Page 70 of Tattered (Lark Cove 1)

“I still don’t like it.” Logan set down his glass on the coffee table, then reached across the couch. He looped his finger into the cloth belt of my dress, giving it a tug.

I didn’t fight it. I scooted close so we were shoulder to shoulder. There was a lot I needed to sort out when it came to Logan, but tonight, I was too tired to resist snuggling into his side as he put his arm across the back of the couch.

“She’s six.” His voice was laced with regret. “I’ve missed so much.”

My heart broke. “I’m so sorry. I wish—”

“Hey.” His hand came up to cup my cheek. “Don’t.”

“Okay.”

His hand fell away as he dropped his cheek to my hair. I sank even further into his side. “Tell me what her other birthdays were like.”

“They were much less exciting. Mostly just me and Hazel fussing over her. Actually,” I pushed away to stand from the couch, “I can show you.”

I put down my drink, then went to the closet in the hallway, pulling down a plastic tub full of the scrapbooks I’d made for Charlie.

I hefted the tub into the living room, smiling as I set it down on the coffee table. Then I took off the lid, barely able to contain my excitement as I found the book I wanted and handed it over.

“Start with this one. It’s her baby book.”

Logan set his glass aside, sitting on the edge of his seat with the pink scrapbook splayed across his knees. He stroked the edge of the first photo, memorizing the picture. The one of Charlie swaddled and sleeping on my chest as I dozed in my hospital bed.

It took him a few moments to flip the page. I didn’t rush him. Instead, I resumed my seat and watched as he slowly studied every detail in five scrapbooks.

I’d put hours and hours into those books. Placing pictures. Adding designs. Noting important moments. I’d compiled one every year after her birthday. Mostly I’d done it for myself, so I’d have something to look back on as Charlie grew up. It took days to put one together with hundreds of photos. Every year when I was done, I told myself I’d scale back with the next book.

The look of pure awe and joy on Logan’s face made me grateful I’d never backed off.

Maybe deep down, I’d put them together not for myself, but in hopes that one day I could give them to Logan.

He studied each photo and memento, touching the ones he seemed to love most. Book after book, I sat at his side and watched him soak it all in.

I told him little stories, like how when Charlie was two, she’d only eat if I gave her ketchup, which she called her “dip.” Everything got dipped. Meat. Vegetables. Fruit. Then I narrated through the Christmases and Easters. Through her first haircut and her first day of kindergarten.

Hours later, when he came to the last page, there were tears in both our eyes.

“Thank you.” He sucked in a deep breath, then laced his fingers with mine. “It doesn’t feel like I missed it all now.”

“I’m glad.” I reached up to cup his cheek, like he’d done earlier, and stroked my thumb across the stubble on his jaw.

“Fuck, I wish I would have come back to that hotel bar sooner.”

Sooner? My thumb froze. “You came back? When? Why?”

“It must have been a week or so after you quit. Six months after we met. I came back to ask you out on a real date, but they’d told me you’d already gone. I should have hunted you down.”

My hand fell away as my head started spinning.

All this time, I’d thought he’d walked away and forgotten about me. I’d assumed he’d moved on to other things. But if he’d come back to the bar, it meant he’d wanted more.

He’d felt it too.

My eyes flooded at the realization. It hadn’t just been my silly, foolish heart believing in a one-sided fairy tale for all these years.

He felt it too.

In that hotel bar, I’d found something magical. Something more than lust and sex. Something I’d been running from for the last month, because I was worried Logan hadn’t felt it too.