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Logan pulls his jacket back up over my shoulders, then shifts me so my arms are still around his neck but I’m in his lap, not leaning over. It’s definitely more comfortable. And warmer. And it’s LOGAN’S LAP.
So, you know. A place I’ve always wanted to be.
And yet, I’m suddenly feeling shy. The whole night we’ve been touching more than ever before. We’ve talked about more intimate things too. Overall, it feels like we left the metaphorical kiddie pool and dove straight into the Mariana Trench for a free dive. I’m not sure how long I can keep holding my breath.
“Is this okay?” Logan asks, his hands still moving up and down my back. “I don’t think you made a sticky note about sitting in laps.”
I most definitely did not. And the reminder of the rules is exactly what I need to sober me up from being Logan-drunk. As gracefully as I can, I hop off Logan’s lap and hold out a hand.
He raises a brow but lets me pretend I pull him to his feet when clearly, I don’t have the strength to move this boulder of a man anywhere.
“You know what we need right now?” I ask.
“I can think of a few things,” Logan says, and the look in his eyes makes my pulse skyrocket.
“Was one of them dance therapy? Because that’s definitely what we need. Come on, Wolverine. Time to boogie.”
CHAPTER16
Logan
Some people talk morewhen they get nervous. Parker gets quiet.
I’ve witnessed her nervous babbling before, so she can definitely go that route. But when she’s really,reallyanxious, it’s like someone drops a soundproof glass jar over her. Total radio silence.
And somewhere between getting the car from the valet and nearing Maple Street, Parker clammed up.
Glancing over as I pull into the parking spot I’m paying an arm and a leg for, I see Parker staring straight ahead, toying with the strap of her small purse. It’s the only movement I see from her. Is she even blinking?
After the ease and comfort we usually fall into, I don’t like thinking she’s nervous.
I’ll admit—I’m feeling a little unsure myself.
Is anyoneevertotally confident at the end of a date? It’s like stepping into a room with ten unmarked doors, all leading in different directions. They could open up to reveal the end of night and an amicable goodbye—or a more permanent one. A door might open and extend the evening a little longer—or alotlonger. The doors might lead to a long future. Or a goodbye.
In addition to the stress of making the choice of what door to open, the person you’re on a date with also must pick a door. Ideally, you choose the same door. In the past, this wasn’t a big deal, because if I dated, things were clear up front.
But not with Parker. This is new territory for me, and I’m not sure how to navigate it.
What if Parker and I don’t want to walk through the same door?
To be fully honest, I don’t know what happens next. And based on Parker’s silence and the way she’s now chewing on her lip, I don’t think she’s so sure either.
Tonight has been, hands down, the best date of my life. Not even seeing Parker’s dad look at me with disdain or having Larry parade me around like his personal circus monkey could dampen the evening. Parker’s light eclipsed any of those low moments, banishing them into shadows.
That is one thing that hasn’t changed about her. She illuminates whatever space she’s in. She illuminates me.
What also hasn’t changed, no matter the feelings I seem to have caught for Parker, is the big expiration date stamped on my time in Harvest Hollow. Which means I should just let this night be what we agreed on: a single night of being a fake couple.
The idea sours in my stomach.
I turn off the SUV and climb out, jogging around to open Parker’s door. Taking her hand, I help her down. Until I say goodnight and goodbye to being her fake boyfriend, you better believe I’m going to get the most I can out of the rules we agreed on.
She looks over at me with surprise, the lights outside the car illuminating her features with a soft glow. I smile, and she returns it weakly before dropping her gaze, almost shyly. I keep a firm grasp on her hand. It’s in the rules!
We amble through the parking lot, headed toward Maple Street and our building. Slow, like neither of us is ready for the night to end. Like we’re both hoping these few blocks will stretch out longer somehow. Marathon length, maybe?
The shops are all closed up for the night, and the lights strung across the street give our stroll a wholevibe. I want to enjoy this moment the same way I’ve enjoyed all the moments tonight—being completely present. Right after I texted Jeremy, I turned off my phone, never taking it out of my pocket again. Instead, I snapped mental pictures of Parker smiling, Parker dancing goofily to the orchestral version of Outkast’s “Hey Ya,” Parker gazing up at me with her brown eyes crinkled in laughter. I’ve savored the feel of her in my arms, the warm cinnamon sugar scent of her skin.
