Page 30 of Tattered (Lark Cove 1)

My hopes lifted as I took in the yellow blooms. Maybe this would go better than I’d thought. After all, he’d unknowingly bought Charlie her favorite flower.

She loved sunflowers because the birds could eat the seeds. Every fall, we’d buy a huge bundle and she’d place them strategically throughout the yard as makeshift bird feeders.

Maybe Logan and Charlie would connect immediately and all of my worries would be for nothing.

“And these are for you.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small bundle of spoons. “In case you run out before your project is over.”

I laughed as he handed them over. “Thank you.”

These spoons were twice as thick as the industrial-grade spoons I had in the workshop. You’d never find these in a school lunchroom or hospital cafeteria. They were nicer than the spoons I had in my own kitchen drawer.

“Come on in. Make yourself at home.”

Logan walked into the living room and looked around.

The cottage was the nicest home I’d ever had, but now it seemed too small and too common. Having Logan here, just like having him in my workshop last night, was a harsh reminder that he was from a different stratosphere.

For the first time, I was embarrassed for being so chemically attracted to him. Why would

he want me when he probably had a fancy, rich girlfriend in New York?

Still, I had no control over how my body came to life when he was near. My blood heated. My palms ached to press against the hard planes of his chest. My fingertips itched to dig into the muscles of his sculpted ass.

But he wasn’t here for me. He was here for Charlie.

I was his one-night stand gone awry.

Nothing more.

I shook off the charge of his presence, concentrating on the matter at hand. Charlie was meeting her father tonight.

“So.” Logan began pacing around my small living room, his gaze sweeping over the two floral print chairs that somehow went with our celestial blue couch. “Did you, um, talk to Charlie?”

His fingers fidgeted with his watch as he spoke, and he’d run a hand through his hair twice already. Something about him was off tonight. He’d still charged the air and spiked the temperature with one step inside. He still smelled divine, thanks to his Armani cologne. But he was different.

He was nervous.

So, as gently as I could, I tried to put him at ease while hinting at how to approach Charlie.

“Yes, I talked to her. She’s . . . absorbing everything. She needs time to think, so just take it slow with her, okay?”

“Slow. Got it.” He nodded, staring at a canvas painting above the couch. “Did you do these?”

I nodded. “I did.”

A couple of years ago, I’d decided to try painting on a whim. Hazel had cleared out most of the artwork her parents had left her, and she’d asked me to make something to fill the walls. So I’d done three paintings.

The first was of me sitting on the dock by the lake. For my first attempt with oils, it had turned out okay. My hair was too light and the details a bit fuzzy, but it had been good practice for the others. The second painting was of Hazel’s beautiful profile. And the third, the one that Logan was trying to memorize, was of Charlie at one year old with her first two teeth showing through her happy smile.

I didn’t know what was going through Logan’s mind, but my heart squeezed for him regardless.

He’d missed all of those moments. The baby cuddles. The toddler babbles. He’d missed her first words and first steps.

For Logan’s sake, I hoped Charlie would cut him a break tonight. She was notorious for her intense scrutiny. Jackson called it her superpower. Most adults had nothing on my five-year-old girl.

Please, don’t let tonight be a disaster.

I wanted a good night for both of them because neither would ever forget it.