6
That weekend, Logan took me to my parents‘ house for dinner. He played the part of the perfect husband, always making sure we stayed connected with both our families.
At the dinner table, my mother casually brought up our neighbor’s new granddaughter. The implication in her voice was painfully obvious. She added that I was already twenty–six and couldn’t afford to wait any longer.
Logan, to his credit, smoothed things over for me.
I just stared blankly at the plate in front of me, my mind adrift. A pair of bright, dark eyes–a child’s eyes- materialized in my thoughts. I kept thinking about the little boy from the parking garage. Maybe it was beca- use he was so beautiful, or because of the intense way he had looked at me. Sometimes, I even dreamed of
him.
A hand rested affectionately on my right shoulder, jolting me back to the present. I looked up into Logan’s
smiling eyes.
I hadn’t heard a word he’d said, but he was clearly waiting for an answer. He had his head tilted slightly, his
focus entirely on me.
But lately, I couldn’t bear that look. I couldn’t meet his gaze.
So I just turned my head away, pushed my plate back, and stood up. “I’m full.”
Logan’s hand fell from my shoulder. In my peripheral vision, I saw his fingers curl slightly, closing around an
empty palm.
As I walked upstairs, I heard my mother complaining to Logan behind me. She said that ever since my acci-
dent, my personality had completely changed.
Then came Logan’s placid explanation: “She was probably just frightened by the whole ordeal.”
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