Chapter 26 – Day 8 – How We Met
Previously: Broken down car, a night out, jealousy bets, misunderstandings, bar brawls, an alligator, tickle fights, more misunderstandings, confessions, two people who really really want to make out, but don't trust that the other feels the same way (because neither one of them can communicate for shit). Oh, and Duncan's around somewhere.
Logan
Whippoorwill Blossom Inn – Bluebell, Alabama
Day Eight
KRIIIIING!
Logan startles awake, taking a moment to identify the source of the noise as the antique rotary-dial telephone on the nightstand.
This had better be important after interrupting his dream. Veronica had been about to…
He opens his eyes and winces at the sunlight. His head is throbbing in time to a wobbly ceiling fan – purchased sometime in the past when brass and milk glass was still a thing – but that would be the lesser of his two predicaments.
Waking up next to Veronica has become the norm. Waking up underneath her while all-but-naked is a different matter altogether.
How did this happen?
She cradles her head in her arms so that both palms and all ten of her fingers are pressed into his chest. Her soft breaths drift out across his bare flesh and goose bumps prickle up in their wake.
Her shirt barely covers her ass and his hand is curled around the back of her left thigh, keeping her from falling off. Her other leg drapes across him at the most inconvenient location.
Well at least I can cross 'moonlight as a body pillow' off my bucket list.
It's not that he's uncomfortable – he's known poodles that weigh more than Veronica. And it's not that he doesn't enjoy having her on top of him; or hasn't fantasized about it a hundred times since she cut her hair and started wearing ass-kicking boots. The problem is that he has a massive erection.
She's going to fucking kill me if she wakes up like this.
She's not a light sleeper, so as long as he moves slowly and carefully, he might be able to roll her off without waking her.
Kriiiiiing.
FUCK! If the noise doesn't wake her first.
Who would be calling this room anyway? Nobody even knows they're here.
Logan sighs, tightens his grip on Veronica's thigh and keeping his body as still as possible, stretches to reach for the phone with his other hand.
"Hello?" he whispers.
"Mr. Ellis," the voice booms out from the receiver, and he flinches away. "Breakfast will be served in ten minutes. Will you and your wife be coming down?"
Wife?
Right. The proprietress thinks they're newlyweds for some reason, despite Veronica having corrected the woman.
He releases his grasp on Veronica's leg, gently nudging her other thigh off his dick. Her hair is a golden nest, gleaming in a beam of sunlight, and he smoothes it back with an inexplicable lump in his throat.
"Or…" Kitty is still speaking, "…I can send up a cart, if you'd prefer. We're serving a homemade coffee cake, fresh fruit and yogurt this morning."
Logan's stomach recoils. "Do you have anything…greasier?"
"Late night at the Rammer Jammer?" Kitty chuckles. "Sure thing. One hangover cure breakfast coming up. Give me twenty minutes."
Logan hangs up the phone, exhales, and runs a hand through his sleep tangled hair. He bites his lip and – like a problem that needs solving – turns back to Veronica.
Her eyes are open. Wide and staring. More than a little freaked out.
Oh crap!
"Hey," he whispers, "I didn't... This wasn't...uh...we weren't like this..." He gestures to their position.
Veronica averts her eyes. "Yeah." She rolls off him onto the mattress, clutches her head and whimpers.
He turns on his side to face her. "Hangover?"
She glares.
"First time?"
"First time I've wished to die."
"Food will help. Kitty's sending up some breakfast in twenty minutes."
"Gross."
She glances down at his hand resting on her waist, and he quickly snatches it back. He wants – craves – the physical closeness of yesterday afternoon, but has no idea where they stand after last night's...activities. Is she angry at him for how close they came to screwing around? Is she angry over his admission of what happened at Shelly's party?
"So...?" He begins.
"So what?" she says on an exhale, as if even talking is too much work.
"Do you remember last night?" He speaks to a spot on her forehead.
"Every. Last. Humiliating. Detail."
Not a good sign.
"So...are we okay? Is it going to get weird between us?" He keeps his voice soft and non-confrontational.
"Weird?"
"Well, yeah. We might as well talk about it. Things got a little...out of control. We got a little...gropey. A little dry humpy."
"I can't do this right now." Veronica moans, covering her face with her forearm.
"Well that conversation went well," Logan muses aloud.
A bubble of hysterical laughter escapes from Veronica.
His heart constricts and he rolls onto his back, sighing.
I've really gone and blown it.
If he didn't already have a hangover, he would smack himself in the head for fucking everything up.
He's finally figured it out. Finally accepted that he'll never get be able to fuck Veronica out of his system, and he doesn't want to. That he would rather choose celibacy if it came with the tiniest chance of being with her.
His head is clear, he knows what he wants, and he's probably ruined everything.
For all his good intentions, he'd let things go too far last night, with the nuzzling and the touching and the strategic-alignment-of-hips, and now she won't even look at him.
He closes his eyes, breathing in the faint scent of her shampoo lingering on his pillow.
A loud knocking wakes him from his light doze.
He slips out of bed. Halfway to the door he stops, glancing down to where he wears only boxers, and calls out, "Can you leave it in the hallway, and I'll get it in a minute?"
"Sure thing, Mr. Ellis," Kitty answers. "Enjoy."
"Thank you." Logan leans back, pressing his shoulders against the wall and tilting his head to stare at the popcorn-textured ceiling.
He senses Veronica is watching him and when he peeks through his lashes, her eyes are travelling over his stomach and chest. He squeezes his lids closed again before their gazes can meet.
Could this be any more awkward?
Kitty's shuffling footsteps trail off and Logan cracks the door, peers out, and then wheels in a second silver food cart.
He rolls last night's cart into the hallway, one squeaky wheel exacerbating the pain of his headache. "Up, Veronica."
She whimpers, burrowing further into the pillows.
"Come on, V. You'll feel better once the food soaks up the alcohol. Sit up."
"Can't. My head is too heavy."
Logan sighs, and slides a hand under her neck, helping her to sit.
"I hate you," she grumbles.
"We established that months ago." He says, propping the blue and white printed pillows to make her more comfortable.
"Ha. Ha." She's not actually laughing.
A container of Ibuprofen sits on the cart. Logan snags it and shakes some pills into the lid, holding it out to Veronica along with a bottle of water. She plucks out three, and he tosses back the rest, dry swallowing.
The room is uncomfortably quiet and if he doesn't distract himself soon, he'll probably do something pathetic. Like begging her to want him. Or to forgive him. For last night. For last year. For existing. He picks up the ancient looking remote, turns on the television, and stabs at the 'channel up' button.
The inn only gets four channels. No cable. settles on a network morning news show and turns his attention back to the cart.
A silver carafe contains coffee and Logan fixes a cup, adding cream and sugar and offering it to Veronica. She grimaces and waves him off, so he keeps it, inhaling its strong aroma and taking a sip before examining the rest of the breakfast.
Needed that.
Under the cloche lids, Logan finds a veritable grease-fest. Bacon, sausage links, hash browns, fried eggs and toast.
"What'll you have?" he asks.
"Too exhausted."
"To chew?" He arches an eyebrow.
"To lift a fork."
Logan shakes his head and reaches for a triangle of buttered toast. He rips a piece off and holds it up to Veronica's lips.
She gives him a pained smile of gratitude, opens her mouth, and chews.
They eat without speaking; keeping their eyes focused on the television as the anchorman reports the latest on the Iraq conflict and the upcoming presidential elections.
Veronica rejects his offers of hash browns and eggs, but steals all the bacon from the platter.
Between cross-country driving and drinking at the Rammer Jammer, they'd missed the news yesterday and any coverage of their mall adventures.
They get a small mention today. In the past day, they've been sighted in Vegas, Pittsburgh and Boston – but not in the Deep South, thankfully.
Several new photos from the Dallas Mall accompany the report. They'd been putting on a show – enlisting the crowd as allies – so the intimate yet passionate way he looks at Veronica in the photos isn't surprising. The way she mirrors his expression is.
Next to him, Veronica's breath catches. Their eyes meet, and his heart flutters. He tries to hold her gaze, but she drops her eyes.
Logan's chest tightens, and he's tempted to nudge her chin and make her to look at him. To force a conversation, even if it results in a fight. Anything is better than this silence.
Veronica lifts her bottle of water to her mouth, cutting off that option. He turns back to his breakfast, but finds his appetite has evaporated.
"I'm done. You want this sausage?" he asks.
"No, thanks." She sips from her bottle again, and then shoves it at Logan. "No more."
No more breakfast? Or does she mean that in a wider aspect?
"Okay, try to get some more sleep. Give the food and aspirin time to do their job." Logan nudges her forward and rearranges her pillows for her.
"Okay."
He continues. "...and I'll head over to the garage and grab our bags so we'll have something to wear after we shower."
"...'kay." She snuggles into the pillow.
Logan slips into yesterday's jeans, socks, and shoes, and then sits down on the edge of the bed. "Um...Veronica?"
She cracks an eyelid. "Yeah?"
"We only have one shirt between us, and I'm going to need it back now."
He stands and looks away. The last thing he needs after last night is to be caught ogling her now. The shirt lands on his shoulder, and he catches it.
He finishes dressing and finger combs his hair in the mirror.
Hopeless without a shower.
"Get some sleep. I'll be back in a little while."
She doesn't answer, and he slips out the door, relieved to escape the tension in the room.
Veronica
Bluebell, Alabama
Day Eight
The rich aroma of quality espresso envelopes Veronica like a lover, and she's tempted to hop the counter and make her own damn drink. If anyone complains, I can always blame Heat Wave Fever.
Last night she'd been on her way to becoming a Heat Wave Fever believer; today, she's nearly convinced. She's not a violent person by nature, but if the living, breathing Ken Doll in line before her at the Cuppa Joe Coffee House changes his order one more time, she can't be held accountable for tackling him and dragging him away by the ear. You don't get between a girl and her caffeine.
She tightens her jaw, shifts her bag to her other shoulder and crosses her arms over her chest. Ice cubes rattle in an industrial blender, and patrons murmur quietly in pairs or trios around wicker tables. Not a laptop in sight.
Maybe her irritation stems from the incongruous white and pastel color scheme – a stark contrast to the earth tones and stainless steel she's come to expect from coffee houses. Maybe it's Indecisive Ken in his pressed dove gray chinos and meticulously tucked purple gingham shirt. Or maybe his doll-like companion – blonde, slender, wearing a floral printed A-line dress with flutter sleeves, perfectly matched pearls, and short gloves with a laser cut daisy pattern around the wrist. The kind of woman who perspires instead of sweating. She plucks an old fashioned coin purse from her nude clutch, eyeing Veronica's khaki short shorts and pink printed tee shirt with blatant disapproval.
Because I'd take fashion advice from a woman wearing gloves in one hundred degree heat?
She'd give anything to hear Logan's take on this pair.
She can almost imagine him whispering in her ear, voice dripping with sarcasm as he cracks about pink convertibles or wonders when Skipper will be along.
Logan.
The true source of her dark mood.
She'd been relieved to find herself alone the third time she woke, although the room showed signs he'd been back – her duffel bag and shower kit by the door, his own shower kit draining onto a bath towel draped neatly over a chair.
Three more aspirin and one long hot shower later, and Veronica's headache has receded from a knife in the skull to merely an unpleasant ache.
Ken and Barbie finally step aside, and she moves forward, ordering a large mocha-chip frappe.
"What's Wi-Fi?" the barista asks when she inquires.
Right. It's hardly commonplace on the West coast, why should I expect it here?
"Never mind." She sighs and pays for her drink.
From the overhead speaker, Patsy Cline croons about loving somebody she should be hating. Veronica groans internally and makes her order to-go.
Icy caffeinated beverage finally in hand, Veronica steps outside into the furnace. A gust of wet heat blasts her in the face, converting her light coat of mascara into something sticky and heavy.
Now…to find Logan.
She'd rather not. She'd rather do anything else. But she can't avoid him forever.
She'd barely been able to meet his eyes this morning when it all came rushing back.
Heat wave fever...Lemon Breeland...The Rammer Jammer...the jealousy bet...dancing...kissing - but not Logan...Wade Kinsella...bar brawls and running and an alligator named Burt Reynolds...then back to their room, and…
...throwing myself at Logan like a cat in heat!
She had all but begged him to make out with her last night, and he'd been the one to put on the brakes.
Please let me die now.
Why did he have to go and bring it up this morning? Hadn't she humiliated herself enough? Would it have killed him to pretend it had never happened?
Nothing did happen! He shut it all down.
She stops at the intersection – allowing a rusty, red truck to chug past with a long-eared hound dog panting out the window – and then crosses. The asphalt is tacky, clutching at the bottom of her shoes, and making her feet stick to the sidewalk, even after she's crossed.
She pauses on the other side, mentally comparing Bluebell's quaint town square to Stars Hollow on The Gilmore Girls - a show Lilly had once considered "must-see" and Veronica can't bear to watch since her death.
It's nearly identical. Right down to the octagonal gazebo.
Children in bathing suits squeal and leap through an oscillating sprinkler. An old-fashioned ice cream cart plays Pop Goes the Weasel as the white-hatted vendor hurries to serve a mob of older kids. Three grandmothers sit on a wooden bench wielding their hand fans like synchronized swimmers. They give Veronica the once over, and then whisper among themselves.
What? They're called legs, and in one hundred degree heat, I don't plan on covering them up.
Rusty's Wrench is on the far side of the square, so Veronica cuts through its center, choosing to jog up the steps to the gazebo for two seconds of shade when she could just as easily walk around.
Blame the alcohol, blame heat wave fever, or whatever, but at various points during the previous evening, "fake fiancé" had started blurring into "actual boyfriend" in her consciousness. Their stop at this gazebo had been one of those moments.
Sure, it had been cornball and, were it any other couple, she would probably roll her eyes and snark about it to Wallace. But at the same time, there'd been an earnest sweetness to the moment that she hadn't really experienced since Lilly's death.
She'd thought Logan had been asking her out on a date at one point, and had to hide her disappointment when he'd mentioned bringing Duncan along.
Not a date, after all.
"Dodged a bullet there," Logan says, and Veronica freezes in her path, halfway across the platform.
Momentarily, she wonders if she's losing her mind.
He speaks again, his voice coming from her left. "I'm surprised nobody pointed the sheriff in the direction we ran."
Veronica glides over to the side railing and finds Logan sitting below on a green park bench, black baseball cap and wraparound shades disguising his face. His sleeveless tee is pale gray, with two dark horizontal stripes over a yellow sunset – the same one he wore for her surprise birthday party last summer – a lifetime ago. He pairs it with flip-flops and khaki cargo shorts. Only the puka shells are missing to complete the picture.
He'd been wearing the shells in her dream this morning. They'd whispered across her skin, tickling her as he leaned over, pressing soft, languid, we-have-all-day kisses into her neck, shoulders and chest.
She shakes the stimulating image with an exhale and inspects Logan's companion, a short, round black man in suspenders. His jaunty red bow tie matches the band on his bowler hat, and his mustache is just a hair on this side of ridiculous.
"Don't blame yourself, son," the man says. "The Gainey Boys know better than to show up in Bluebell on Homecoming. They were looking for trouble."
"But I threw the first punch, Dash. Or the second, if you count Tansy hitting me."
Dash? Interesting name.
"Well, to be fair, the Truitts aren't exactly the definition of restraint, either."
"I can believe that."
Dash nudges him gently with his elbow. "So I saw you and your young lady in the gazebo last night dancing to Crazy Earl's whistling."
"Crazy Earl?"
"Town drunk. Every month when he gets his government check, he climbs up on the roof of the Hardware Store and sings Moon River. Usually he won't come down until his son comes up and sings it with him."
Veronica pictures an older man – sixties probably – with droopy pants, a red nose, and a shock of messy gray hair. He'd been at the Rammer Jammer last night, dancing…well…flailing. George and Lemon had pointed him out and identified him as Wade's father.
Poor Wade. Lianne may have done horrible things, but forcing me to sing in public wasn't one of them.
"Poor guy," Logan says, having no clue he's referring to Wide. "Yeah, that was just a spontaneous thing. Something to remember from our stop in this town."
"You're crazy about her, huh?" Dash asks, and it takes a second for Veronica to realize he's talking about her.
Logan flashes a ghost of a smile. "That obvious?"
"Only to anybody with eyes."
Anybody who falls for the fiancé story, you mean. Veronica crouches down to re-tie her laces.
"Yeah..." Logan says, white teeth pressed into his bottom lip. "So...was that you who joined in whistling?"
"Guilty. Old Earl never could carry a tune."
Veronica is considering announcing her presence, when Dash speaks again. "So how did you two lovebirds come together?"
Logan leans back, stretching out his legs. "Ahhh...that's a long story, Dash."
"Your car won't be ready for a bit. We have plenty of time."
"Fine, but if you even think about trying to record me again, I'm out," Logan says.
Dash takes a portable recorder from his pocket, ejecting the tape and stashing it in a second pocket. "Carry on."
Veronica pulls back behind the gazebo's support columns.
This is wrong.
She shouldn't be eavesdropping – especially not on Logan – but things are already uncomfortable enough between them without having to smile and perform the star-crossed-lovers story he'd concocted last week.
Plus, if she's being honest with herself, she loves watching Logan in action. Loves watching him charm and persuade people. Did love it. Back before she was his victim of choice.
For somebody who hates the industry, he's three times the actor his father is – charismatic and humming with a sort of energy that makes it impossible to look away – with the added benefit of being able to think quickly on his feet.
"It's no fairy tale," Logan warns. He strips off his shades, setting them on his lap, and rubbing the bridge of his nose with two fingers. "I don't even know where to begin."
"At the beginning." Dash's eyes twinkle in the way of people who have a greedy ear for stories. The perfect counterpart for someone who loves to perform as much as Logan.
Logan seems to reach same conclusion, because he flashes a crocodile smile. "It was love at first sight, you know."
Veronica rolls her eyes. Why keep it simple when you can make it dramatic?
Resigned in her decision to eavesdrop, she sits, shifting into a position behind the column that will allow her to peek at them without being seen. The concrete floor of the platform is a cool balm against her skin in this blistering heat.
"We were twelve when we met." Logan says.
"And you've loved her ever since?" Dash asks.
Logan pauses, pretending to carefully consider the question. "Yeah, I think so. It's ebbed and flowed over the years. For a while, I loved another girl, and I watched her love another guy. And there were times when I didn't even like her, but the feeling has never really gone away. It's withered, but it's never died."
"Where'd you meet?"
"At the Community Park." Logan freezes, lips turning downward, and then groans and scrubs a frustrated hand over his face.
Veronica's belly knots up. She knows exactly what he's thinking.
Fuck Ciaran Fitzpatrick for tainting what should be a place of happy memories for us.
When Logan speaks again, his voice has an introspective tone. "It was at the soccer field. I was standing on sidelines. I looked out onto the field and there she was." He makes a 'poof' gesture with his long fingers.
"And you felt like you'd been struck by lightning?" Dash asks, eyes glittering.
Logan chuckles. "Nah. Nothing that cataclysmic. I don't know…I saw her face, and she immediately became important to me. Not because she was pretty – I mean she was, but not in the blatant in-your-face way I was used to – it was more like 'Oh. There you are.' You know what I mean?"
"You felt like you knew her?"
"Yeah. Something like that." He flashes an embarrassed grin. "She was small – like ridiculously small – so small she made the other players look like brutes. And I'm cringing any time anybody gets near her, because I just found her, and now they're going to break her." He ducks his head, laughs, and glances back up. "But after a few minutes of watching her, I'm cringing in sympathy for the players on the other team, because she was so damn fierce."
Logan fiddles with the sunglasses in his hands, a small smile on his face. "I loved that even more about her. And I was proud of her. I mean, I'd never met her in my life, but I wanted to tell her how proud I was."
Veronica's body floods with warmth. I was a badass, wasn't I? Despite the fact that he's telling a story, this feels like genuine admiration on Logan's part.
"Go on," Dash says.
Logan glances back up, smile widening. "I'll always think of her that way – as that little beast on the soccer field. Even when she pretended to be angelic. Or when she would step aside to let her best friend have the spotlight. Even when she faked it like a good little future-politician's wife, I always knew she had this fierce and dangerous side to her. You know?"
Faked it like a politician's wife? I never did that! Way to spoil the warm-and-fuzzies, Jackass.
"I convinced her to hang out with me for a while after the game and it was just…" he gives a rueful little head shake. "She could see right through me. And for the first time in my life, I wanted someone to."
"And you've been together ever since?"
Logan barks out a burst of laughter. "Not even close!"
Dash shakes his head. "You let her get away, didn't you?"
"I pushed her away."
"Why would you go and do a stupid thing like that?"
Logan works at the brim of his hat, curving it down on the sides with his thumbs. "I wasn't fit to lick her boots back then. I'm still not. Not really."
"Sounds like a cop-out to me," Dash says.
Yep.
Logan doesn't answer right away. He stares off at some point in the distance, absently lifting his left foot to the bench and hugging his knee. When he speaks again, his voice is world-weary. "She was twelve, going on thirteen, and I was twelve, going on eighteen. That's how things were at my old school – even at that age, we were all bored and rich and jaded. She still believed the world was a generally good place back then. I knew better. First hand."
Dash offers a slow nod of understanding, though whether from actual empathy or to nudge Logan to continue, Veronica isn't sure.
"My father…" Logan sighs, tugs the hat brim further over his face and dips his chin to his chest. "He thinks he's smarter than everyone else and likes to boast about manipulating people. There was this one time, we were in – well, the location doesn't matter – but he was giving me advice on finding the right incentive to…" He pauses to make air quotes. "'Turn good girls bad'. Like it was a sport or something. It was nauseating."
Damn, Logan! They'd agreed that it was best to draw from their own lives and to lie as little as possible for their cover story, but why would Logan reveal such ugly personal details to a complete stranger?
Veronica has no doubt Logan is speaking the truth after his revelation that his father had bartered his virginity away to the starlet Lisa Loper in exchange for a meaty movie role.
He did say that happened only weeks before he met me.
It's hard to swallow around the lump in her throat and, once again, Veronica is tempted to destroy Aaron Echolls for doing that to his own son.
Logan removes his cap and runs a hand through his hair. "So I meet this girl and she's perfect, and funny and smart, and all I could think about was that conversation with him, and how I would ruin her. How I didn't want to be anything like my father. Even accidentally."
Dash places a comforting hand on Logan's shoulder, but from his expression, he's clearly uncomfortable with the dark turn the conversation has taken.
Logan continues, oblivious to the mood of his audience. "She was like...you ever see those landscape Christmas cards where the snow is this perfect blanket of fluffy whiteness? That was her. She was the snow and I didn't want to be the one to leave dirty footprints all over her."
"Come on, son. I think you're being a little hard on yourself."
Seriously.
Logan offers a small thanks-for-the-sentiment-even-though-I-disagree smile. "She deserved better. She deserved my best friend. I learned that same day that he was also interested in her. So I made a promise to myself and to him to stay away from her."
"What kind of friend asks you to stay away from your true love?" Dash asks.
Veronica has to suppress a laugh at being called Logan's "true love". Lilly Kane's ghost would have something to say about that.
"Oh, no. He didn't. He was completely gracious, insisting that I should be with her if I cared that much. And I insisted that he should, because she would be much better off without me in her life."
"How did that work out?"
"Not very well." Logan lets out a bitter laugh. "I thought it would be so simple. That just making the decision to leave her alone would be enough."
"Things are never simple."
"Nope. I almost ruined everything the very next time I saw her. Somehow we ended up alone, sitting with our feet in the pool, and I was...happy." He pauses and shakes his head as if the concept of happiness is beyond his comprehension. "I felt like a kid for once. You know? At peace. God, I was just gone for her."
Veronica's presses a hand to her breastbone, resentful at how Logan can easily discuss that day by the pool – even weave it into his story – when the mere memory makes her chest constrict painfully.
He scratches at a spot on the bench where the enamel paint is chipped and speaks again in a soft tone. "I looked into her eyes and I wanted to kiss her more than anything. I was about to, when my friend came back outside with drinks and caught us."
"The same friend you made the promise to?"
"Yeah. The same friend." His eyes drop, guiltily. "And he looked so devastated. That's when I knew I couldn't be trusted to keep my promise. I had to do something drastic."
"What did you do?"
"The one thing I knew would ruin any chance I might have had with her." He turns to look Dash in the eye. "I got up and kissed her best friend."
Dash palms his face and shakes his head.
Just a story. Just a story. Just a story. Veronica repeats the mantra in her head.
"So how long did it take her to forgive you? For kissing her friend?"
"I never said she liked me back." Logan lets out a self-deprecating laugh. "I don't know. We've never talked about it. I started a relationship with her friend, and she never reacted at all. I guess I was the smitten one."
Her nerve endings tingle and she exhales.
"Well, at least your intentions were good."
"Yeah," Logan laughs again. "I used to think of it as my great noble sacrifice. But then again, I can't exactly call my years with Lilly a sacrifice. I loved her. A lot."
Damn it, Logan! You'd better hope the name Lilly doesn't tip this guy off.
Veronica can't listen anymore. The emotional roller coaster is making her nauseous.
She tiptoes back to the steps from which she came and circles the long way around the town square to approach Logan head on.
She's nearly to him when he glances up, his posture stiffening and his eyes narrowing in wariness.
He's not sure where we stand after last night's...activities.
Hell, I'm not sure where we stand either, but I'm all for sweeping it under the rug.
"Hey, Hon!" she calls out in faux cheerfulness.
"Hi." Small, embarrassed smile.
There isn't any room on the bench, so Veronica perches daintily on his knee wrapping an arm around his neck.
She attempts to greet him with a kiss on the cheek, but on a whim she changes direction.
For several pulse-pounding moments, she lingers on his lips, soft and minty against her own.
Breathe, Veronica. This is a proper greeting for a fiancé - meaningful, but not enough to make bystanders uncomfortable.
The kiss surprises the hell out of Logan – and herself, if she's being honest.
"I was looking all over for you, sweetie." Her smile feels plastic, and her voice is a little too forced.
Maintain the cover story, Veronica. Fiancés kiss hello.
The wariness in Logan's eyes is gone now, replaced with something sweeter. "I'm glad you're here. I was just telling Dash here the story of how we met."
"Don't believe a word he says," Veronica teases. "I'm sure he would have you believing that I was instantly enthralled and followed him around like a puppy trying to get him to notice me."
"Yeah, something like that," Logan says in that soft voice he uses when he feels the schmoop coming on. "Veronica, I want you to meet Dash Dewitt."
You idiot! You used my real name.
She forces a smile and surreptitiously crushes Logan's hand with her own. "Pleased to meet you, Dash"
Logan smirks. "Relax, V. I've known him most of my life. I knew he lived somewhere in the Deep South. I just didn't know it was here."
Right. Because these two move in the same social circles.
He notices her skepticism and explains. "He's a long-time friend of my mom's from her New York theater days. He used to stay with us for a week or so every November to organize the Echolls Family Christmas Special." Other than a twitching of his lips, Logan admirably manages to reserve any further commentary.
He must be holding back for Dash's benefit.
She has vivid memories of Logan making herself and Lilly roll with laughter, as he parodied his parents' yearly attempts to resurrect the Celebrity Christmas Special genre.
And now she remembers his descriptions of the little round tyrant with a habit of butting heads with Aaron while coordinating the song and dance numbers.
Well that explains the oversharing, I suppose.
But if he's known this man his entire life, why would he tell him the made-up love story?
Unless…?
The air rushes from Veronica's lungs and her stomach bottoms out.
Dash notices her change in demeanor. "Are you okay? Veronica?"
Logan glances at her, chuckles, and rubs the top of her head. "It just occurred to her that she wasted a kiss on me when the fiancée pretense wasn't necessary."
"Yeah," she mutters, distractedly.
"Well I am very happy to meet you, Veronica, but I must be on my way. Homecoming weekend festivities are calling, and the dance team still hasn't perfected their leaps for tonight's performance. I'll make sure to get that message to your mom, Logan."
"Tell her I love her. And remember, contact her through Mrs. Navarro, in case her cell is being traced."
"I certainly will. I look forward to it."
"Thanks, man. Great to see you again." Logan waits for Dash to be out of earshot before lowering his voice to an almost-whisper. "Last time I saw him, I walked in on him arguing with my mother. Trying to convince her to divorce dear old dad after he caught Aaron naked on top of his publicist in one of the guest bedrooms. He even offered to let me and my mom come stay with him, but my mom wouldn't listen. He never came back after that."
Veronica is only half-listening. She slides off of Logan's lap into the empty spot vacated by Dash and replays Logan's words in her head.
If he had no reason to lie to Dash, does that mean his entire story could have been true?
Love at first sight? Considering their young ages and Logan's drama queen tendencies, she mentally amends that to infatuation. It couldn't have been love, could it?
Had it really been a misguided attempt at being noble – to save her from himself – that caused Logan to blow her off and turn to Lilly on her thirteenth birthday?
And did he mean it when he said the feeling never really died? Was he trying to say that he loves me? Present tense?
Her lungs won't cooperate with the basic act of breathing.
Logan's hand is curled around the edge of the wooden bench, mere inches from her own. She stares at it for a moment through increasingly blurry vision, and then closes the distance, curling her pinky around his.
Logan:
Bluebell, Alabama
Day Eight
His heart hammers out of his chest as Logan stares down to where their little fingers are linked together.
He's been bracing himself all morning for more awkwardness. Or worse. She'd been too tired and hung-over for an argument earlier, but that didn't mean things wouldn't deteriorate once she had time to think it over.
When she'd first arrived at the square, the tension had been palpable, and even after she'd chastely kissed him on the lips, there'd been a skittish 'gonna-have-to-brave-this-out' glint to her eyes.
But something has shifted in the few minutes since she sat down. She's become quiet and thoughtful. Distracted.
And now, with her pinky curled around his, mirroring two moments in the past when he'd almost given in to his feelings for her, he knows with some kind of certainty that everything has changed.
Why, is yet to be seen.
He'd had his reasons for squandering those two earlier opportunities. And the third one. But she doesn't know anything about that. Those reasons had seemed sound at the time, but he's not about to throw away another chance.
If that's even what she's offering.
Logan shifts sideways on the bench to face her. She's stares off the left, pointedly avoiding his gaze. "Veronica?" With his free hand, he gently nudges her chin to make her look at him.
Her eyes are wet and glossy, and she lifts them to the sky in an effort to keep the tears from toppling over the edge.
Logan's chest tightens and his throat thickens. To his knowledge, he hasn't done anything, and she's not one to let people see her cry. He's seen the after-effects – red, raw eyes after a long shower – but she's never let him see her vulnerable. "What's wrong? Did I…?"
"Nothing's wrong." She sniffs, and swipes away the moisture with the back of her free hand. "Everything is fine."
Her smile is sweet and genuine, and he believes her. Maybe this isn't sadness or anger. He smiles back hopefully, and then dives right in. "I had an epiphany last night."
Her face instantly begins to shut down, and he reaches for her other hand, giving it a squeeze. "Hey. Nothing bad."
"What then?"
"About us." He inhales, taking a moment to work up his nerve. "Romantically."
Veronica's stares down at their hands, but exhibits no outward reaction.
Logan continues. "You know that thing I had with Lilly? The constant breaking up and making up?" Her only response is a silent shrug of assent. "I can't do that again, Veronica. Especially with you. It would be disastrous if we tried and failed."
"Right."
"I mean, it would be a shame to hurt Duncan for no reason, and losing each other would be even more devastating."
She finally meets his eyes, warily. "That's what I tried to tell you back in Peggy's truck."
"I know. I know, and I apologize. You were completely right that day, and I responded like an idiot."
It must take all of her will to resist rubbing it in. "So that's it, then. We just...don't."
"Don't get ahead of me, Speedy." Logan smirks and scrunches his nose. "I'm not saying that. I'm saying it isn't something we can decide on a whim. Because we've had too much to drink, or because our pull for each other is too strong to resist."
She starts to speak, but he cuts her off with an index finger to the lips. "Don't even try to deny it. You admitted it last night. We both did. And if we were back in Neptune, undeniable attraction would probably be enough. But here, the stakes are too high."
"If we were back in Neptune, this situation would never even come up."
"Bullshit. You think it wouldn't have bubbled over eventually?"
She looks uncertain, but doesn't argue, so he continues. "We don't have the luxury of walking away if things don't work out. So I think that before we take that step, we need ask ourselves if we're willing to put in the effort to make it work. If we're sure that's what we want."
Veronica nods her head slowly. "That's a…reasonable request."
Logan brushes his fingertips across her cheek, waiting for her to meet his eyes before speaking. "For the record, I am sure."
"Sure?"
"I'm sure that I want to take that step."
Veronica's breath hitches. Her eyes widen and she looks at him like she used to – when she still thought he was something special.
He gives her a soft smile. "So do me a favor and think hard about it, okay? Do you even want a relationship? Do you want one with me? Even knowing it's going to be harder than what you're used to? Because it will be. I'm not Duncan and I never will be. I'm an asshole. And so are you. And hell, maybe you would rather be with him, anyway. Just…think hard about whatever reservations you might have."
"Okay," she whispers.
Why aren't we kissing again?
He settles for kissing her forehead. "For my part? I want you. Only you. I'm willing to put in an effort. And to fight to make it work. I'm even willing to risk hurting my best friend for the chance to be with you."
"Sounds like you've put some thought into it."
"Yeah. I was up all night thinking about it - us - and how we could do...this with the least amount of damage." He laughs. "I just didn't think we'd be having this conversation anytime soon." And I still don't understand what's happening right now. "So...whatever you need to help you decide…? You need space?" He smirks and scoots down to the end of the bench. "I'll keep a two-foot distance between us at all times."
Veronica snorts and slides down next to him with a hip bump. "Don't be ridiculous."
"Well, I know my innate sex appeal can be too much of a temptation sometimes," he says, earning a laugh from her. "But seriously, do you need time?"
"Time would be…nice," she answers, almost shyly.
"Okay." He kisses her forehead again. "I'm all in, Veronica. Just...take as much time as you need to be positive. No more pushing."
"None?"
"None. You're in complete control. Whatever you want or need."
"I thought I was already in control - wasn't there a vow or something along the lines that I would kiss you first?"
"Still applies, but I could be less of a pushy dick about it."
"Why the sudden change?"
"I could ask you the same question." He glances down to where their fingers are still joined.
Veronica flashes him a Mona Lisa smile and shrugs with one shoulder. She's not admitting anything.
Logan
Bluebell, Alabama
Day Eight
It's too hot for any physical contact with Veronica as they walk to the Dixie Stop to stock up on road food and ice cold beverages, so Logan settles for the occasional shoulder brush. He's probably exhibiting junkie behavior, but there are worse things to be addicted to than touching Veronica Mars.
"Have you seen Duncan at all today?" she asks, "Was he at the B&B?"
There'd been a silver cart outside of Duncan's room with the remains of his breakfast when Logan came back to the inn to shower - the fruit and yogurt, of course. "No, I didn't see him, but he was there."
Veronica isn't even listening. She's several steps behind, staring in the window of the Precious Bundles Maternity Boutique.
A Bluebell business with a nauseating name? Shocking.
"Um...Sweetpea?" Logan rests his hand lightly on her shoulder, "Is there something you'd like to tell me about?"
She rolls her eyes. "Your sperm isn't that magical, Logan. Follow me, and play along."
A bell rings as she pushes open the door, and it's like stepping out of a furnace and into a freezer. A manic-looking 40-something redhead emerges from the back room.
"Hello there!" she calls out, her smile stretching so wide it looks painful. "Well, aren't you as cute as a bug?"
"I usually get handsome or dead sexy, but cute as a bug works," Logan deadpans, earning an elbow in the gut from Veronica. "Ouch!"
"How may I help you? You don't look very far along." The woman – Faye, according to her nametag – asks, eyeing Veronica's flat stomach.
"Eight weeks," Veronica answers in her over-enthusiastic Amber voice, "And we're already so excited, aren't we sweetie?"
Eight Weeks ago would have been summer vacation. He laughs at himself for even bothering to do the math and kisses Veronica's temple. "Can't wait for my little peanut to enter the world."
This isn't his first time in place like this. Back when he was trying to get Stacy Newlin into bed, she'd worked at the maternity store at the mall.
This store could not be more different. Creepy, old-fashioned painted mannequins stare right through him, rather than the pale, headless variety he's become accustomed to. And even if Veronica was nine months pregnant and desperate for clothing, he still can't imagine her wearing any of these ruffled and frumpy garments.
Music plays softly from somewhere in the back. Logan doesn't recognize the song - something about an endless highway - but he can almost hear his father's voice humming along.
God, if Dad somehow heard that I'd knocked up Veronica… He shudders at the idea. If that were to happen, he couldn't run fast or far enough.
Veronica points to what captured her attention from outside. An undressed mannequin with a wrap-around belly pad.
"Oh! I do apologize for that," Faye says with an embarrassed grimace. "I was in the middle of changing out the window display when the phone rang."
"Don't apologize. I'd like to buy that pregnancy pad."
And now it all makes sense. Smart. But what else would he expect from her?
Faye raises an eyebrow. "Honey, you don't need to buy a pad. We provide them for trying on clothing."
"Actually, I do need to purchase one. My mom has volunteered to sew a maternity wardrobe for me. She's a hobby seamstress."
The woman's smile falters as her chances for a big sale dwindle. Veronica notices and places her hand on the woman's arm, eyes entreating. "Trust me, I'd much rather have brand new, quality clothing like you sell here. But...my mom and I...we've been estranged for a few years. This pregnancy has brought her back into my life, and we could really use the mother/daughter bonding time." She lowers her eyes. "It's been a rough couple years."
Faye's eyes soften, and she covers Veronica's hand with her own. "Let's see what we can dig up for you, hon." She gestures for them to follow.
Logan can only smirk and shake his head at Veronica's ability to persuade and manipulate. It turns him on more than he would ever admit.
She leads them to a sitting area in the rear surrounded by dressing rooms and three-way mirrors, and invites them to have a seat on one of the beige upholstered benches, before disappearing into the back room.
She returns moments later with a boxful of padded strap-on bellies.
Logan has to turn around to keep from cracking up as the woman straps Veronica into an enormous pad. She looks as if she could topple face first from the weight imbalance.
"Hon?" Veronica calls out, sugar-sweet. "You wouldn't be laughing at me, would you?"
"Only on the inside." A round table displays an assortment of the world's plainest and most utilitarian bras. He lifts one, examines it, and holds it up to show Veronica. She tilts her head in question. 'What would I need with that?' With a flick of his fingers, the right cup drops completely open. He grins, giving her a lecherous double eyebrow-bob, and her eyes roll skyward. 'Infant!' she mouths.
Faye steps back to inspect the fit and shakes her head. "No. You'll never get this big. Your frame is too tiny." She rips apart the Velcro straps with a loud skriiiiitch and digs through her box for a more appropriately sized pad. "So, do you have any names picked out?"
Veronica actually giggles. "Well, last night, daddy over there was saying something about Thomas, Richard, or Harold." She sticks her tongue out at Logan.
"Actually sweetie, I'm pretty sure our little peanut there is an Amber."
Her eyes narrow and he laughs. Of course, he would never name an actual daughter Amber. Thanks to Veronica, that name will forever be associated with hot little school girl outfits and knee socks. He groans at the mental image.
Has it really only been one week?
"You want to have a girl, honey?" Veronica asks.
"All I care is that it's healthy, darling."
Veronica smiles her approval and he feels as if he's grown a foot taller.
A spinner rack in the corner displays a collection of plush baby rattles - padded rings attached to assorted animal heads. Logan rotates it once, and then plucks a stuffed lion's head from its hook, giving it an experimental shake. It's unbelievably soft - like the bath robes in the luxury hotels his parents stay in - and he uses it to tap out the beat of the light-rock song on the outside of his thigh.
The store manager pointedly ignores him, and Veronica narrows her eyes at him. He blows her a kiss.
"This is the one," Faye says, finally determining the correct belly pad size. She steers Veronica to one of the full-length mirrors. "This is what you'll likely look like between seven and nine months."
"I can't believe it!" Veronica stares at her reflection, covers her mouth with both hands and exhales in an emotionally overwhelmed manner. "Can I see what it looks like under clothes?"
"Of course." Faye eyeballs Veronica's size again. "Let me find something suitable."
Logan moves to stand behind Veronica and meets her eyes in the mirror, "Wow sweetie. Eight weeks? My boys must be some serious swimmers." He traces the side of her neck with the plush lion, and she visibly shivers.
"Regular time travelers they are," she says, turning to face him. She wraps her arms around his neck, and tugs him closer.
His belly flip-flops in anticipation of being kissed, but of course, she only wants to whisper in his ear.
"A long-haired brunette in glasses, eight-months pregnant? Who would ever make the leap to Veronica Mars? You're doing great, by the way."
His arms slip around her, resting on her lower back. "I pass muster as a proud papa?"
"Don't push it. Hey check this out." She points to the concave - or is it convex? - space between the pad and her body. "How's this for a hiding place for a second disguise?"
"Good thinking. You know…" His eyes flick down to hers suggestively. "…we'll need a conception back-story,"
"A what?"
"You know. How we created our little pilaf." He skims his fingers across her cheek and then tilts his head whispering into her ear. "I think it was that night I took you in the shower. It was all slip-slidey, and I had to lift you up and press you to the wall. Your legs were wrapped around my waist, and you kept making those adorable little sounds."
Sure, it's a well-worn fantasy from his rotation, and he omits the more explicit details, but Veronica's breath hitches. Her fingers tighten on the back of his neck and he feels electric all over.
And also like a complete dickhead. It's obvious from their one makeout session and last night's everything-but, that he and Veronica are very sexually compatible and it's unfair to use that advantage against her twenty minutes after telling her to take her time with her decision.
He steps back with a put-on smirk and Veronica's half lowered eyelids widen, transforming into a glare.
"Jackass. Nobody's going to ask us our conception story."
He caresses down her arm until he finds her hand. "Yeah, but you and I will always remember that magical moment."
"You mean that fictional moment?" She rolls her eyes, but can't completely hide her amusement.
They stop speaking when Faye returns with a small tee shirt dress in navy. "Here, why don't you try this on?"
Veronica examines the garment for a moment, and then slips it on right over her clothing. She turns in a circle, examining herself in the mirror. "What do you think?"
It seems like magic the way the dress has room for the enormous belly, but still fits her perfectly everywhere else. "I think your dad is going to want to have a long talk with me."
Veronica laughs and flashes his mom's engagement ring. "At least the wedding won't have to be at the end of a shotgun." She turns back to Faye. "I'll take the dress too. It's comfy enough to wear now for lounging around the house. Actually, why don't you give us a few minutes to browse?"
The Explorer is ready, the luggage has been re-packed, and all that's missing is Duncan.
Logan stows Veronica's packages in the trunk. In addition to the belly pad and the dress, she'd also purchased a pair of jeans and a striped tee shirt. "In case I have to pull off the pregnancy ruse on multiple days," she'd explained.
He climbs into the back seat with the remaining bags from the Dixie Stop, stashing the beverages in the mini-fridge.
One of the AC vents blasts down upon his face, and he sighs with pleasure, closing his eyes, and stretching out his legs as much as he can to bask in the cold air.
"Move over, bacon" Veronica says, sliding onto the bench seat next to him and taking up a similar pose. Their hips touch as she stretches to pull the door closed with her foot.
According to plan, they should reach Nicholas Key and his dad's yacht at some point late tonight. As long as nothing goes wrong.
"Duncan knows what time we're supposed to leave, right?" Veronica asks.
"He knows what time the truck was supposed to be ready." Logan opens his eyes to look at her. "V, we need to talk about that. I'm not sure Duncan's even coming."
"What?" her mouth slackens as if she's never heard anything so stupid. "Why wouldn't he come?"
"Um...the topic came up last night at the bar, and he likes it here in Bluebell."
"We've only been here one day. And he liked Dallas, too."
He examines his fingernails. "He really likes it here."
Veronica tilts her head to the side, raising an eyebrow. "You mean because of that girl he was hanging out with last night? Lemon's friend?"
"Maybe he was just born to find this place."
"That's ridiculous."
"Look at this town, Veronica. It's apple pie. Wholesome girls and wholesome values and wholesome pastimes. He's already picked our replacements." Saying it out loud is like a punch in the gut. So does seeing how the words effect Veronica.
"But what if Liam Fitzpatrick finds him? He can't fight him off all by himself."
"Why would Liam check here? You and I are the recognizable ones. Duncan could simply fade into obscurity."
"But…." she trails off.
"I mean…does it bother you that he likes another girl?" His eyes follow his thumb as it traces the seam of the bench seat where pale gray meets charcoal. He can't look at her. Can't see her being jealous over her ex.
"It bothers me that you would be miserable if he stayed," she says, and he can breathe again.
It's not an answer, but it'll do for now. He almost smiles. "I know, but if you can't put your best friend's happiness first…?"
Veronica stares at him for a long time. "I don't know when it started happening, but you're becoming a good man, Logan Echolls."
His voice drops to a whisper. "Be careful making accusations like that. It'll ruin my rep."
"So...?" Veronica's eyes are a mixture of fear and anticipation.
"So...maybe it would be better if it was just us," Logan says. What am I even saying? "I mean, it's easier for two people to disappear. We could live anywhere in the country. Unless...you'd rather not?" His throat tightens at the mere idea of being without her.
"Just you and me, huh?" she whispers with a tiny smile, "Suppose that wouldn't be the end of the world."
He can't kiss her senseless, so he settles for pressing his lips to the top of her head. "Stick with me, kid."
She smirks when he pulls away. "And we'll go places?"
"Yeah."
The driver's door yanks open. "What is it, 300 degrees out?" Duncan asks reaching in to press the hatch release button. He glances into the back seat. "Are we hitting the road or are you going to sit there all day?"
A/N - Sorry readers. I really wanted to get them out of Bluebell this chapter. But...I committed publicly a month ago to post this today. I posted on my last two birthdays - figured it would be bad luck to miss this one. It seemed like a good place to stop. Otherwise, the chapter would have ended up at 20,000 words and another month to post. Hopefully the character progress will make up for the lack of story progress.
A/N2 A HUGE thank you to my beta, ShanghaiLily/HappilyShanghaied, who beta'd 9500 words overnight, because it took me until the last minute to realize I wasn't going to get out the entire chapter I wanted to publish.
A/N3 Sorry for the lack of Duncan. Hahahahaha.