Cuffing and Tree Trimming

Chapter 2

I open my eyes, the dark cover of my own personal blanket burrito blocking out whatever little light is in my bedroom. The breathing hole around my mouth is cold, and my lips feel chapped.

I have to get up, I know I do, but that would mean leaving the relatively warm embrace of my blankets and the warm spot I’ve managed to make on my mattress throughout the night.

I stay lying down.

Honestly, there’s no real pressure to get up – I’m not sticking to a schedule or a routine. All my plans are ruined for the rest of this month, and there’s no salvaging them right now. When the power comes back – hopefully soon – I’ll hopefully be able to spring back.

Right now, though? I need to sit with my thoughts and the remnants of my dream, the memory of my so-called wedding night.

Maybe the wine made me too loose in the emotional department, maybe I was primed for whatever Logan had to say that night.

Shit, I was right about what I told him before. Logan was not the type of person I was looking for to use to bring to my family dinner. It’s easier to fake it with a stranger than someone you could potentially see yourself with.

At least, that’s what I thought.

Because me being a shitty date on those nights when Logan and I met up? Maybe it was my own sense of self-preservation or self-sabotage, that kept me from wanting to be closer to him.

I mean, the minute the guy sat down I could tell he was nervous. And my parents would have seen through that right away, even though I was endeared by it.

I even made any kind of excuse to run away from him, even after we slept together.

I apparently have a broken throttle on my emotions and feelings that’s out of service, and I don’t know how to fix it.

Still, though, remembering pieces of our wedding night isn’t helping me much. None of it makes all that much sense to me.

Sure, I felt a connection with the guy, was elated when he showed up after I called him, but to get married after that one act of so-called kindness?

What kind of stupid ass leap of faith did I take?

I slap my heels against the mattress, hiss when I let in some of the cold air in my warm little cocoon.

Gathering the strength to deal with the cold, I haul myself up and glance around my empty bedroom. Everything’s clean, immaculate, a complete juxtaposition to the s**t show that is my office and beauty room. It’s definitely not as warm in here as it is in the living room.

I deliberate, yawning hard enough to bring tears to my eyes.

Logan’s right, I wouldn’t believe a word he told me about our wedding night. And since my memory is starting to come back, maybe I should spend the whole day taking cat naps, forcing my brain to start replaying those memories like pressing a play button on a movie.

I don’t think it works like that.

Sick of overthinking, I haul myself out of bed to my en suite. I take the fastest hot shower that I could, opting to dry shampoo my hair. I couldn’t stand feeling cold with wet hair, absolutely not.

I venture out into the living room when I’m done, closing my bedroom door behind me, shocked to find some of Logan’s clothes strewn across my couch and on the floor.

Man, I wish I had his body temperature. That would be amazing.

I know he’s in the main bathroom – I can hear the water running. I try not to think about a very naked Logan showering behind that closed door, but my brain takes me there for a split second before I can corral it back to figure out breakfast.

I check our meal plan, start making us scrambled eggs with egg whites and some spinach that looks about a couple of days out from going bad.

I’m in the perfect vantage point to see Logan come out of the bathroom through a cloud of steam, like he’s the Terminator. And of course, he’s wearing nothing but a towel around his waist.

Of course.

Even with the curtains open and a wan gray light coming through the sheets across my windows, I can still see everything.

“Good morning,” Logan says, flashing me a wide grin, teeth practically glinting.

I will not react, I will not react.

I react.

“How are you walking around naked when it’s freezing in here? How?”

Logan shrugs. “It feels kind of refreshing, actually. Hey, I was going to make breakfast.”

“Yeah, well, I’m doing it now. Get dressed, would you? I’m freezing my ass off just looking at you.”

Logan smirks, and I wonder how he can turn it off and on like that, how he can switch from being the nervous guy I had a first date with to this.

It might help if you stop staring at him like that, Max. Just a thought.

“You’re my wife. You’re allowed to see me.”

I grit my teeth, threaten him with my hot pink spatula. “What did I say about that word? What did I f*****g say?”

Logan makes a show of looking up at the ceiling, searching for a memory. The smile he gives me is charisma turned up to a hundred and four degrees, and I might just be melting under it.

Clearly, someone chose violence this morning, and it wasn’t me.

“You said nothing about me calling you my wife. Which you are. You’re my wife, Max.”

I know, I know, he keeps repeating that stupid word for my benefit. I know that. It doesn’t help the pressure building in my head or the white-hot anger that blisters my skin.

It’s honestly too early in the morning for this.

“How would you like if I keep calling you husband, huh?”

The pleased grin has my belly swooping, and I know I walked into a trap. “I’d love it very much. Enough to ask for a kiss.”

I snap my mouth shut and concentrate on making the eggs. I plate them quickly when I realize how well cooked they are, and then work on frying up some sandwich bread in butter for our toast.

Anything to keep me occupied from that s**t-eating grin on Logan’s face.

My mind flashes to that one night we were together, the one night where I’ve never been asked permission for so many things.

I loved every second of it.

I fell headfirst into like with the guy because he dicked me down good, and then I bolted. This was supposed to be a business transaction, and now what?

Do I want another night with Logan?

If only to share his body heat, and nothing else.

Liar, liar!

I nearly burn the toast from being so occupied over my conclusions, and that would have been a tragic waste of food.

I hurry up and plate everything, then pass the plates across the counter to where Logan and I usually sit, right next to each other.

Would it look weird if I were to space them out a stool apart? Just so I can breathe a little?

The decision is made for me when Logan plops down in the middle stool and puts the ball in my court.

“You’re still not dressed,” I comment, waving a hand over his body, as if I can magic him some clothes to wear.

He forks up some of his eggs, smiles at me through his first bite. “You can look all you want, wife, but you should ask if you want to touch.”

“The only touching I’m going to do is sucker punch you when you least expect it.”

Logan laughs, not believing a single word I say. Hell, I don’t believe me either.

“This is yours,” he says, leaning all the way back in his stool so that I know exactly what he is referring to. If I were drinking coffee, I’d spit it out all over him. As I’m not, I choke on good ol’ oxygen instead.

“What? What?!” I sputter. “Maybe you should leave now. Yeah, maybe you should just go.” I point toward the front door.

Logan’s grin gets impossibly wider, and I have questions.

Why is he acting like this? Why is he suddenly being so playful, and like, turning on his charm so high that I’m getting hit over the head with it?

I’d rather take a stun gun to the chest than deal with him when he’s like this.

“I thought we were supposed to be rehearsing for your parents. I can’t have you stammering or blushing every time I say something sweet to you.”

“I’m not blushing,” I say, lying. My cheeks are on fire. I make a mental note to put on a s**t ton of blush for Christmas day. Then I can totally blame it on the makeup. “And you haven’t said anything sweet to me this morning.”

Logan’s eyebrows leap up to his forehead, water droplets from his long hair dripping onto his shoulders and they take mesmerizing curves on the way down his defined chest.

It’s distracting.

He licks his lips. “You look especially gorgeous when you just wake up in the morning, and I’m honored that I get to see that.”

I can’t help it. I laugh, right in his face. I finally round the island and sit next to him, pulling my plate in front of me. “Way to lay it on thick.”

Even now sitting next to him like this, I can feel his body heat through the fourteen layers I’m wearing on top. How is that even possible?

“Max,” Logan calls, voice soft. I turn to look at him, stomach already twisting into knots. “I like you a lot, you know,” he says, just as gently.

I frown at him. “What’s with you this morning?”

Can he read minds? Can he tell that I started remembering or something?

There’s really no other explanation as to why he’s being this flirtatious, and I haven’t even had breakfast yet. Logan somehow knows that I’ve started remembering.

That’s gotta be it.

“Max, I like you,” he says again with a finality that has me glaring at him.

My cheeks still burn, and I have to glance away. I haven’t been told I’ve been liked in a very long time. Like, it’s simple, high school type s**t, but it still makes my heart race away in my chest.

I’ve had guys comment on my body in the way that they’ve found me attractive, hot, but it’s been forever since someone outright and said that they like me for my personality.

“Honestly, I don’t what happened to you last night, if there were body snatchers in my home or whatever, but you have to knock it off,” I say, my voice losing the heat of anger. Now I just sound scared.

“I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t,” I tell him. “Eat your food before it freezes because it’s so cold in here.”

We eat in a strained silence, and I’m aware that it’s still morning and we both have hours and hours to kill in each other’s company.

“I’ll go get dressed,” Logan says when he’s done eating, scarfing it down in practically two bites as if he’s rushing to get away from me.

I wouldn’t mind the reprieve, and to sit with my thoughts.

I hear the bathroom door shut, and I exhale a long breath. I finish up my breakfast as fast as I can and then clean up the dishes and the lone pot we can use to cook things in.

Now there’s really nothing to do.

Logan steps out of the bathroom, fully dressed in gray sweats that are as much torture to watch him in as him being practically naked in front of me.

It’s also weird that those are my sweatpants, specifically bought from the men’s section, about four sizes too big for me, and extra comfortable. And now Logan’s wearing them, and I feel…possessive about it.

“Hi, again,” he murmurs, giving me a small, shy smile. Whatever audacity Logan had walked around with practically naked before has left the building, and I’m left behind with the shy version of him that I know how to handle.

I wave at him, not saying a word.

“I’m sorry if I upset you,” he says, mopping up the excess moisture in his hair with a towel.

I shake my head. “You didn’t upset me.”

Logan drops his hand from his hair, and glares at me, his lips parted. “Are you kidding me? What’s it going to take for you to let me in?”

I take a step back, my heart beating hard and fast. “What are you talking about?”

“Every single time I talk to you, every single f*****g time, Max, all you do is deflect.”

I’m about to tell him I don’t do that, but then I’d be proving his point. “It’s who I am as a person, or so my cousins tell me.”

Logan’s eyes go hot and intense, and I can’t seem to move, even if I wanted to. “Why can’t you tell me what you want? Why can’t you just say it instead of always running away?”

“Hey, I’m standing right here. I haven’t gone anywhere.”

Logan tilts his head to the side, an almost-cruel twist along his mouth. “Haven’t you, though?”

I gulp hard, not expecting to be called out like that. Then I get mad. “What makes you think that you have a right to me in any way when I know f**k all about you?” Liar, liar, Max. You know that he cried when he read Charlotte’s Web and admitted it to you. You know that he read romance novels for basically s*x education as he was growing up. You know some things about him, Max.

“You don’t even ask anything about me, Max, unless it’s to help you with something around here.”

“Hey, you offered to do that! I didn’t put a gun to your head! No one’s stopping you from leaving.”

Logan crosses his arms over his chest and looks about two seconds from throttling me. Well, the feeling is mutual.

“I want to be here. I want to help you.”

“Why? What for if I’m such a giant pain in the ass?” I growl.

Logan’s eyes go soft once more, and I swear to everything that’s holy that I’m getting emotional whiplash. I don’t know how much more that I can take.

“I never said that, Max. You’re just filling in the blank spaces with what you want to hear.”

I stop breathing, my heart twisting so tight that it’s hard to breathe.

Logan stays on his side of the living room, as do I. We’re maybe a whole ten feet apart, but there’s not enough air in the room to breathe, and Logan’s staring at me like I should know what’s going on.

“You told me about this, too,” he says gently, and I tear my gaze away, staring instead at the front door like I’m the one who needs to take off running.

But then I’d be proving his point, and I don’t want to do that.

“You told me that you hear the worst things about yourself because of how you were raised. You told me that you’re working through it. You told me that you’d assume the worst of what I said when I told you that I would never intentionally hurt you. Just like I told you the other day.”

“People lie,” I whisper. “Even by the ones, we love the most.” I stare unblinking at the front door, but the tears well in my eyes and spill over anyway. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

Logan sighs. “Okay, Max. Whatever you want.”

I sniff hard, chasing away the tears to the best of my ability. “Why do you even like me? I’m a mess.” Maybe I’m waiting for some good ol’ material for self-flagellation that I can use later.

“Because you’re kind. Because you love your family despite what they’ve put you through.”

“Most people would call that stupidity. Hell, insanity, even.” I turn to look at him. Logan’s eyes are soft on me, and his arms flexed tight across his chest like he’s trying to restrain himself.

Restrain himself from what?

“You make me laugh. You see me.”

I force a snort, trying to break the tension. “Pretty sure I saw a lot this morning. Thanks for the free show.”

Logan’s cheeks turn pink, and the tightness in my chest starts to unfurl, little by little. “Don’t make a joke about this, please.”

“You’re the one that decided to marry me,” I say, shrugging. “I’m not the walking joke.”

I shouldn’t have said anything, I know I shouldn’t have said anything. The look in Logan’s eyes cuts me to the quick, a sharp lance of pain centered in my chest. I feel it every single time I take a deep breath, cutting myself on it.

“Max, let me in,” he says, braver than I’ve ever been. “Let me in like you did that night. Please.”

I shake my head, the fear clogging my throat, the fear of being so open with him. I can’t do that. This is only supposed to last until Christmas. Why does he need to see all those sides to me?

What for?

“I…I don’t think I can give you what you want, Logan. I don’t think I can.”

Logan pulls in a deep breath, his chest expanding with it.

And you noticed. Guess you still think he’s pretty beautiful.

That doesn’t change anything, though.

“No. You don’t want to try.”

I wince at his words, the implication that I’ve quit even before I’ve begun. I bristle at the tone, at the words, but ultimately decide to flip him off, and hide in my bedroom for the rest of the day.

Logan’s right. I don’t want to try.

It’s safer this way.