Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 99282 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 496(@200wpm)___ 397(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99282 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 496(@200wpm)___ 397(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
I smile. “Agreed. So then I should get the lasagna?”
“We can share and get something else too?”
“Wow, what a nice gesture. I would have thought you’d be all, Get your own food, lady.”
“Well normally I would, but considering how much I like you…”
I beam.
“Doesn’t it feel like it’s been the longest week?” I ask, turning a bit in my chair so my knee knocks into his leg under the table. He reaches his hand down underneath the tablecloth to keep my leg there against him.
“I swear Monday had its own Monday, and don’t get me started on Tuesday. I looked at the clock once and thought it was running backward.”
I nod in agreement. “I think I’ve been rather annoying to Kat and Yasmine. They say I’m only allowed to bring you up once a day now. Any more than that and they’ve got permission to kick me out of the flat.”
“That’s fine. You can come stay with me.”
“Oh really? Then maybe I’ll sabotage myself on purpose. Maybe I should give them a ring now and go on and on about how nice you look in your tuxedo.”
“No need. It’s already settled. You’ll spend the night at my place tonight.”
“Oh I will? You haven’t even asked me.”
His brown eyes lock with mine, and my stomach tightens.
“Do you want me to ask?”
“Are you guys flirting?” Briggs asks, cutting in. “I can’t tell what you two are talking about. Are you going to have a sleepover? Because if so, I want to come too.”
My cheeks go beet red, but Logan’s the one to save the moment. He leans over and compliments Briggs’ coloring, and then Briggs goes right back to it as if forgetting his question altogether.
Logan smiles at me, and then the waiter arrives with our drinks and a lovely overflowing basket of warm breadsticks. I think I eat about half a dozen before our food arrives.
It’s all so good I can’t keep myself from moaning in bliss. The lasagna! The baked ziti! The fettuccini sauce! I could bathe in it.
“I want to eat here every day until I die,” I proclaim once I’m too full to eat another bite.
“Me too,” Briggs says, leaning back in his seat and patting his belly. “I finished all my chicken nuggets. Can I have some dessert now?”
“On the way home, maybe,” Logan replies. “It’s getting close to your bedtime.”
We don’t end up fulfilling that promise, because once we make it back to the car and buckle Briggs into his car seat, he’s asleep within a few minutes of driving. It must be the lull of the city noise. He’s a trueborn Manhattanite, and to him, it’s probably the best lullaby there is.
We pull up in front of a nice-looking brownstone a few minutes later, and Logan carefully unbuckles Briggs so he can carry him inside.
“I’ll be right back,” he whispers before taking him into the house.
While he’s gone, I help Pat undo the car seat so we can set it in the back of the SUV. Then he switches the radio to a sports game and we sit quietly, listening while we wait for Logan.
“I can put it on music if you’d like?” Pat offers.
“No. This is nice. I think I’m following along. Is this hockey?”
“Baseball.”
Ah well. I tried.
A few minutes later, Logan appears on the doorstep of the house. Briggs’ nanny is at the door, waving him off, and he nods to her before starting to tug off his bow tie. I still can’t believe he put on the whole getup just to make Briggs happy. It makes me want to squeeze my arms around him and never let go. He’s too good to be true, I think. At least that’s how it feels.
He opens the back door and slides into the seat beside me. Now that the car seat is gone, I can push right up against him so we’re thigh to thigh, finally close in a way we haven’t been able to be all evening.
“Home?” Pat asks, glancing back in the rearview mirror.
“Please,” Logan nods, pulling off his bow tie the rest of the way then laying it flat against his thigh. I reach out for it and feel the silky material in my hand. Then, like a weirdo, I bring it up and sniff it, knowing it’ll smell like his cologne, and it does. My stomach squeezes tight and I smile as Logan looks over at me with narrowed eyes, assessing me. He seems to do that a lot, stare right at me like he’s trying to pry back all my layers and see me at my very core. I want to tell him I haven’t got any layers. What you see is what you get, but maybe he feels the same way about me that I do about him—too good to be true, perhaps. Wouldn’t that be nice.