I shrug. “Seems big enough to me.”
“Good.” Logan nods once then bends over to pick up another plank of wood. I step out of the square and sit in one of the patio chairs. I lift my feet and rest them on the edge of the seat, pressing my knees to my chest, watching Logan as he works.
He grabs a nail and holds it against the wood, lifting his hammer in the air. He stops and glances over his shoulder.
“How was your meeting with Abby?”
“It was okay,” I mutter. I rest my chin on my knee, feeling my eyes growing heavier against the midday sun.
“Did you talk to her about last night?”
I wait to answer him until he finishes putting in the first nail. His knees are bent, resting on the grass. He scoots over, starting in on the next corner.
“We talked about it.” I sigh. “I don’t know, Logan. She acted as if she had no clue what telling that story might do to me.”
He looks up, resting his arm on his best knee. “Really?”
I shake my head and rest it on my knee, staring at him sideways. “I don’t understand. We used to be so close. We were there for each other all through college. She let me stay with her when you were in the hospital. I just feel like we’re on two different wavelengths.” I close my eyes, letting the warm sun soak into my skin. “I'm probably not making any sense.”
Logan hammers in another nail, the sound of metal meeting wood piercing my ears. “No, it makes perfect sense,” he says. “It just means you’ve both changed. A lot has happened this past year. I don’t think any of us are the same.”
I open my eyes as Logan lifts the bottom of his shirt, wiping the film of sweat from his forehead. Stray pieces of hair fall from his low bun, framing his face. He pushes them back and continues working.
“I guess you’re right.” I sit up in my chair, taking my empty coffee with me. “I think I’m going to go lay down. I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
Logan stops, resting one hand on his waist, the other still holding the hammer. Dropping the hammer, he crosses the yard and stops in front of me. His scent invades my space, drawing me in. He smells like a delicious combination of sweat, wood, and orange Tic Tacs.
His chest rises and falls, heavy breaths escaping between his lips. “I know I asked about Abby, but are we okay?”
I search his eyes. I want to know we’re okay. But as I stare into the eyes of the man I love, I can’t help but feel the twisting ache in my chest, reminding me of the secrets I’m keeping from him.
I lean forward and place a kiss on his lips. His lips are warm and taste sweet. He wraps his arm around me, pulling me closer. He lifts his hand, running his fingers through my hair. I pull back slightly, pressing my forehead to his. “We’re okay,” I whisper.
It’s the only two words I feel are true. We’re okay and that was good for now. I could figure out the rest later.
I leave Logan out in the back yard and crawl under the sheets of my bed, letting sleep overtake me. My body is heavy, pressing into the mattress. Within seconds I fall asleep.
My eyes crack open to the sound of running water coming from the bathroom in our room. I pick up my phone and look at the time. I’d slept for two hours. Despite, how quick my nap was, my body felt lighter and my eyes more open. The pressure that was once buried behind them had dissolved.
There’s a vibration coming from beside me on Logan’s side of the bed. It happens two more times by the time I find the source of where it’s coming from. I push aside the blanket, finding Logan’s phone buried underneath it. A text message box pops up on the top of the screen.
Natalie: Just pulled into the market. See you in a few!
My throat swells as Natalie’s text stares me right in the face. There’s an ache swelling inside me, threatening to break me into pieces. I feel like my own trust in my husband has betrayed me. There was something I was missing. A connection I hadn’t quite yet made.
The water stops and I drop Logan’s phone back onto the bed. Within seconds he’s out of the bathroom and riffling through his dresser. He has a towel wrapped around his waist, displaying his sculpted abs. Water drops are dotted across his skin, his hair is soaked, trails of water running down his back. The beard he had earlier in the day is already gone, trimmed down to a short stubble lining his jaw.
I scoot back on the bed, resting against the headboard and rub the sleep from my eyes. I bite the inside of my cheek, not knowing how I’m going to be able to talk to Logan right now after reading the text I’d just read from Natalie.
“Oh, good, you’re up,” he says, still digging through his drawer.
“I really needed that nap.” I yawn, hoping it will give me a little more time to set my emotions aside long enough to speak to Logan.
“I got the basic frame set up for the shed.” His words sound rehearsed, flat and unfeeling. Was his motivation to rebuild the shed born out of guilt? Guilt for whatever is going on with Natalie.
After drying off, he steps into a clean set of boxer briefs followed by a pair of dark blue jeans.
“Where are you going?” I ask him. I lift my leg and rest my elbow on my knee, cradling my head in my hand, watching him as he dresses. He grabs a plain T-shirt and slides it on.
“Oh, uh, Max wanted me
