Hypothetical Heart (Farewell Fairwood #2)

Chapter 3

3

O ne of the unspoken rules within our friend group is if Wren Callaghan asks you over for dinner, or any occasion for that matter, you don’t dare say no.

Tonight, like many other Friday nights, I get a text from Logan saying Wren wants me over for dinner and I, of course, agreed.

I just got off the phone with Madame Bacri, my ballet instructor. She told me about the upcoming gala and how she wants me to do a partner dance of a different dance genre, probably ballroom.

Madame Bacri thinks it’s important to showcase something other than ballet for the gala, and it will help to show collaboration skills. Plus, she says I need to be better at expressing emotions, and something out of my comfort zone will help me learn that.

The idea of doing a different type of dance, one I haven’t trained in forever, makes me want to throw up.

I take a deep breath, trying to ignore it, and at six o’clock, Logan meets me at my front door, offering to walk back with me to his house.

“You know, I can walk across the yard myself. I don’t need an escort.”

He grabs my hand as I walk up the steps of the porch. “Agree to disagree.”

“You’re ridiculous.” I laugh, opening the front door and stepping inside.

“Logan? Is Winnie with you?” Wren asks from the kitchen.

“I’m here!” I yell in return, taking my shoes off before walking through the house toward the kitchen.

“Good, good.” She wipes her hands down the front of her apron. “I made your favorite!”

“My favorite…” I trail off, racking my brain for my favorite dish of Wren’s.

All of her food is amazing, and I can’t recall a time when I favored one dinner over another.

“Your dad gave my mom all of your mom’s recipe cards last night,” Logan tells me.

There’s no way for me to comprehend the feelings coursing through my body. The one that screams that I should be upset–upset that something that was my mom’s is no longer just her’s anymore–but I can tell this is important to Wren, which makes me force those feelings away.

This is the first time anything like this has happened.

“He did what?” It’s so unlike my dad to ever give away anything of my mom’s, but Wren would have been my first choice as well.

The Callaghan family dinners and Wren’s cooking have given me a type of familiar solace since my mom died. My dad’s never been the biggest cook, not to say that he never tried, but my brother and I really relied on Wren for the first few months after Mom’s death.

Wren getting her best friend’s recipes is the best-case scenario.

“How did you know which is my favorite?”

Wren grabs the laminated note card from the counter, holding it out for me.

I recognize the stationary instantly, remembering the way these same cards used to scatter our kitchen island when Mom would try to decide what to make for dinner.

Tears fill my eyes, seeing her familiar handwriting. When I read the title at the top, chicken parmesan, I also notice the smaller scrawl next to it: Winnie’s favorite.

That’s really what makes me lose it, and Logan wraps his arm around me, pulling me into his embrace.

There have been a lot of moments where I thought the best thing to do for my well-being was to try and forget about the fact my mom died. My brain tricks itself into thinking Mom is still here as a way of comforting itself. It’s made it so only part of me has learned to live with the fact.

But right now is one of the few moments where all of me is pushed to come to terms with reality. Mom is dead. She’s not coming back. She’s never cooking dinner for me again.

“This is crazy,” I sigh, tears soaking Logan’s sweatshirt.

It’s been nearly three years since she passed, and for the past three years, I have been avoiding everything that reminds me of her.

But seeing the way the things that were important to her could continue to live on through the people she loved makes me so happy.

“She’s been preparing this all day,” Logan tells me, his grip around my arms tightening.

I notice Wren step forward in my peripheral vision. “I didn’t overstep, did I?”

Maybe a stronger person would be upset. Maybe someone who has fully come to terms with a death would find this overstepping. I don’t.

I love Wren, and her doing this for me is more fulfilling than saddening.

I free myself from Logan’s embrace. “No, no, of course not.”

Wren sighs in relief before wrapping her arms around me and pulling me into her.

“There is no one else I would rather my dad give the recipes to,” I say sincerely. “This means so much to me, and I know my mom would be so happy.”

“I hope you know how much I loved your mom.” Wren wipes her own tears from her cheek. “I will never forget the day she told me she was pregnant with you. After she had Weston quite young, she had been waiting around for the rest of us to be ready before she got pregnant again.”

My mom had told me this story before. She was only twenty-two when she gave birth to my brother, Weston, and after that, she agreed she would have one more, and only when her friends were ready. That was five years later when the rest of her friends were all settled down.

“We never really planned to have you all together, but I think some small part of us knew what we were doing, and I’m glad we did. Seeing the five of you become the best of friends as you grew older was one of the best things that could have happened to us.”

I lock eyes with Logan, seeing emotion clogging his eyes just like it is mine.

“So good you felt the need to do it again,” Logan jokes, referencing Gwen and Mae, him and Genevieve’s younger sisters. They’re thirteen and mere months apart.

“That time was certainly not intentional.” Wren laughs, finally breaking our embrace.

“Okay, let’s eat before I start crying,” Logan says, pulling me by the arm towards the dining room table.

He pulls out the chair I usually sit in, motioning for me to sit down and then pushing me in.

A fter dinner, we all sat in the Callaghan’s living room for a little longer before Wren had to take Mae to basketball practice, and Logan’s dad, Kai, stepped out to take a work call. Jameson was also here for dinner but left to go over to Genevieve’s house afterward.

Logan has been quiet since everyone left, almost as if he’s holding something back.

“What’s wrong?” I ask from where I sit on the ottoman in the center of the room. He’s burrowed in the corner of the sectional.

“I have something to admit,” he says, sounding partially regretful.

“What is it?”

“I may have stolen something of yours.”

“Stolen?” How would he have stolen something from me? “What did you take?”

“A package of yours got delivered here by accident.”

“Okay…” So he didn’t really steal anything. I rack my brain, trying to remember what I’ve ordered recently.

“I shouldn’t have even opened it. It was an invasion of privacy, and I’m sorry.”

“Logan, I’m not even sure what package you—” The realization hits me and instantly causes my cheeks to flame. “Oh my God.”

I wouldn’t have thought anything of it if it wasn’t for the embarrassment Logan is trying to protect me from.

A few months ago, I preordered a book, and when I got the notification that it was delivered while I was at ballet, I didn’t think anything of it. I figured my dad would leave the package up in my room.

I completely forgot about it until now.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have even read it.”

My eyes nearly bulge out of my head. “You read it!?”

That’s when Logan’s apologetic front breaks, and the laugh he’s been holding in echoes through the room. “Well, now I’m going to.” He’s completely buckled over in laughter.

A shimmer of relief rushes through me, but I’m still completely mortified.

“I’m going to be honest, Win, Billionaire Baby Daddy isn’t exactly what I expected you to be reading.”

“Stop it!” I cover my hands with my face, leaning over so that my elbows are resting on my knees.

“Seriously though, I have to read it now.”

“Don’t you dare.” I point a finger at him. “I’m so embarrassed right now I can’t even think straight, but if you read the book, I think I might keel over and die.”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed about,” Logan replies. “If it’s what you want to read, then go ahead. I’m just shocked because it’s never what I imagined when I saw you reading.”

I smother a smile. Of course, Logan Callaghan would never judge a girl for reading romance books. It’s just not the type of guy he is.

“Okay, but I don’t think that means you need to read it.”

I haven’t even read Billionaire Baby Daddy yet, but if I had to take a guess, it’s probably not going to be the most PG book in terms of sexual content.

“You don’t think so?” he asks.

“I don’t think you would find anything redeeming about that book.”

Sure, I find my beloved romance novels redeeming on an entertainment level and getting to fawn over swoon-worthy billionaires who give their girl everything she’s ever wanted, but I don’t think Logan would have that same experience.

“Well, I’ll never know if I don’t try.” He smirks.

“So, you’re going to read Billionaire Baby Daddy ?” I’m partially hoping that my pessimistic tone will sway him against reading it, but I know I’m not that lucky.

“Yup,” Logan says with the click of his tongue. “Who knows, we might have to form a book club afterward.”

“Doubtful.” I love Logan. I truly do. He’s my absolute best friend, but I know for a fact that he is never going to pick up another book if he even makes it through this one.

“I’ll keep you updated.” He grins, standing from the couch and walking into the kitchen. “Do you want some ice cream?”

“Sure, what are my options?” I get up from the ottoman, changing seats so that I can sit on one of the kitchen island barstools.

“The usual,” he replies.

The usual ice cream flavors available in the Callaghan house are practically every flavor you could imagine due to Kai and Logan’s ice cream addictions.

“Well, then I’ll take my usual.”

He heads for the door to the garage, where the chest freezer containing all the ice cream is. “Mackinac Island Fudge, coming right up.”

When all of us were little, the Callaghan ice cream selection was always a big motive for why we wanted to sleepover at Logan’s house.

Throughout the years, there have been many nights where my sweet tooth solution was only the next house over, and I’ve ended up in the Callaghan’s kitchen for a late-night treat.

That is just one of the many perks of living next door to Logan.

“Thank you.” I smile when he sets the bowl in front of me.

“Don’t forget your favorite spoon.” He opens the silverware drawer, pulling out a silver spoon whose handle is engraved with small bows and bunnies.

I laugh, taking the spoon from him. Logan has always picked up on the smallest of my preferences, even down to noticing which spoon I tend to grab from the silverware drawer.

It’s something I’ve always found endearing about him, but in all honesty, what is there not to find endearing about Logan Callaghan?

It’s moments like these where my tiny crush for Logan gets the best of me, and I catch myself wondering how things would be if we were to date.

I don’t dwell on it for long, though, knowing that a future with Logan Callaghan is about as likely as a future with James Dean only makes me more upset the longer I think about it.

I can’t lie and say that it doesn’t hurt my heart a bit. Yet, I can’t even be mad at him for it because I know it’s because of me that we aren’ t together.

He’s the one who was willing to try and confessed his feelings full-heartedly. While I was the one who saw the first sight of where it could go wrong, and ran for the hills.

I watch as Logan makes himself a bowl of ice cream, mixing together a multitude of different flavors, before sitting on the barstool next to me.

“Hey guys,” Jameson greets as he enters the kitchen. He pulls the dinner pan out of the stove and a plate out of the cabinet, making himself a late plate.

“Where have you been?” Logan asks, even though we already know the answer.

“Genevieve’s,” he answers.

We both nod, making small talk while he heats his food, but then he heads back upstairs, leaving Logan and me alone again.

“I have a favor to ask of you,” I say, turning toward him with my spoon still hanging in my mouth.

“Oh yeah?” He copies my motion, turning to face me. “What is it?”

“Think of it as making it up to me for stealing my package.”

“In that case, I’ll do anything.” He smirks, his free hand falling on my kneecap, which makes a chill run up my spine.

“I was wondering if you would dance with me for the ballet fundraiser…”

“Dance?” he asks. “I don’t think you want me as a ballet partner if I’m being honest, Win.”

The apprehension on his face makes me laugh. “You wouldn’t be doing ballet. It’s a gala to raise money for the ballet company, and Madame Bacri is asking us to do ballroom dancing.”

“Interesting.” His lips purse like he’s in deep thought .

“I know, it’s kind of odd, but it’s for charity, and I really don’t want to be the one who doesn’t?—"

“I would be happy to ballroom dance with you,” he says, cutting off my tangent.

“Are you sure?” I feel my head involuntarily tilt to the side, and I hate the fact that I probably look like a begging dog. “I know it’s a lot to ask, and it’s a huge time commitment. If you don’t want to, you don’t have to.”

He stands from his seat. “Like you said, this is me making it up to you.” He nods at my half-eaten bowl, silently asking if he can take it.

I push the bowl across the counter. “I was joking when I said that.”

“Well, I wasn’t joking when I agreed to it.”

“Logan, this isn’t a silly little dance routine,” I tell him as he turns the faucet on, rinsing the bowls. His back is to me, so I can’t gauge if he’s taking me seriously or not by his face. “It’s going to be a lot of time and work for both of us.”

I’m backtracking now that he seems so set on helping me, suddenly unsure of whether this would be bad for our friendship.

The idea of spending that much with Logan, outside of the time we’re already together, makes my hands clam up and my heart beat a tad faster.

“And I’m saying that I’m committed to doing it, whatever it is that you need from me.” He finally turns back to face me, and I see it written all over his face: the determination to help me and the willingness to do whatever it takes.

“Okay then.” I nod, uncertainty lacing my voice. “As long as you’re sure.”

“ You are what I’m sure about,” he says quietly, to where I’m not sure if he intended for me to hear.

I don’t respond because whether or not he wanted me to hear, I think my smile gives away the fact that I did.

Logan walks around the island, stopping to stand behind the barstool I’m sitting on. His hands rest on my shoulders when I say, “This is going to be fun.”

He laughs. “Damn right.”