Hypothetical Heart (Farewell Fairwood #2)

Chapter 12

12

S itting in one of the fanciest restaurants in Connecticut as a bunch of eighteen-year-olds, it’s easy to feel out of place.

Waiters subtly fight over who is going to tend to us, probably thinking we’re not going to spend money or tip, and older couples give us sideways glances, like they’re wondering where our parents are.

This happens a lot of the times we venture outside of Fairwood, and it makes me realize the social structure of the town we grew up in is much different than others.

Fairwood is full of rich parents raising rich kids in a rich town known for its glitz and glam. It’s not abnormal for teenagers to pull out Mommy’s credit card in a fancy restaurant. To an extent, it makes me feel guilty. Like I don’t belong sitting in the velvet chairs of this nice restaurant with crystal chandeliers hanging above our heads.

Yet, all we’re doing is celebrating our friend’s birthday.

“Do you think this is too extravagant?” I lean toward Logan to whisper.

He shrugs. “We said we were going to a nice restaurant for Luke’s birthday.”

“Yeah, I know, but do you feel like we’re being judged?” I pick up the napkin of silverware, unrolling it and then rewrapping it in my lap.

“This isn’t like Fairwood. People aren’t used to young people in nice restaurants,” he replies, not seeing a problem with it. “Don’t worry, Win. We’re not doing anything wrong. We’re paying like everyone else.”

We get our drinks, and the server hands out menus, giving us time to look through them.

“Filet mignon looks good,” Genevieve says, flipping through the menu.

“I was thinking the same thing,” Logan muses. It’s not unlike the two of them to pick out the fanciest cut of steak on the menu.

We order dinner, and I almost burst out laughing at the look on the waiter’s face when Logan and Genevieve both order filet mignon as if it’s not the most expensive item on the menu.

“They’re definitely spitting in our food in the back.” I laugh when she walks away.

“Oh, for sure,” Eloise says.

“Well, should someone give a speech?” Jameson asks, looking around the table. He’s the newest edition of the group, he doesn’t quite know how things work yet.

“Yes, and I think it’s my turn,” Logan says, standing.

Every year for our birthdays, someone new gives a speech. Others can chime in, but the main speaker alternates. This year is Logan’s year.

“Since the beginning of our lives, the only thing Luke and I ever had in common was that we were controlled under the will of these three women.” He motions between Eloise, Genevieve, and I, which makes us all laugh. “It was something that united us, knowing we shared three of the best friends we could ask for, but as the years went on, the girls grew closer, and so did we.”

Luke places a hand over his heart, like he shares the sentiment.

“We may lead two different lives, but they are forever intertwined, and I am grateful every day I get to grow alongside you while being tortured into doing whatever Eloise and Gen want us to.” There are tears in all of our eyes now, ones that originally arose from laughter but are now pure emotion. “Happy eighteenth birthday, Luke. We love you.”

We all clap, some of us whoop and Jameson smacks his hands lightly on the table as Logan takes his seat.

“That was great,” I whisper.

“So, I heard Logan has become quite the reader recently,” Genevieve says for the entire table to hear.

“Hmm, where’d you hear that?” Logan asks, a smile growing across his face.

“I was in your room the other day and came across a book, and you won’t believe what it’s called.” I cover my face with my hands, already knowing where this is going.

“What?” Luke, Eloise, and Jameson all ask.

“ Billionaire Baby Daddy ,” she answers, and all of them burst out laughing. And I can’t say I blame them, honestly. It does seem like a ridiculous name when you aren’t a fan of the genre.

“You’re reading that, bro?” Luke looks toward Logan.

“Yeah, what about it?” Logan jokingly puffs out his chest, not even affected by the jokes. “Reading is nothing to be ashamed of, especially when you could learn a thing or two about the things girls really want.” He gives Luke a pointed look that says, yeah, I’m talking to you .

“Hey, no one’s judging,” Genevieve says, glancing between the two of us. “A romance book club between the two of you is just a bit unexpected.”

“You guys should all join. I’ll send out the link for the next book we read,” Logan replies.

I’m still embarrassed, even though I shouldn’t be. Logan notices and puts his hand on my knee underneath the table, squeezing it in the most reassuring way.

This is just one of the things I’ve come to adore about Logan. He’s completely unashamed and couldn’t care less about other people’s opinions. Even though I am the exact opposite type of person, he has never made me feel as if the things I enjoy are embarrassing or unimportant.

He embraces every part of the people he cares about, and makes them feel like the things they are most embarrassed of are the coolest things about them. It’s the exact thing a girl like me needs.

I grab his hand from off my knee, interlocking our fingers and squeezing it in my hand, and I know he knows I’m silently thanking him.

The rest of dinner goes smoothly, we order desserts and sing to Luke in the most obnoxious fashion, and then we leave the restaurant.

The moment we step out of the revolving door, we’re met with the torrential downpour of the Connecticut clouds, soaking us all head to toe in only a matter of seconds.

We look around, our mouths dropping open in shock at first but quickly turning to smiles when we realize there’s no going back.

“Fuck it!” Eloise says. There’s music playing from a nearby food truck, so we, of course, run across the street toward it.

Dancing in the rain to the music of an 80’s themed food truck feels the same as stomping in the massive rain puddles in the Callaghan driveway when we were kids. Except, instead of raincoats, the feeling of years passing falls from our shoulders as we run around like idiots.

I’m not sure how long we’re out there, squealing with laughter as it echoes through the streets, mixing with the sound of rain collecting in the drains of the city, but however long it is, it’s enough to make us wish we could never stop.

At first, we’re all dancing together, singing in each other’s faces and wrapping our arms around one another’s shoulders. Then Genevieve, Eloise, and I hook our arms by the elbow, skipping up and down the street, trying not to fall over from how hard we’re laughing.

And finally, it becomes one big circle of the six of us, spinning each other around as the looks of our pure joy cover each of our faces in a different way. Different smiles, different eye crinkles, some of us laughing, others taking in the moment.

It's happiness completely personified, all the way up to the moment we find a corner store, where we give apologetic looks to the workers as our clothes drip on the floor all the way to the towel section.

We buy children’s towels, the ones that have the hoods and are all different animals. They barely fall past our butts, but still, we walk back to our cars.

I get in Logan’s car, Genevieve and Jameson get in hers and Luke and Eloise get in Luke’s.

“That was so fun,” I sigh, turning on my heated seat as I pull my towel over my head.

“Yeah, I haven’t been in the rain like that since—“ he pauses abruptly, and it sends a cold chill through my body .

We both knew what he was going to say. The night three years ago, when Logan stood out in the pouring rain after I went on a date and confessed his feelings for me.

“It’s fine. We don’t have to talk about it.” Because we already have. And do we really want to bring that up now?

“It’s not that I don’t want to talk about it,” Logan says, running his hands through his hair before starting the car. “I just don’t think it’s a conversation we need to have yet.” I want to ask why, but I know he’d likely say something I don’t want to hear.

Talking about that night—and the couple of days following—is not like turning a nightlight on. It’s the big overhead light shining down on my heart and leaving it completely visible to him.

“Tonight was a good night. Let’s leave it at that,” I say. It’s a good happy medium of showing him my heart, like turning on a lamp.

It’s not something either of us like, having to tip-toe around each other, afraid of messing something up for the second time.

Because the first time it ended badly, we left room for a second chance. But if we press the gas and mess this up the second time, then what? What happens when you fuck up a second chance?

I don’t want to find out.

“Sounds good,” he agrees, pulling onto the road. “I think when we get back to your house, you should let me pick out a new book.”

“Okay,” I agree easily. He made it clear at dinner that he’s not out to make fun of me, so if he really wants to read another one of my books, then I think he’s earned it.

“Really? That easy?”

I shrug. “You’ve proven yourself. Although, if you return any of my books in less than pristine condition, you owe me a shopping spree in Meet in the Margins.”

“I’ll take you anyway,” he says casually, causing my cheeks to flame right as he looks over. “Seriously? That’s what makes you flustered? A guy buying books for you?”

It’s not just the idea of any guy buying me books. It’s the fact that it’s Logan offering. “I’m not flustered, just shocked.”

“Anything I do to make you happy shouldn’t come as a shock anymore,” he replies.

My brain is running a million miles an hour trying to come up with something to say, but after a few minutes, I decide it’s better to say nothing.

“Win, this doesn’t have to be awkward,” Logan says, breaking me from my thoughts.

“It’s not awkward.” It’s what I like to tell myself.

“Then why is your leg bouncing? Why can’t you look at me?” Probably because I’m so damn nervous around you. I can barely think straight.

“I—” words fail me. “I don’t know.”

“Winnie, we’re fine. I promise.” He takes one hand off the steering wheel, reaching out to grab my hand. “Nothing has changed.”

I try to expel something resembling a sigh of relief from my lungs, but it’s nearly impossible. “I’m glad you think so.”

“I know so,” he says with so much conviction. “So what if the path we take is different as long as it leads us down the right road in the end?”

His words hit me with an impact of a thousand bricks. We’ve spent so much time trying to figure out how this should go—how it will be possible for the two of us to end up together—when the only thing we need to know is that if it’s meant to happen, it’s going to happen.

Nothing forced is ever good. We learned that the hard way. So maybe this time, we need to just sit back and let time be the true test.

“You’re right,” is all I say.

Logan continues driving, winding roads taking us back to the place we’ve belonged for so long.

With each other.