Logan walked the streets of the small town of Westchester. The bar hadn't looked as good as it sounded back when the noises of teenagers in the Mnasion had his last reserve nerve on thin ice.
He walked past a restaurant, large plate glass windows offering a view of dark polished wood, low lighting, and the small tables.
That's when he saw Jean, smiling at a man that sat at the table across from her. The candle on the table framed her face like a soft beacon of comfort.
"Sir?"
"Yeah."
"Can we help you?"
"Though I saw someone I knew," he muttered, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he continued his wandering.
"Logan?"
He turned. She was a slight thing, lovely long muscles and subtle curves in a figure-hugging black dress.
"Just walkin' around, didn't mean to disturb your date."
"Is everything ok?"
"Sure. Get back inside, getting cold."
"Wait here," she slipped back indoors on impossibly high heels.
He took up space against a wall, turning his head as she approached him, buttoning her jacket.
"Jean, ya didn't have to..."
"We were almost done anyway," she smiled.
They walked along in silence for a few minutes, until Jean caught him looking at her.
"What?"
"Never pegged you for a stiletto kinda girl."
"Tastes change," she shrugged.
"Are you even comfortable in those?"
"Well, if we walk Westchester aimlessly for the rest of the night...either the shoes come off or you'll be carrying me."
"I was goin' to grab a drink."
"There's a quiet bar just a block ahead."
They sat at a booth near the jukebox, Jean glancing at Logan intently watching her remove her jacket as the waitress took their order.
"You look good, Jean."
"You're supposed to say that after a few drinks, not before," she teased, though a blush crept over her cheeks.
Their beers arrived, they watched other patrons arrive.
"What did you tell him?"
"Who?"
"The guy you were on a date with," Logan took a pull on his beer.
"I told him my friend needed me."
"Friend," Logan smirked.
"Well, I didn't want to leave a dinner date with 'my ex needs me'..." she found her bottle empty, Logan gestured for another round.
"Left the guy in a good mood," he agreed.
"Yes," Jean's hand felt clammy against the cold bottle.
"Kissed him?"
"I don't kiss and tell," she snorted. "They have a back patio here."
Logan's eyebrow quirked.
"You're jonesin' for a cigar," she pointed to his hand, that traced a flaw in the wood table. "C'mon."
She grabbed her jacket and slid out of the booth, leading Logan out the side door. He already had a cigar between his teeth when she turned around.
"Here," she flicked a match and held it up.
Logan quirked his eyebrow at her again.
"I got used to carrying them around," she shrugged, pocketing the matchbook.
They hung out by the outside heater, the temperature dropping as the sun left behind a clear night sky.
"So will we be seeing that guy around the mansion," Logan smirked.
"Oh hell, Logan."
"Can I get you anything else," the waitress appeared, smiling.
"Beer, and two shots of Jameson," Jean replied, getting a third look from Logan. "You act like I'm some thing you can't figure out."
"I can't."
"I grew up, Logan."
"Yes you did. But more than that, you became someone else."
"Just because I don't walk around with my past on my sleeve doesn't mean I'm someone else," Jean fiddled in her pocket, producing a shortened cigarillo with plastic tip. He watched, enthralled as she lit the cigar, the smell of cream with the smoke she expelled through her lips.
The waitress left their drinks on a table. They emptied the shotglasses and chased the whiskey with the third beer. After a couple more rounds, punctuated with small talk; Logan paid the tab and they walked from the bar in silence again.
"Where's your truck," Jean asked.
"Ready to go home?"
"Not yet," she admitted.
They walked to the nearby square, a small fountain and park dotted with benches for birdwatchers and parents alike to sit and observe during daylight hours was now empty, save for Logan's boot shuffle and the click of Jean's heels.
Logan took a seat, stretching his arms out on the back of the bench, and Jean sat just close enough without touching him.
"You always were a lightweight," he smirked, watching her button her coat with some difficulty.
"I don't have self-regenerating in my makeup," she stuffed her hands in her pockets.
The half moon lit the night just enough for Jean to see Logan's face, his brow was furrowed with something he was working out inside his head.
"What is it?"
"I've missed you, Jean."
She found herself warm, too warm despite the chill air producing goosebumps on her calves. For a decade she wondered, wished for those words, woke up from dreams that he had almost said it, and now that she heard it come from his own lips, she wasn't sure what it meant to her. Perhaps now wasn't the time to try and figure it all out, so she slid over, put her head on his shoulder and smelled his earthy scent, the one that lit up her brain with memories of them together, when she was younger and so lost without him when he wasn't beside her. His arm left the back of the bench and wrapped around her waist, stroking her side with his thumb as he used to when they lay in bed, about to fall asleep.
"I didn't kiss him."