Page 60 of Under the Orchard’s Spell

My chest tugs, like it’s reaching for him.

Logan clears his throat. Looks away. “Anyway, you asked what I was thinking and that’s it. The letter might not say why she left, but it does rule out that theory.”

My mind flits back to our other scraps, fledgling bits of information. “My uncle seems to have contributed to her decision in some way.”

Maybe this is what Val is keeping quiet. Not just whatever was going on between my uncle and Lydia, but the role he seems to have played in the unraveling of Logan’s family. Val is so protective of him, I’m sure she’d want to protect his memory, too. And she wouldn’t want this secret to change my opinion of him.

Well, if that’s it, then she was right. It has.

Uncle Martin was the only adult who ever made me feel truly safe—and now I’m not even sure who he was.

Logan hasn’t spoken yet, like maybe he’s waiting for me to continue. And, somehow, I do have more to say.

“I always knew I’d find out secrets about him when I moved into his house, but I never thought they’d be the painful kind. Like, it turns out he had a hidden penchant for apple preserves, despite our family’s bias. He had a whole shelf of the stuff in the basement, hidden behind his bottles of rhubarb wine and fermented hot sauces.” My chest twinges with affection, and it’s replaced swiftly by another bolt of anger. “God. I’m sorry for what it looks like he did to your family.”

Logan’s eyes catch the light as they rise. “She was the married one.”

“Then I hate what they both did to you.”

“My brothers were the ones that grew up without a mother.”

I step toward him. I don’t dare come too close. Not with the way he’s holding his body stock still, his arms crossed over his chest. Not with the way he’s so purposefully put space between us since what happened in the creek. But I want to underline what I have to say with more than my voice.

“And it was you who stepped in to take care of them,” I say fiercely. “Maybe she abandoned them, but she left you.”

He blinks once, slow. When he speaks, his voice sounds like it’s been dragged over my gravel driveway. “Ali.”

“Logan.”

The wind picks up, tossing a curl loose from my bun and into my face. Logan’s hand rises and he brushes it back, tucking it behind my ear. This time he doesn’t flinch away.

“Only you would say that’s worse,” he says.

“It is,” I insist and I can feel the hot sting of tears behind my eyes, even though I’m not completely sure why I’m getting emotional. “You had the weight of everything on your shoulders. You had plans, you had a whole life decided, and she took that from you.”

Logan’s gaze lingers on mine. He’s closer than he has been in over a week, expression dark in the moonlight.

“I hate that they hurt you,” he says.

My next breath hitches. “Me?”

“You had weight on your shoulders,” he says. His voice is low and rough, but I don’t miss the purpose in his tone as he returns my words to me. “You had plans and a whole life decided. They took that from you.”

Something twists in my ribs and, for a second, I forget to breathe.

The wind picks up, bringing with it a chill. I shiver, hug my jacket closer.

“I liked it better when we were focusing on you,” I say, with a shaky smile.

Logan steps toward me—for the first time in days drawing closer instead of farther away. He’s close enough that I can see the flecks of gold in his irises, gleaming in the soft glow of crystal pears. He brushes his thumb against the lifted corners of my lips. Like he’s wiping away a tear.

“It kills me that I can’t fix it for you,” he says.

My heart seesaws. “I’m sorry that I’m not as easy as a barn door.”

“I didn’t say I want to fix you.” Logan’s next inhale is slow, deliberate, but when he shifts again it’s to bring himself a hair closer, like he’s being tugged by the inexorable pull of a distant gravity. “It’s not you that needs fixing.”

He’s leaving, I try to remind myself again. But the thought quivers, breathing its last breath.