“Hi, Logan.”

  “Gavin.” He addresses the toy first, but he looks me in the eye quickly, the hint of a smile on his handsome face. “I’ve got a question for you, buddy.”

  He kneels down so he’s face-to-face with Gav.

  “Do you know what a giraffe’s favorite fruit is?”

  I can see my daughter grinning as she thinks about the answer. “I don’t know. What?” She forgets for a moment to use the Gavin voice, and she’s fully beaming at Logan.

  “Neck-tarines.” Logan waits for her to get the joke, and when she does, her reaction doesn’t disappoint.

  Mia starts cackling so hard, she drops Gav on the floor. Logan grabs him and, again, brushes off the toy and hands him back to Mia.

  “That’s a great one,” Mia says, then she skips off into the kitchen.

  Once we’re alone, although not really alone since Mia’s just a few feet away digging in the fridge, Logan grabs a bag of tools and steps inside.

  “Good morning.” His voice is thick and rich, rolling over my skin like the crashing of a wave against the sand. His dark eyes flash, and he presses his lips together and nods. He looks me over from tip to toe, setting my skin ablaze with warmth.

  I shiver and cross my arms over my chest, my still-damp hair feeling very wet and cold against the back of my T-shirt. That’s what it is. Not him that is having this effect on me. “Good morning to you,” I say. “Great joke.”

  He steps close to me and admits in a low voice, “I Googled that one. I only had one good giraffe joke, and I used it yesterday.”

  I smirk. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

  He locks the door and drops his bag of tools by the front door. “How are you?” he asks.

  The question feels…personal. Searching and intimate, not a cordial greeting from my friendly neighborhood contractor. But instead of pulling away, I’m drawn in. Closer. It’s as if there’s a magnetic pull between the two of us that wasn’t there yesterday. Or maybe it was, but I was too distracted and sick to notice.

  “Logan,” I say, feeling a little unsure on my feet. But today, it’s not from a headache.

  He steps closer and brushes his fingertips, featherlight, against my eyebrow. “That looks good,” he says.

  “Good?” I chuckle. “You have kind eyes,” I say. “I mean, come on. I look like I took a two-by-four to the forehead.”

  “No.” His voice smolders in my ears. “I’m serious. You’re healing up good. Wound is clean. Even the bruising isn’t as bad as I expected.”

  “Are you a nurse too?” I ask softly.

  He’s dressed in work clothes today, a long-sleeved black T-shirt with the sleeves shoved almost to his elbows. I can make out the intricate details of the artwork on his forearms, the light hairs that give his arms a masculine, outdoorsy look. I trace the contours of his body with my eyes—the work jeans that look crisp, almost new. Steel-toe boots, or so I assume, based on the very sturdy-looking design and thick soles.

  But it’s Logan’s face that I can’t look away from. Just inches away from me, the crisp scents of citrus and cedarwood left over from soap or maybe aftershave, fill my senses. I’m so grateful I don’t have a headache because the fragrance smells good to me, like a long-lost cabin I’ve been wanting to return to. My lips part as I sweep my eyes over his chin, still scruffy with another day’s growth of stubble. The long waves of his black hair are brushed back away from his face. He’s staring into my eyes, and it’s as if I can see right through to the genuine concern he’s feeling. Concern he’s feeling for me.

  I don’t know why he should care, why he should seem so intensely connected to how I’m doing. But his eyes are honest. I can tell that. I feel his emotions pouring off him, and I take a reflexive step back.

  “I—I made coffee,” I say, turning my back to him. “Come on in.”

  If he feels the same energy, he hides it, instead ducking his head. He looks uncertain as he glances down at his feet. “My boots… Mind if I leave them on? It’ll be safer working with them. I didn’t think to bring any shoe covers.”

  “Of course. It’s no problem. Go ahead.” I toss a smile back at him, but I scurry into the kitchen, anxious to clear my nose of the mesmerizing scent of his skin. I’m imagining what his stubble would feel like under my fingers. I don’t know what the hell’s gotten into me. That’s a ridiculous, if not dangerous, thought.

  I turn on the toaster oven to warm it and pour Logan a cup of coffee. “How do you take it?” I call.

  I open the cabinets and pull out plates and flatware, being mindful of how quickly I move. Mia and Logan sit down together at the kitchen table like they’ve done this a million times before.

  Logan listens to Mia chatter about what she wants to do with her day off school while he sips his black coffee. She’s telling him about our sleepover on the couch and how she never gets to have sleepovers with her friends anymore, and she misses it.

  My attention snags on that little detail, and I look away from the frozen breakfast sandwiches I’m toasting and see Logan, his eyes ever fixed on me.

  There’s heat there, like he’s deep in the same kind of thought I’m battling. But that can’t be the case. Whatever this hot man is thinking, it’s more likely he’s hungry and looking for something to eat than he’s thinking about me. I refocus my attention on my girl, who is still sounding a little lost about the lack of friends in her life.

  “Baby, you can have a sleepover soon. I promise.” I check the breakfast sandwiches and push away a heavy dose of motherly guilt. “I’ll call Kylee’s mom today,” I promise. “Maybe she can sleep over this weekend.”

  “Yes!” Mia cheers and pushes back from the table. “Can I go play in my room?”

  “Honey, you didn’t even eat yet.” I set a sausage and egg biscuit on the plate in front of Mia. “After breakfast.”

  Mia’s like me and never likes eating breakfast, but if I put the food in front of her, she’ll normally dig in. She watches Logan and waits for him to start. “Do you like sausage?” she asks.

  He nods. “I’m not too picky when it comes to food,” he says, taking a big bite of his sandwich.

  “Except pineapple on pizza,” I say, remembering what he told me last night.

  His eyes meet mine, and a lazy, curious expression curls a smile across his face. “Yeah,” he says.

  Mia starts moaning about how gross pineapples are, while I stand against the counter and nibble my sandwich.

  “Why don’t you sit?” Logan says, motioning to a chair.

  “I just want to multitask a bit. I need to call my boss. Once you start working, it’ll probably be too loud to make any calls.”

  Logan’s face falls. “Is this going to be bad for your head? There’s not a lot of pounding involved, but there will be some noise. I never thought maybe it would be a bad day to do this…”

  I hold up a hand. “No, no, it’ll be fine. I’ll just make a few quick calls.”

  While he dives into his meal, I eat my breakfast and take some over-the-counter pain medicine for my gash. I’m aware of his gaze on me as I punch in my passcode and listen to my voice mail messages. While I was laid up, Mia’s school called and my boss.

  I call my boss and explain the situation and let him know I’ll take a photo of the note from the doctor.

  “You realize missing yesterday’s meeting put me in a world of hurt.” When I get through to him, my boss Jeff is critical. “I’m sorry you were hurt, but I had to cancel the meeting, Bridget. It was your job to prep the quarterly numbers. I can put off the meeting a few days due to your little situation, but none of this is good. Not for you, not for me.”

  I close my eyes and hang my head. “I’m truly sorry for that, Jeff.” I try to piece together a sincere apology, but right now, I want to hang up on the guy and climb into bed.

  “I didn’t want to do this like this, Bridget, over the phone and all, but…”

  I squint my eyes closed, but I don’t even try to interrupt. I know what’s coming. I listen to Jeff say the words that will change my life. They have to let me go. The termination will be for cause.

  When he’s done, I simply say, “I understand.” And then I hang up and drop my face into my hands, my elbows on the kitchen table.

  “Hey.”

  I open my eyes to Logan’s concerned expression. He’s loaded the dishes into the dishwasher and is standing just a few feet away. Somehow, even at a more than reasonable distance, I feel his heat. Something in me wants to lean in, set my head against that massive shoulder, and just rest. That feeling of safety, of being drawn to someone because there is goodness there, it’s not a feeling I’m used to. But I want so badly to trust it.

  “I might have earplugs in my tool kit,” he says.

  “Hmm?” I try to focus and pay attention. Maybe it’s the concussion, maybe it’s my loneliness—either way, I’m far too focused on the curve of his lips and his strong, uneven nose.

  He taps his index finger against his forehead. “I’m worried about making too much noise,” he says. “I don’t want to do anything to hurt you.”

  I want to be grateful. I want to talk to him more, reassure him that he’s helping me, but I’m hitting a wall hard and fast. I just lost my job, and my stomach is sinking as quickly as my heart. I want to scream, cry, punch something. But I can’t do any of that. I need to move slowly and take it easy. My sucky life sucks just a little bit more right now. “It’s okay… I just—I…”

  “What?” he demands, his tone sharp, almost protective. “What happened?”

  I try to play it off lightly, but when the words pass my lips, I start crying. “I got let go. Fired.” I shake my head gently and shrug. “Too many days off. Too many sick days for me and Mia. I’d been warned. One more unexcused absence… And yesterday was it.”

  “Unexcused.” His eyes glitter with anger. “Birdie, you were in the hospital. How can they do that?”

  “They can,” I say quietly. “And they did. It’s…it’s fine. We’ll be okay. I…I’ll find something else.”

  “Come on,” he says. “I think you should lie down.”

  He takes my elbow, and we walk up the stairs together. His hand is firm on me, the other hand hovering but not touching my lower back.

  “It’s going to be all right,” he says. “You’ve got this.”

  “I’m not normally helpless, Logan.” As much as I need the help, something about being the damsel in distress like this doesn’t sit right with me. “I’m not this. I’m more than this,” I say, my voice quiet.

  At the top of the stairs, he nods at me and says, “I’m going to go look for those earplugs.”

  Then he heads back downstairs. I go into my bedroom and sit on the edge of the bed. I can hear Mia chattering away, talking to herself.

  I hear Logan’s boots on the stairs, and suddenly, he’s at my bedroom door. He’s holding out a small plastic baggie with a bunch of neon orange earplugs inside. “Take a couple,” he said. “I’ll do my best to work quietly, but you’ll want to muffle as much of the noise as you can.”

  I nod, and he steps inside my bedroom.

  “You need water or anything?” he asks as I pick two of the soft foam wedges from the bag.

  I laugh. “Logan, I should be asking you that. You’re my guest.” I meet his eyes. “Do me a favor? Just make yourself at home. If you need a snack or something to drink, help yourself.”

  He watches me as I put in the earplugs and lie back against the bed. I have magazines and a book to my right, but I’m so tired, I might just lie here in the dark and rest.

  My brain feels like the effort to read or even look at pictures is more than it wants to do. It’s as if my mind ran a marathon and my brain is exhausted. I’m not sleepy, but I’m worn-out. It’s the strangest feeling.

  I’m jobless. Out of options. And I have a shitload of stress ahead. A headache doctor to find. Insurance stuff to sort out.

  But for the next few hours, for the first time in a long time, I relax.

  8

  BRIDGET

  When I wake up, my room is dark and I hear nothing. My heart catches in my chest as I remember where I am and what’s happened. I’m home in bed. I have a mild concussion after my wild trip down the stairs yesterday.

  I shove back the covers and head into the bathroom, noting that Mia’s bedroom door is open and I hear not one, but two happy, giggling girls inside.

  “Mia?” I tip my head as I peek inside the room. “Who’s this?”

  My daughter practically launches herself at me as she introduces me to a little girl I don’t know.

  “Mama,” she practically screams. “You’re up. You slept so long, right through lunch. This is Zoey, she’s my new friend, and…”

  Mia’s talking loudly and seems so happy, but my mind is buzzing. Who the hell is this little girl, and what’s she doing in my house? I can’t decide whether I’m okay with this or angry. Zoey walks up to me and holds out her hand.

  “Hi, I’m Zoey,” she says. The girl is dressed to the nines in glittery jelly shoes, a sparkly dress, and an adorable hairstyle with lots of colorful bows. She’s also wearing nail polish. Mia must be in absolute heaven.

  “Hi, Zoey.” I shake the girl’s hand and debate asking questions, but I think there’s someone else whom I should be talking to right now. This child’s mother and Logan. “Are you two having fun?” I ask.

  Zoey runs up to Mia and gives her a hug. “I love Mia,” she says. “I can’t believe she’s an only child like me. Everyone else at school has brothers or sisters but me. We both love Rainbow Rangers and…”

  I hold back a laugh despite my discomfort. This Zoey is a talker, and that is perfect for my Mia. I can see how these two would become instant best friends.

  “Mia?” I ask.

  “Mama, Zoey is totally my new best friend. We want to have a sleepover this weekend, if it’s okay with you and with Zoey’s mom. But we already asked Zoey’s mom and…”

  I hold up my hands. “Okay, kiddo. One step at a time. Why don’t you two keep playing while I check on Logan.” What I mean is things downstairs. The work being done. Not the man himself.

  Although I wonder for a second if Zoey is Logan’s daughter. It seems weird that he wouldn’t have mentioned this to me yesterday when he was driving Mia around, but who knows. The whole day was such a mess of confusion and emotion. Either way, there’s got to be a reason there’s a little girl in my house.

  The girls bounce over to Mia’s bed and go back to playing without even a goodbye. Mia looks so happy and is having so much fun, some of my instant concern and worry start to melt away. I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation, and it’s not like I can get mad when I was sound asleep for what feels like the whole day.

  When I reach the top of the stairs, I’m stunned at the amount of work that’s been done. I head down the completely clean staircase carefully, out of habit.

  Logan is nowhere to be found, but a woman is sitting at my kitchen table, writing some notes in a notepad. She looks up as I approach and leaps from her seat.

  “Oh my goodness. You’re up. You must be so confused.” The woman must be Zoey’s mother. They have the same bright eyes and genuine smile. She holds out a hand. “I’m Alice. My daughter Zoey is upstairs with Mia.”

  “Nice to meet you,” I say, my voice unintentionally a little strained. “Where is Logan?”

  “Logan?” Alice tips her chin and then bursts out laughing. “You mean Crow. My husband Morris and Crow—Logan—they’re in a motorcycle club.”

  My face must fall a bit when she says motorcycle club because Alice quickly goes on.

  “But don’t think about what you’ve seen on TV or in movies,” she assures me. “This club isn’t into drugs or illegal activities. They don’t run guns or do anything shady. They run legitimate businesses, and most of the guys have wives and kids. Like me and Zoey.”

  She smiles at me, definitely not the stereotypical biker babe. She’s slim, even under the loose T-shirt she’s wearing, and her shoulder-length hair is piled in a messy bun on top of her head. She’s wearing a beautiful sparkly diamond on one hand, and if I didn’t know better, I’d guess she was a yoga teacher or something trendy and fun. Seeing how her daughter is dressed and Alice’s kind, open face makes me feel at ease immediately.

  “Crow wanted to haul your old carpet away,” she explains. “Seems like your local trash pickup would have penalized you for throwing construction debris in the regular bins. So, my husband grabbed his truck and came over to help Crow haul the old stuff away. Crow didn’t want us to wake you, so I came by to stay with Mia. I figured since I’m a stranger to her, she might prefer to play with my daughter than have some lady just sitting in her house.”

  This is all very, very reasonable, but my mind is blown. Who are these people who just show up for one another like it’s no big deal? Alice had nothing better to do on a weekday than bring her husband and kid to a stranger’s house?

  Not only that, but Crow…

  The tattoos and his tough-as-nails exterior make a little more sense now. I’m not sure what to think about the fact that he left my daughter alone with a strange woman, but since I was home and asleep… God, this is weird.

  “You must be starving.” Alice waves me over to the fridge. “I brought Crow lunch when I came by. Plenty of extras. Can I offer you something?”

  The room starts to spin. This woman is in my house, offering me food. The fragile grip I have on my circumstances makes me feel vulnerable enough. But when it’s just Mia and me, I don’t have to explain or apologize to anyone. Having people in and out of my house like this, in and out of my business… I feel so exposed. And I hate how lacking this makes me feel.

  “No, no… I’m okay.” I shake my head and squint against a slight spark of pain.

  Alice gathers her papers from the table and smiles. “Now that you’re up, why don’t I take Zoey and head home? Give you back your space.”