MAISY

When I first open my eyes I don't know where I am. I blink up at the nondescript, white ceiling and my heartbeat picks up. This happens often enough that I should be used to it by now, but I still have to remind myself not to panic.

"Maisy."

At the sound of my name I bolt up, taking in the room around me, the sofa I'm sprawled out on, and the worried face in front of me.

Logan.

His house.

The car.

It all comes soaring back and my cheeks color. I let down my guard and fell asleep. I shouldn't have done that.  

"What time is it?" I ask, my voice sounding about as groggy as I feel. I wipe my hands over my face, trying to snap myself out of it and erase any possible remnants left behind by my impromptu nap, but this still seems like a dream.

"It's about five."

I remove a soft blanket from around me, not remembering when I grabbed it, and swing my legs off the couch. Did Logan tuck me in? I peek over at him, perched on the opposite side of the L-shaped sofa, and wonder how long he's been sitting there.  "I'm sorry," I apologize, tucking my hair behind my ear. "I must've dozed off..."

"It's fine. You looked like you needed it. I didn't know if I should wake you, but your phone was ringing. I thought it might be the garage."

The garage. Of course. I'm sure Logan is as eager for me to get out of here as I am. I pick my cell phone up off the coffee table. Two missed calls and one text. The calls are from the garage. They left a message saying that my car would be ready around 10 AM tomorrow and an estimate for all four tires that was a lot more than I was expecting. My skin breaks into a cold sweat and all my hope deflates as it all sinks in. There will be no getting out of here tonight and on top of that, my bank account is about to take a serious hit.

I don't read the text, not with Logan in the room. Besides, I know who it's from and would rather wait and read it privately. I put my hands on my knees and push myself up. It's time for this little reprieve, or whatever it is, to end. It's time to get back to my real life.

As I start to fold the blanket I can feel Logan studying me. He's dissecting my every movement and suddenly the simplest thing, like folding this stupid blanket, feels foreign to me. "The mechanic said my car would be ready in the morning." I speak without looking at him as I place the blanket down on the end of the couch. "Thanks for letting me hang out here."

There's a part of me that doesn't want to go; I've felt safe here with Logan, but there's a bigger part of me that knows I have to. Every minute spent here is a minute wasted, a minute where I'm closer to being caught, and where there's a greater risk of getting Logan involved in my bullshit.

"Where are you going?"

"I thought maybe that motel on 6th."

He looks at me like I'm crazy. The motel on 6 is probably one of the seedier places in town, but until my money comes in it's about all I can afford. "Maisy, you're not staying there." Logan sighs like I'm a pain in his ass. "How do you plan on even getting there, or to the garage in the morning for that matter?"

"I'll call a cab."

I didn't have any cash on me, but I could pay with my ATM card. I'm pretty sure I still have enough in my account. I do the mental math, adding up both cab fares, the motel room for the night, and the estimate from the garage. It'll be close, but I'm pretty sure I can swing it.

Logan stands up, blocking the path between the sofa and the coffee table and essentially trapping me in. "You're being ridiculous. The motel on 6 is a shithole and I have a spare bedroom. It's yours for the night if you want it."

The color that flows into my cheeks is instantaneous. I know Logan's not suggesting anything, but the idea of staying with him, of sleeping in his house... "I don't think that's such a good idea," I murmur, looking down at the hardwood floors.

"Why not?"

"Because Logan... We can't-- You and I can't--"

"It'll be fine Maisy. It's just one night. I think you and can survive one night together."

My gaze travels over to the door. The smart thing to do would be to walk out. To hell with the car! To hell with the rain! To hell with Logan Stanfield!  But I'm safe here. Maybe not emotionally, but physically, and that's something right now. I pull my eyes up to his and the intensity in them is enough to make me lose all coherent thoughts. The next thing I know I'm biting my lip and nodding on agreement.  

Logan smiles like it's a done deal and heads over to the kitchen. He opens the fridge and pulls out another beer. "Want one?" he asks, shaking the bottle at me from over the refrigerator door. I nod, even though I could use something a little stronger than beer. I have the feeling I'm going to need it in order to get through this.  I slowly walk over to the counter that divides the two rooms and lean my elbows against it, watching as he opens the bottles for us.

This whole moment is surreal. I shouldn't be standing in Logan Stanfield's kitchen having a beer with him; I shouldn't be crashing in his spare bedroom, and we definitely shouldn't be pretending like everything is normal between us. It isn't normal and we're only fooling ourselves by pretending it is. Logan interrupts my thoughts by handing me a beer. I thank him and take a timid sip as the two of us fall quiet. The whole night is probably going to be like this, filled with awkward silences and stilted conversation. Logan stands on the opposite side of the counter and looks down at me. A small smile works its way onto his face despite his best efforts to remain apathetic.

"What?" I ask, shifting uncomfortably in front of him. This only serves to make his smile grow and it almost takes my breath away. I forget about everything else and just stare back at him. This is the first genuine smile I've seen on Logan since I've been back and I wish it would stay there forever.

"This is weird isn't it?" He laughs and takes another sip of his beer, shaking his head at the absurdity of the situation we're in. I find myself smiling along with him and nodding.

"Yeah. This is weird."

"It doesn't have to be, you know? It's just one night." He shrugs. "We can keep it light." He puts his bottle down on the counter and lifts his eyes up to me. "No heavy stuff."

"No mention of the past?" I ask with a smirk, not believing for a second that he'll be able to stick to his own rules.

"Of course." Logan nods his head, looking slightly amused.

"No questions?" I challenge.

He rolls his eyes at me and pushes himself back from the counter. "No questions? Come on Maisy! That's impossible. I've got to ask you questions! Like how about, are you hungry? Or, what time should I drop you off at the garage tomorrow?"

I shoot him a look. "Ha. Ha. Very funny. You know what I mean Logan."

The humor leaves his face and he just stares back at me for a moment. His eyes have locked onto mine and I have no choice but to let them sear into me. For the next eleven hours I'm trapped and it's as if Logan can see everything, just like he did on that playground eight years ago.

"We'll play it any way you want Maisy." His expression darkens, but I believe him. He won't push me, or least he doesn't intend to.  I gulp before slowly nodding my head, unable to tear my eyes away from him. I wonder if Logan has any idea the kind of effect he has on me, how that one night, eight years ago, defined a part of who I am. I'll never be able to let go, maybe that means I'll never be able to let go of Logan either.

As if reading my mind, he pulls his eyes from mine and walks over to the fridge again. "So are you hungry? That's a safe question, right?" He's trying to make a joke out of it, but it seems a little too forced and falls flat.

"I could eat." The truth is I hadn't eaten anything all day and now that he's mentioned food, my stomach starts to growl.   Logan walks over and opens up the fridge. He leans his long body inside and looks around.

"I don't really have anything..."

I walk around the counter and join him, gently nudging him out of the way with my hip. He's right; he doesn't have much. Besides a shitload of beer, there's some blue energy drink, half a carton of eggs, a tomato, and an almost empty jar of strawberry jelly.

"Jesus. You weren't kidding."

"We don't have to stay here," Logan suggests, straightening up and starting to shut the refrigerator door. "We could go out."

"I don't want to go out," I blurt out before all the words are even out of his mouth. His blue eyes flick down to mine and I falter under them. "T-t-the rain," I lie, turning back into the open fridge and sneaking a breath. "Besides I could make something with what you've got here. Do you have a potato, or an onion, or something?"

Logan scrunches up his face like he isn't sure and heads over to what I assume is the pantry to check. "What're you thinking?" he asks as his head disappears behind the door.

"Maybe a frittata, or something along those lines." I smile to myself as I bend over and grab the eggs and tomato from the fridge. It's been a long time since I've been able to cook, and even longer since I've been in a kitchen like this. When I straighten up and spin around, I catch Logan's eyes on me. He quickly pulls them away, clearing his throat as he holds up his hands, showing me the potato and sad looking onion he's managed to scrounge up.

"Do you have a cast iron pan?" I ask, turning around so he can't see my blush as I dump everything I've gathered from the fridge onto the counter. Logan comes up next to me and adds the onion and potato to the pile of ingredients and grabs a pan from the cabinet below. He's standing close, too close, and for a moment I get distracted and forget what I'm supposed to be doing.

"Now what?" His voice is barely above a whisper and I can't seem to find mine.

I give my head a shake to clear it out from the dangerous places it roamed and stare down at my hands. "A cutting board," I state like an idiot. "And a knife."

It takes a half a beat before Logan responds, but then he opens the cabinet above him, produces a cutting board, and lays it down on the counter in front of me. As he leans across me and slides a knife out of the butcher block, I blush again as I take it from him. "What else do you need?" he asks.

"A mixing bowl, a spatula, something to peal this potato with... The basics." I move away from him and walk over to the oven, setting the temperature to 400 degrees and getting some space as Logan gathers the rest of the supplies. We don't say anything, but continue to move around each other in the kitchen in perfect unison, like our bodies are playing off one another. I hate that I notice that.

"So you like cooking?" he asks, watching as I peel the onion. The question is innocent enough so I answer him.

"Yeah, but I don't really get to do it often."

"Why's that?"

I can't tell Logan that I'm lucky if any of the places I rent have a refrigerator, let alone a working oven. I already know what he thinks of my life. His face when I told him I was cocktail waitress said enough. He doesn't need to know how bad it really is. So I lie again. I arrange the onion on the cutting board and begin to dice it.  "It's no fun cooking just for one."

"So, no roommate or boyfriend then?"  For a second I stop what I'm doing and the absence of the sound of my knife cutting into the onion speaks volumes. Logan comes and stands next to me, putting a glass bowl down on the counter. "I'm sorry," he says. "That question was over the line, wasn't it?"  His shirt brushes against my skin and the jolt is enough to bring me back. I start cutting the onion again.

"No. It's fine. And no, I don't have a roommate or a boyfriend."

He doesn't say anything for a moment and I continue to cut the onion, fighting the desire to ask him about his girlfriend. It's better if I don't know. It's easier to remember Logan as that carefree boy that I was all mine for one night, not someone who belongs to somebody else.  He interrupts my thoughts when he asks what he can do to help, and I send him off to peel the potato. Logan sets up over by the sink and the two of us work in silence for a few minutes before I break it, curiosity getting the better of me.

"I'm guessing by your fridge that you don't cook much either?" I glance over at Logan with another smirk and catch him smiling as he works the peeler into the potato.

"Nope."

"Do you survive solely on take out?"

"No!" He laughs. "Usually Dawn has this place pretty stocked up."

I stop cutting for a beat as my heart plunges with inexplicable pain. "Dawn?" I ask, trying to appear casual, but my voice is tight and her name comes out like a squeak.

"A friend of mine. She's a caterer so she's always filling my fridge with leftovers and shit. It's a good deal on my part."

I keep my head down and sweep the cut onions to the side but my brain is buzzing with questions. He didn't say girlfriend and now I'm over analyzing what that means. Maybe things are just casual between them, or new even. But let's be honest, I don't know of any woman who feeds a man she isn't sleeping with.

The irrational jealousy rises up in me again and I do my best to get it under control. I glance over at Logan as he finishes up with the potato. My eyes roam over his perfectly cut body and lean physique and I remember what it felt like that night when he was mine to touch. There is no way this man's bed would ever be empty long. Logan stops what he's doing and I rip my gaze from him before he catches me staring again. He walks over and puts the potato down next to the cutting board.

"Not bad," I tell him, my voice coming out in a croak as I slide the potato over to me, careful to avoid his hand. As I start to dice the potato and instruct Logan to crack the eggs into the bowl. I try not to sneak peeks over at him as he whisks, but there's something about a man when he cooks and Logan's not disappointing.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

I've entered Then & Now in the Watty's so please show it some support by sending as many votes and comments as you can its way. Thanks for reading!