She’d beat herself up when she was feeling better.
“Hey, do you ever check your phone?” Paris said, grabbing Logan’s arm as he walked out of the restaurant. His car was parked on the sidewalk, his overnight bag safely stashed in the trunk. It was almost two in the afternoon and he had exactly an hour until boarding. Even with VIP parking it was going to be tight.
“Sorry,” Logan said, shrugging his suit jacket off. He pulled the passenger door open and hung it on the hook above the window. “My meeting with the contractors ran over, and I’m late for the airport. Is it important?”
Her brows dipped. “You’re going to the airport? Why?”
He loosened his tie and circled his neck. “Because I’m heading home for the weekend.”
“But I’ve arranged a meeting with the events coordinator for tomorrow. To plan out the opening celebration. And I thought we could take a look at the new place in South End on Sunday.” She tipped her head to the side. “What’s so important about Nowheresville anyway? I thought you hated that place.”
“It’s where my family is.”
Paris let out a sigh. “Cam isn’t there, though. Doesn’t he have a game on Sunday? Won’t you miss it?”
“I’ll be back for the game. And I’ll be working Sunday night and all next week. It’s just two nights, Paris, and I’ve arranged cover at the restaurants.” He shook his head. “I have no idea why I’m explaining myself to you.”
“Because we’re supposed to be a team, Logan. We both know this industry isn’t a part time job. And it never has been for you. You’re always working, the same way I always am.” The corner of her lip pulled down. “But recently… I don’t know, it’s like you’re having some kind of mid-life crisis or something. And we both know you’re too young for that. What the hell is in Hartson’s Creek that’s pulling you back?”
He pictured Courtney laying naked on her bed, her dark curls everywhere as he ran his rough hands up her thighs.
“Two of my brothers are there. And my nephews. I want to see them.”
“You’ve never liked kids,” she pointed out. “Neither of us have. How many times have we talked about that over a bottle of Macallan? That’s why we’re so good at this. We dedicate everything to our careers. We know that kids and family get in the way of that.” She let out a mouthful of air. “Right?”
He checked the large silver watch on his wrist. “I gotta go if I want to catch this flight. Arrange those meetings for next week and I’ll be there.”
She nodded, her lips pressed tightly together.
“I’ll be there,” he repeated,
She gave him a smile. “Good. Because I can’t do this on my own. I need you, Logan. And if you can’t be here then we need to rethink bringing somebody else on board.”
“We don’t need anybody else. We’ve got this.” He walked around the car, pulling the driver’s door open. “I’ll see you Sunday night.”
She shrugged. “Okay.”
He threw his wallet and phone on the passenger seat, shaking his head at all the notifications filling the screen as it momentarily lit up.
He’d answer them all once he was through check in. When he was finally on his way to her. His own, personal sweet slice of oblivion.
Right now, the thought of her in his arms was the only thing keeping him going.
Chapter Six
Courtney’s eyelids flickered, the pounding in her head worse than ever. It took her a moment to realize that though her head was hurting, the noise was coming from elsewhere.
The front door.
She lifted her head, then winced and dropped it back to the cushion, and barely managed to open her dry lips.
“It’s open,” she struggled to croak. She was surrounded by darkness. What time was it? She remembered Carl leaving, then nothing after that. Had she been asleep all this time?
“Hi. How are you feeling?”
The smooth, deep sound of his voice made her eyes wide. Her breath caught in her throat as she looked toward the door and saw the outline of a tall, built man against the open front door.
“Logan?” she said, her voice catching. “Didn’t you get my message?”
He walked inside, kicking the door closed behind him. In the gloom of her living room she could see him holding something. It looked like a brown bag. The kind you got at the grocery store.
“I got your message, but by then I’d already checked in at the airport.” He looked around. “Is it okay if I turn a light on?”
“The kitchen switch is right next to you.”
He flicked it on, the brightness shooting straight through her skull. If she didn’t feel so sick, she’d probably worry about him seeing her like this. Her hair lank, her face pale, her lips so dry she could grow a cactus in them.
He put the bag down on the counter that divided the living room from the kitchen. She watched, bemused, as he began to take the items out one by one.
A rotisserie chicken, in a plastic container. Carrots, leeks, and onions, along with sachets of herbs and spices she couldn’t quite read the labels of.
“I didn’t want you to come all this way and be disappointed,” she said, her voice thick with exhaustion. “I don’t think I’m up for sex right now.”
The corner of his mouth quirked up. “That’s not why I’m here. I’m making you dinner.”
“You’re what?” She managed to turn on her side, even though every muscle in her body complained about the movement.
“I’m going to make you chicken soup.” A smile played at his lips. “It’s the only cure for when you have a fever like yours.”
“You’re cooking for me?” She blinked, not quite understanding thanks to the fog in her brain.
He shrugged. “It’s what I
