Page 100 of Under the Orchard’s Spell

Pressure builds behind my eyes. Logan kills the engine, unclips his seat belt, and slides toward me, tucking me into his arms.

“I’m sorry,” I say as I clutch at his shirt and choke on a sob.

He smooths back my hair. “Ali. Never apologize for how you feel.”

A tear escapes my clenched eyes. “Even if it’s messy?”

“Especially if it’s messy.”

“I’m just so afraid,” I say. “I’m afraid I’ll lose everything I have left.”

Logan picks up my hand, braids our fingers together. I cling right back.

“I’m here,” He says softly. “I’m with you. Wherever you are.”

Tears track down my cheeks as the sun hovers above the ridgeline, casting the sky in softening gold. We remain in the quiet cab, suspended in that fragile hour before sunset, our fingers braided together, knuckles white with the grip neither of us will let go.

Logan squeezes my hand. “Ali.”

I sniff. “Yeah?”

“I got my insurance settlement yesterday.”

My stomach backflips as my head jerks up. “I thought it was just a meeting.”

“I thought so, too, but they’ve given me the final payout amount. Once I sign, I’ll waive any further claims related to the fire. The case turned out simpler than they thought, or maybe they had been keeping my expectations low.”

Alarm kindles at the base of my throat. I thought we had weeks. A month. If he has the money—

Logan must see what’s in my face because he squeezes my fingers. “What I’m trying to say is that it’s going to be a big check. The workshop and house were worth more than I’d realized.”

“Oh.” My eyebrows pinch together. “What kind of more, exactly?”

A micro pause. “I can help you pay off your debts. Maybe not all of them, but enough to get you through another year, at least. Probably a few.”

“You—” I swivel in my seat so I can lower my chin at him. “You can’t just give me money.”

“A loan, then.”

“I have a million loans.”

“From banks, which won’t let you extend the terms or lower your interest rate.”

I shake my head, partly in disbelief and partly because what he’s offering is much bigger than he’s letting on. If Logan gave me that money, it’d create a debt between us that would irrevocably alter our power dynamic. I’d owe him my entire livelihood and, regardless of what kind of future we might or might not have, we’d be tethering ourselves to each other in a serious and lasting way.

“That’s a huge commitment,” I argue. “What you’re talking about is a long-term financial relationship where you are my creditor.”

He stuffs a hand in his jacket pocket and lifts a shoulder as though he’s offering to replace my half-functional toaster oven. “I don’t see it like that. I have the money. I don’t need it. Why wouldn’t I help?”

It’s tempting. It’s absurdly tempting. In a world of no choices, this is a real choice.

Still. Saying yes right now feels consequential. Monumental. Not an answer to give when I’m half bleary from lack of sleep, sitting in a truck in my driveway.

“Let me think about it?” I ask. “Consider my options?”

He nods and tucks me back into his arms. On the windshield, a drop of water catches another, filling it, and they slowly slide downward. “Of course. Take all the time you need.”

I settle against him, burying my nose into the soft folds of his jacket, even though that word—time—sticks.