So many questions linger in his stare, but he doesn’t ask. Instead he makes a statement. “You’re so talented, you can’t let that go to waste.”
“Do you like to build?” I ask him.
“Yeah,” he answers, a bit thrown off by the question.
“Why?”
“Just…because I do.” He shrugs.
“No. There’s a reason why.”
He thinks for a moment. “Because knowing I took part in creating something that others can enjoy is rewarding somehow.”
“Exactly. That’s how I felt for a very long time, fulfilled at the end of each piece I’d created. But then it turned into something else. Something darker. I was no longer fulfilled; I was angry at everything and everyone. My anger slowly turned into something more and then, before I knew it, creating art wasn’t fun anymore. Every time I tried, it triggered something else.” I shut my mouth and then open it to tell him. Tell him what it triggered. Tell him about my disorder. Tell him who I truly am.
Then Logan scoots in closer, reaching his hand over my waist and bringing me into him. We’re both in the middle of my mattress. My hand easily lands on his chest, and his rises to rest on the base of my neck. “You will create art again and when you do, you’ll have that feeling back at the end of each piece. Because I believe in you and your work and the person you are.”
“I don’t think I’m strong enough to handle it,” I confess, and I truly don’t think I am.
He brings his head to mine. His lips touch the tip of my nose, my forehead, and finally my chin. Our little thing. Ever since the first time he’s done it, he’s never stopped, and I will never let him. I’d rather have a thousand little Logan kisses like those than no kiss at all, because when his lips lightly caress my skin, he’s mine and I’m his.
He rests his forehead against mine. “You’re stronger than you think, Jersey Girl.”
“I hope so,” I whisper.
I wake up to the smell of buttery pancakes and bacon. Logan steps forward at my bedside, a plate in one hand and a glass of OJ in the other. He rests the glass on my nightstand. His smile is contagious, forcing me to smile back as I sit up.
“Good mornin’, Jersey Girl. You slept like a baby.”
“That’s the first time in a long time I’ve slept like that in my own room.”
He smiles, handing me a plate. “Breakfast in bed,” he announces proudly.
I grab the plate, placing it on my lap. Two pancakes, three strips of bacon, and scrambled eggs. “You actually cooked?” I ask in disbelief.
“Yeah. Unlike at my place, your folks actually had something in the fridge.” He sits on the edge of the bed beside me, studying my features.
“Thank you. Um, I usually don’t eat breakfast, though.”
Logan lifts his leg up on the bed and twirls his body so he’s face-to-face with me. “How ’bout this—if you eat up, I’ll give you a hint about a little surprise I have in store for today.”
“Surprise?”
“Yep.”
“What kind of surprise?” I ask.
His lips curl up into a grin. “Eat up.” I stab my fork into the fluffy cake and take a bite. “There you go, Jersey Girl. Let’s get some meat on those bones.”
“What?” I mumble through my mouthful. “I’m not skinny.”
He chuckles. “Eat up, will ya?”
I quickly scarf the rest of it down until my belly’s aching and on the verge of exploding from being full. But it was worth every bite to see the satisfied look on Logan’s face as I took my last swallow. That’s the best breakfast I’ve had in a really long time.
“This is not fair! You made me eat all that breakfast and you haven’t given me one hint!”
We’ve been driving for almost two hours now. First, Logan had to stop by his apartment to grab a few things. He asked me to wait in the car, which I did. When he came back out, he held a black book bag over his right shoulder. When he entered the truck and I asked what was in the bag, he tossed it in the backseat and told me it was none of my business.
“I gave you a tiny hint already,” he says.
“Telling me to bring a change of clothes and dress comfortably with sneaks is definitely not a hint.”
“We’re heading toward the lake house.”
“Is that the big surprise? The lake house?”
He laughs at my unenthusiastic tone. “No. We’ll be there tonight to hang out. Bryson, Santino, and a handful of people will be there. It won’t be packed since everyone is with their families for barbeques and fireworks and crap like that.”
“Why aren’t you and Bryson with your family for the Fourth of July?”
“Because my mother hasn’t celebrated the last two years; it’s too close to Sean’s birthday. Uncle George usually hangs out with his buddies. It’s not really a big holiday for us.”
“Oh.”
“But I can tell you where I’m taking you is nearby the lake house.” He steers the wheel as he turns his head to take a quick peek my way. His smile brightens. “Oh, come on, Jersey.”
“Come on what?” I ask innocently.
“What’s that face for? I expect you to be enthused by the mystery of this adventure.”
“Honestly? The lake house isn’t a huge surprise. I wouldn’t have scarfed down my breakfast for—”
“Oh, have a little faith.” Logan shakes his head at me in mock disappointment. “I only said it was by the lake house. It could be the most epic surprise of your life for all you know.” I cock my head to study him. He catches me staring and smiles.
“Okay. Fine,” I relent. “I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. This could be the best surprise ever!” I joke, slamming my hand to my chest and batting my eyelashes at him.
“See? Now you’re getting it, Jersey.”
Logan parks his truck in a large dirt-filled parking lot surrounded by tall trees. There’s a handful of cars spread out in the lot. I unclick my safety belt but stay inside, scooting toward the dashboard and crooking my neck to get a better look.
We’re parked at the base of a trail into the woods, but these woods aren’t like the ones by the lake house. Those are open and airy and you can see at least a mile. These woods, even though it’s sunny and bright out, feel dark, secretive. Hundreds of tree trunks hide what’s beyond.