Between You and Me
Page 62At the end of the third day, he knew he couldn’t just avoid her forever, and he didn’t want to. He wanted to talk to her, to reach out . . . He just had no idea what the hell to say beyond I’m sorry. And he had to go over there that evening to take out her garbage . . . Maybe when he did, he’d try to talk to her. If she even wanted to.
But he had dinner plans. He’d go do her trash run afterwards. By the time he pulled into his mother’s driveway at six, the stars overhead had been twinkling for a while already. His breath came in white puffs against the clear, frigid night air.
Annmarie looked up at him from the couch as he let himself into the house. Her smile faded into a frown of confusion. “What happened to you?”
“What do you mean?” Logan shrugged out of his coat and dropped it onto the armchair. “I’m fine.”
“You’re a rotten liar.”
“Good to know.”
“You look down. Or pissed off. Or both.” She grabbed his shirtsleeve as he sat down beside her, and demanded, “Talk to me.”
He shook his head, then mumbled, “I hurt someone’s feelings. Someone I like and respect. I’ve been a total jackass. So I’m just . . .”
“Mad at yourself. Stewing over it.” She sighed and patted his knee. “So fix it.”
“Only one way to find out.”
“Yup.” He scrubbed his hands over his face. “So, lady? Ready for dinner?”
“I’m not too hungry,” she said. “Just something simple would be fine. I was going to make a can of soup and tell you not to come, but I knew you wouldn’t listen.”
“Got that right.” He got back up and headed for the kitchen. “I’ll make you something simple, and you’re going to eat it.”
“Yes, sir, Mister Bossman, sir,” she joked, and lay down again.
He found two cans of split-pea-and-ham soup in her cupboard and heated them, and sliced some of the thick sourdough bread she had. They enjoyed a quiet dinner.
“Tell me something,” Annmarie ventured. “Any chance the person you’re beating yourself up over is a woman?”
He looked at his mother. The hope in her eyes . . . He couldn’t stand to disappoint another woman he cared about. Not this week, anyway. “Yeah. But it’s not—”
“No, Mom. We’ve . . . just spent a little time together. We talk. Went skiing a few times.”
“Ah! I miss skiing. Wish I still had the energy.” She ripped off a piece of bread and dunked it lightly into her soup. “Where’ve you been skiing?”
“Ajax.”
“Great runs. She any good?”
“Yeah, she is, which is nice.”
“Of course it is.” Annmarie chewed her bread slowly, then asked, “Any chance you’ll tell me who this is?”
Why not? Let his mom have her thrills. “Tess Harrison. The one who—”
“I know who that is. You went out with her on New Year’s Eve. Pretty girl?”
Annmarie’s eyes flew wide. “I wanna see a picture then, dammit!”
Logan laughed for the first time all day. It felt good. And the spark of excitement in his mother’s eyes made him feel even better. He pulled his phone from his jeans pocket. “Here, I’ll show you, all right? Sate your curiosity before it gets out of control.” He typed in the Harrison Foundation website on the search engine. “But Mom, she’s just a friend. Don’t get too nuts, okay?”
“Yeah, yeah.” She waved her hand impatiently. “Gimme!”
He chuckled again and scrolled until he found the picture of Tess from the Harrison Foundation Holiday Ball a few weeks ago. In that knockout red dress, silk and sparkles draped over her long, willowy frame, her long dark curls everywhere. The one that had made him lose his breath the first time he saw it. “Here.” He handed the phone to his mother.
And watched her eyes bug out of her head, making him chuckle again. She gaped at the photo, then looked up at him. “She’s gorgeous! You weren’t exaggerating.”