Page 87 of Under the Orchard’s Spell

“I think we should stay distracted,” I say. “I don’t want to bring you down.”

He tugs on my calf, sliding my body closer to his. “I want to be with you, wherever you are.”

My heart pulses, deep and rhythmic. Warmth radiates from his hand and up my leg. We’re close enough that I can smell him—earthy and sweet—strong enough that it drowns out the tacky scent of this basement.

“Even if I’m falling apart?” I whisper.

“Lots of good things fall apart,” Logan says.

“Yeah? Name one.”

His lips twitch. “Tacos.”

I feel a laugh bubble up in my chest. “Nice.”

Our smiles drift as Logan watches me, thoughtful in ways that make my chest tight. He draws in a deep breath, then lets it go, slow and controlled.

I’ve seen this before.

“You’re going to say something about how you don’t want to hurt me,” I say.

“Glad to know I’m still predictable.”

“And, true to form, it’s still working for me.”

His mouth firms. “I haven’t stopped worrying about that.”

“Because I’m cursed to solitude?”

“Because you’ve been through enough.”

I sigh, slightly exasperated. “And I already told you it’s my choice if I want to go through it again.”

Logan scrubs a hand against his beard. “But now I’ve seen it for myself. What they did to you. And I don’t—I can’t be the reason you look like that. I could never live with myself.”

He’s talking about the hail, my wracking sobs. Finally letting go. Even though I know he’s not judging me for it, I still feel a whipcrack of shame. “That wasn’t just about them. I’ve…The hail…”

Logan gathers one of my hands in his. “Ali. You get to feel what you feel. Whatever that is.”

I swallow past a painful tightening in my throat and try again to explain. “They hurt me. I’m still hurting. But not because they left me. Not because they’re together. It’s that they upended my—my confidence in my own decisions. I believed in us so strongly. Not just me and Blake. Me and Liv, too. And I was so wrong. That’s what hurt the most.”

Logan considers me for a long moment. “That sounds like another reason for you to be cautious.”

“Logically, I know you’re right. And maybe this is wrong, but…I think you’re different.”

“How do you know?”

I thread my fingers between his, and although his hands dwarf mine, we seem to fit together. “Because sometimes your hands know more than your head.”

His eyes flicker between mine. “Are you trying to use my carpentry wisdom against me?”

Gently, I tug his hand toward my body. “Is it working?”

“Keep talking. I’ll let you know.”

I tug again, but Logan is an unyielding wall and I’m propelled into his chest. Suddenly, without trying, I’m straddling him on a beer-stained couch in someone else’s basement. I pin both elbows around his head and maybe for the first time, I’m looking down at him. Logan twists one of my curls around his finger. Our breaths tangle.

“The truth is that I don’t know how to make big, complicated life decisions with my gut,” I say, “so what if we don’t?”