinary skills. It probably has to do with his upbringing in that he’s had to fight tooth and nail for everything he’s accomplished in his life. Logan’s career wasn’t handed to him on a silver platter. No pun intended. No, he started from the ground up, working every position possible in the restaurant business, absorbing all the skills he could.
As for me, my upbringing was a bit different. From birth, my parents had practically had my career all mapped out for me, ready to pay every cent and donate as many dollars as they could to get me into Harvard. I’d grown up in Massachusetts, surrounded by lawyers who’d feasted on the wealth of their clients. My father was no different. So, it didn’t come as a shock to me when he completely cut me off financially when I told him law school wasn’t for me. Within the second semester of my freshman year at Brown, I’d transferred all my courses from prelaw to graphic design. My father’s hand may not have exactly played a role in me achieving my art degree, but I can’t deny how he’d had a hand in getting me into Brown in the first place.
Logan’s life wasn’t as easy, and he knew it. That’s what I’d come to love about him over the time I’ve known him. He’s humble and constantly aware of how he’s gotten where he is in his career. He calls himself lucky to be where he is, but I always call bullshit on that one.
“Anyway,” Logan continues. “Not that it’s an excuse at all but there’s actually a reason I was held up and couldn’t get to my phone. Do you remember when we catered that fundraiser a few months back, for that architect?”
“Yeah. Wasn’t his name Gavin something?” I remember Logan coming home, spilling all the details on how he was catering an event for one of the most famous and richest men in Seattle.
“Gavin James.” Logan nods, his grin stretching from ear to ear. “Well, he came in the restaurant today and said he loved working with us on his last event so much that he wants us to cater for him again. This time it’s a larger, more formal event. He’s supposed to be emailing me and Max the details soon.”
“Logan, that’s so great.” I smile, knowing how big this is for Logan.
For a moment, Logan doesn’t speak a word and neither do I. I spent most of the morning tearing down old wooden planks. Using Logan’s tools and my muscles to think about everything. My marriage, my best friend, even what I truly want out of my career. When I had tossed the last few pieces of wood into the pile I had created, it dawned on me how my love for art was stronger than I had realized. The passion for it would never disappear. It was something that pulled me, lighting the fire inside my chest. Nothing could erase the feeling of completing a design for a client. I craved the adrenaline that came with delivering a piece of art to small business owners. Which is why I quickly cleaned up after tearing down the shed, made lunch for me and Logan before settling down outside on our patio, digging into my design for the hair salon. I was excited to start on something new, something fresh.
Besides the constant checking of my phone and texts I’d sent to Logan, I was fairly happy with what I had accomplished this morning.
Logan pulls one of the plates of food sitting on the table toward him. Picking up one half
