When I make it to the kitchen, Logan’s standing in front of the island, a coffee cup in his hand. He’s dressed only in his sweatpants, the hem resting just above his sculpted waist. His muscles curve along his torso, the ends of his growing hair resting on his shoulders. I’ve barely seen him with it down considering he works in the food industry and always has it tied back.
He doesn’t smile when he sees me. Instead, there’s a softness in his gaze, drawing me closer. His smooth lips relax, opening just enough to draw in a breath. It feels like forever since I’ve felt those lips pressed against mine.
He leans against the counter, pressing his palms on the edge. His muscles flex under the pressure. “Hey,” he says.
His voice is just as soft as his eyes. I stand on the other side of the island, grasping at the ends of the sleeves of my robe, balling them into my hands. “Hey.”
“I made breakfast.” He glances over his shoulder to the stove before turning back around to face me. “I’m making eggs benedict.”
My favorite breakfast.
I sigh, tilting my head to the side. “Thank you.” I grab my coffee and slide onto the barstool. “You didn’t have to do this.” I look past Logan to the spread he already has laid out.
“I didn’t,” he answers. “But I wanted to.”
A spark flickers inside my chest. Much like the feeling of when you first light a sparkler and the flame transforms into sparks. It isn’t powerful enough to reassure me, but enough to remind me that a small piece of the Logan I married remained.
I watch as Logan turns around, whisking the hollandaise sauce he’s already started making. The ridges of his muscles twist and turn with every rotation and the ridges expand and contract. Studying him reminds me of why were in this rut to begin with. We’re both keeping secrets from one another, refusing to be the first to make the first cut.
Once he’s finished cooking, he sits down on the stool beside me. We eat in silence for the first half of our meal. Every now and then, I catch him watching me, then I watch him. We’re playing a game of tag with our eyes, never our mouths.
I’m nearly finished eating when Logan finally decides to talk. “I figured we could finish the shed today.”
He rests his elbow on the counter, his fork pinched between his fingers. He halfway turns his stool causing his knees to press against my thigh. I can’t deny how it makes me feel. My thighs tense and the familiar heat builds between them. I miss this. I miss the way Logan makes me feel.
But I also hate it. I hate that even when we seem to not be on the same wavelength, he still finds a way to bring me back. At this point, I’m not sure if it’s a good or bad thing.
I swallow my bite and take a sip of coffee. “Only if you still want to.”
Logan looks down at his plate, setting his fork down. “Of course, I do, Len.”
I shrug. “Okay, I just wasn’t sure if you felt up to it.” I bite the inside of my cheek, wondering if my comment stung Logan just as much as it did me. I’m being passive aggressive, and I know it.
“Well, I do.” Logan’s voice is firm but not angry. His tone is more like he’s trying to convince me rather than be spiteful.
There’s an invisible wall between us. I can’t see it, but I can feel it.
“Okay,” I mutter against my cup, my lips sliding against the glazed porcelain.
We don’t speak another word to each other until we’re dressed and standing out in our back yard, in front of the four planks of wood nailed together in a perfect square.
“Do you mind helping me?” Logan asks. His hands are perched on his hips. He’s wearing a simple T-shirt, his hair now tied back like it usually is. He bends down, picking up one of the planks, laying it across the open square.
“What do you need me to do?” I ask, bending down beside him.
“I just need you to hold this straight while I nail it in. This will be the floor.” He stands, brushing his hands off on the front of his jeans. He walks around the square, bending down to hammer in the first nail.
Once he has the first nail in, he grabs another.
“So,” he says, raising the hammer, looking across to me with hooded eyes. “Are you excited to start at the law firm?”
I swallow, breathing in the still dewy morning air. The grass is still slightly wet, but the sun has already begun to dry it out.
“I am. I’m kind of nervous though. This will be my first official job since I got my degree. What if I can’t keep up? This is a big law firm.” I don’t realize how nervous I am about starting this job at Sawyer and Sawyer until I say it out loud to Logan.
He shakes his head, quickly hammering in the last nail on his side. He walks back around the square, bending down and placing his hand over mine. His face is within inches of mine and I can practically taste the tangy orange scent coming from his mouth. I instinctively lick my lips.
“They wouldn’t have hired you if they didn’t think you coulddo the job, Len.”
A hint of a smile grows on me, my cheeks warming at the motion. It feels like I haven’t smiled in forever.
“Here,” he says. His voice is low and heavy, hitting me straight in the chest. He gently moves my hand to the side, positioning the next nail.
“Thanks. What about you?” Logan turns to me, his eyebrows knitting in confusion.
“The fundraiser,” I continue. “Didn’t you say this one will be bigger than
