Chapter Ten

I pull into Grandma’s driveway Wednesday after school and survey the house. She lives in the oldest part of town, the area close to the courthouse and the old train stop that hasn’t been used since the early 1900s. All of the Victorian houses on this street are over a century old, and they’re massive, gorgeous, and falling apart. Grandma’s is especially beautiful with its huge wraparound porch, stained glass windows in the living room, and even its own turret. I was so excited the first time I saw it as a little girl, until I discovered the interior didn’t look like Cinderella’s castle—just a curved room. Still, the house does have a bit of a fantastical feel since she had it painted green and purple years ago.

Grandma doesn’t answer when I walk in, so I head for the sun porch. The room gets nice light all afternoon and is her favorite place in the house, and mine as well (turret aside). I find her there with a paintbrush in her hand, a Beatles album playing. In front of her is a huge canvas that she’s flicking paint onto.

“Hi,” I say quietly so I don’t scare her and get a brush full of paint down my shirt.

She turns, brush out like a sword. “Oh, Quinn! I lost track of time.”

She beckons me deeper into the room. Her old white wicker furniture has been pushed to the edges to make space for her painting. Grandma is always starting a new hobby. I can’t remember all the things she’s done over the years—needlework, ceramics, stained glass, Japanese flower arranging—but nothing ever sticks.

“I didn’t know you painted.”

“I didn’t know either. But I watched a TikTok on it and it didn’t look that difficult, so I thought I’d try.”

“You’re on TikTok?”

“Why wouldn’t I be? I don’t make videos—I don’t like how my neck looks on camera—but I find all kinds of fun stuff on there.”

A very loud doorbell rings, interrupting our conversation. Grandma inclines her head toward the door with a self-satisfied smile. “Why don’t you get that, dear.”

I’d convinced myself that Logan wouldn’t show. Surely he’d find an excuse to get out of this. I mean, come on, I’ve been searching for excuses and she’s my grandmother. But when I open the door, there he is.

One look at him and my pulse quickens like the traitor it is. He’s wearing Sloane’s crocheted hat. I figured he’d throw it in the back of a closet, particularly since it’s too large and the stitches aren’t quite right. But instead of looking dorky, the hat is utterly charming on him. The gray-blue color matches his eyes perfectly, just like I thought it would, and it’s slouched so a few pieces of hair are still visible across his forehead.

He steps inside and unzips his coat to reveal his standard outfit—an unbuttoned flannel shirt over a T-shirt. This one is red and black and looks as cozy as a blanket. I bet it’s soft flannel too. My fingers twitch to feel it and I want to kick myself.

“Hey, Quinn.”

“You remembered to come.”

“Of course I did.” He tilts his head. “Were you hoping I wouldn’t?”

Luckily Grandma comes down the hall then, so I don’t have to answer. “There he is!” she exclaims.

“Happy to help.” He hands her a brown paper bag I hadn’t noticed.

“You brought me sherbet?” she cries in delight as she looks inside. “What a gentleman!”

“Did you bring me ice cream too?”

“Sorry, but I only bring ice cream to people who are happy to see me,” he replies quietly. “I wasn’t convinced you would be, and it looks like my suspicions were right.”

“All right, let me show you where the attic entrance is,” Grandma says, and leads us through the house.

Logan walks slowly, taking in the rooms as we pass through them. There’s a lot to see. Grandpa died before I was born, and ever since, Grandma has traveled all over Europe, Asia, and South Africa, usually by herself. Mom and Dad were never exactly sure how she could afford it, but Grandma has a way of making friends with people who have extra bedrooms where she can stay. Now her house is chock-full of collectibles. If my parents actually get her to downsize, it’s going to be a herculean effort to pack all this up.

Unfortunately, I notice that her movements are slower and less steady than they were when we’d come for visits the last few years. All this clutter means more places where she could trip and fall. She heads up the stairs, gripping the hand railing tightly. This is one of the biggest problems Dad has with the house—Grandma has to go up and down a flight of stairs throughout the day to go to the bedrooms or to use the bathroom. Plus there are basement stairs if she wants to do laundry or get something from her deep freezer. Her house is beautiful, but it was built for younger people.

“Your house is amazing,” Logan says as if he’s reading my thoughts. “Where did you get all this?”

“From everywhere. None of it is worth much, but I had fun collecting it. Henry—that was my husband—called me his dragon because I always liked adding to my hoard.”

“He wasn’t wrong,” I say faintly.

“All of the boxes are up there.” She points to a pull-down ladder that’s recessed into the ceiling. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been up there, so I’m not sure what you’ll find, but why don’t you start by bringing down anything valuable.”

“Valuable?” Logan repeats with apprehension.

“There must be antiques shops or thrift shops that would buy some of it. Just sort through it and put aside anything that might be worth something. And you better behave yourselves up there. Although if you don’t, no one will know since I can’t climb that ladder.” She raises her eyebrows in a suggestive way and my cheeks flush with heat.

Logan shoves his hands in his pockets after Grandma has made it back safely to the first floor. “Your grandma is something else.”

“You can say that again,” I mumble. “We should get started or this will take all night.”

I let Logan climb up first because I’m wearing one of my long skirts like usual and there’s no way I’m letting him watch me climb that ladder from below. He waits for me with his arms crossed. The stance only helps to show off his chest and arms, which leaves me feeling more distracted. I’d love to get through this afternoon without embarrassing myself, but I’m not sure that’s possible.

The attic is dusty and disorganized. I turn in a slow circle, taking in the chaos. The house has a pitched roof, so we can only stand up straight in the center of the space. Boxes have been pushed to the edges, along with old Halloween and Christmas decorations, lamps, and side tables.

Logan says what I’m thinking. “This is impossible.”

“Could anything up here be valuable at all?”

“No idea.” He gingerly lifts the flap of the closest box. “Looks like that’s filled with dishes.”

“Well, we have to start somewhere. Let’s see if anything is sellable.”

“To be fair, people can sell their own saliva.”

I give him a disgusted look. “I don’t know how you know that, and I don’t want you to tell me. Just look for the coolest stuff. And maybe we should organize too?”

“Sure, no problem.”

We work separately, poking into boxes and moving them to different spaces in the attic to sort them. I’m intensely aware that Logan is a few feet from me, and I track each of his movements out of the corner of my eye. I don’t want to pay attention to him, but I can’t seem to stop myself. As Grandma pointed out, we’re completely alone up here, and the last time we were alone he insinuated he likes me. Or at least, that he used to like me, and I don’t know what to do with that information.

Logan closes the lids of two boxes, stacks them on top of each other, and easily carries them to the corner of the attic. Maybe those were two super-light boxes, but I’m pretty sure I saw the word cookbooks on one of them. I turn away and train my eyes on a box of quilts. I need to keep my eyes to myself.

“Whoa, look at this box,” he says a minute later. “What do you think of these tiles?”

Reluctantly, I lean over his shoulder. This is a box of square tiles with a hand-painted blue and white motif on them. I pick up a few more and each is similar in coloring, but the designs are different. They’re clearly handmade.

I glance around the box to look for a label. “Portuguese tiles,” I read aloud.

“Cool,” Logan says. “Do you think they’re actually from Portugal?”

“Yeah, I bet a lot of these boxes are filled with things from her travels.” I look down at the tile. “These could be a big seller. We should definitely take them down.”

He sighs. “Of course it’s the heaviest box that needs to go down the shaky attic ladder.” He picks it up and takes it over to the steps before opening the next box. “Hmm, this one might be good too. Do people care about lace?”

“Probably, if it’s imported.”

He nudges the box toward me, and I pull out the piece on top. I’m expecting something larger and rectangular—like a tablecloth—but this isn’t anything like that. It’s more like a scrap of lace. I hold it up in front of me. “Huh, what do you think—”

The realization comes to me too late, and my eyes unconsciously lock on Logan. Both his eyes and mouth have popped wide open.

“Oh my god !” I shriek, and throw the fabric as far away from me as I can. That wasn’t a delicate piece of handwoven lace from a village in Europe.

That was Grandma’s lingerie.

“Ahhh!” I yell again, and shake out my hands like they’ve been dipped in acid.

Logan rubs a hand over his mouth. “I can’t believe you—”

“Don’t you say it.” I point at him. “ Ever. We’re both going to our graves before we talk about this.”

He laughs loudly. “I’m pretty sure the whole box is…you know.”

I drop my hands to my knees and do some deep breathing. “Grandma,” I whisper in horror. I’m scarred for life.

“Kids? Did I hear screaming?” Grandma calls from below.

I blow out a breath. “We’re okay,” I say. “I just saw…a mouse.”

“A mouse! I thought we’d finally gotten those things under control. Logan, I’m going to need your father to come back out here with more traps.”

“Uh…” Logan walks over to the ladder. “Actually, I don’t think it was a mouse. Quinn thought she saw something and freaked herself out. She’s very sensitive.”

I glare at him. “Just a false alarm,” I call to her.

“Keep an eye out anyway,” Grandma replies. “And I’ve got cake down here for when you’re done.”

He turns back to me with a smile. “Another false alarm—you seem to keep having those around me. Speaking of, did you ever figure out the reason you were so unsteady thatday?”

The teasing shine in his eyes makes my heart thump.

“No, I did not, but I’m feeling perfectly steady right now, thank you.”

Luckily, he doesn’t push the subject and we work a bit more in silence before he asks how my day was. I grimace at the reminder.

“It’s a work in progress,” I reply. “Turns out that switching schools in the middle of the year isn’t easy.”

“Never would have predicted that.” He pulls another box in front of him. “I’m sure it’s hard leaving all your old friends behind.”

A heavy weight presses on me at the reminder. I shake my head. “Actually, that was probably the best thing about the move.”

“Leaving your friends?” he asks incredulously.

“I think it’d be more accurate to describe them as ex-friends.”

Logan’s kneeling on the ground, going through another box, but he swivels toward me at the words. “Were these the people you played D&D with?”

“Yeah. It was a two-for-one loss—no more friends and no more gaming group. So I’m grateful to be in Laurelburg regardless of issues.”

I expect him to ask for details about what happened, or to look uneasy at the knowledge that my last D&D group disowned me. That’s not the kind of thing that inspires confidence when you’ve just added someone to your game—especially if you weren’t happy about including them in the first place. But Logan only frowns in sympathy.

“That’s horrible. I’m sure whatever happened, it was their fault.”

I laugh in surprise. “That’s very loyal of you to say, given that you barely know me.”

“I know you. You like sugary foods and the color green and D&D.”

I push a box away (it’s just old sheets) and look at the next one. “You’ve summed me up.”

“And you love your grandmother. Enough to spend your afternoon going through her unmentionables with a guy you don’t particularly like because she asked you to.”

My eyes flick up to his.

“She clearly loves you too,” he continues, “which means you must be a pretty great person, because I don’t think she’s impressed with just anyone. So, yeah, if they couldn’t keep you as a friend, then that says more about them than it says about you.”

I turn away from the boxes and study him. Really study him, in a way I haven’t allowed myself to before. His expression is open, without a hint of sarcasm or snark. He pushes his hair away from his forehead and leans forward just slightly, easily meeting my gaze. There’s no challenge in his eyes, and it makes me want to tell him everything that happened with Caden, Paige, and the others. It would be nice to tell someone the story without worrying about their judgment. But there’s a lot more I need to understand about him before I’ll trust him with that information.

“Logan, why did you come here today?” I pull my knees to my chest and rest my chin on them. “And don’t bring up Grandma. Why did you really come here? Because I can’t figure you out. You were so nice when we first met and then I joined the game and you turned into a totally different person.”

“That’s because I didn’t want you to join.” His gaze turns so intense that it’s like a tractor beam, freezing me in place. He swallows and his Adam’s apple bobs. “I hoped you would change your mind, and when you didn’t, I decided the only way forward was to be as cold and distant to you as possible.”

“Why?” I whisper.

“Because our group has rules.”

My pulse skitters. “You don’t keep your distance from Kashvi, or anyone else in the group.”

“I don’t need to with them.” He takes a slow breath, and his gaze drops to my mouth. “But I need to keep my distance from you.”

His words burn through my thoughts and scatter them like ashes in a campfire. It takes me a moment to reply. “But you’re here now.”

“Yeah.” He shrugs. “I’m sorry for the way I acted. I know I shouldn’t be here, but it gets hard following the rules all the time. I wanted to see you. Alone.”

My breath catches in my throat. Prior experience tells me this can only end badly. The last time I went on a date with someone from my D&D group, it blew up in my face so terribly that I’m still picking up the pieces—and that group didn’t even have a rule against dating other players like this new one does. Nothing good can come from spending time alone with Logan…but that doesn’t stop me from wanting to crawl over these dusty floors and press my lips to his just to see how we’ll both react.

His face tilts slightly and a piece of hair falls in his eyes. Maybe I’m not the only one thinking that.

A crash reverberates below us, followed by a cry from Grandma. We both shake ourselves from the bubble we’ve been in and shoot to our feet.

“Grandma?” I yell as I rush to the ladder and climb down so fast I almost fall myself. “Are you okay?”

She doesn’t reply immediately. My body, already tense from that conversation with Logan, is now shaking. I race down the flight of stairs to the first floor, Logan at my heels, to find Grandma on her hands and knees in the kitchen.

I don’t see any blood and she’s clearly alert, but my stomach still spasms and I worry I might be sick. I force myself to breathe and gently put a hand on her shoulder. That’s when I see a plate smashed into shards on the floor.

“What happened?” Logan asks, and comes to her other side. We both take her by an elbow and help her sit in one of the chairs in the breakfast nook. She stands easily with our help, thank god.

“I tripped, but I’m fine,” she says quickly. “I didn’t hurt myself.”

“Do you know if you hit your head when you fell?” I crouch in front of her, looking for any signs that she’s seriously injured. I’m no medical expert, but she doesn’t seem dazed and she’s speaking, so that bodes well.

She shoos me away. “I’m not as fragile as that plate. I said I’m fine.” She shakes her head at the plate fragments. “What a shame. I bought that in Kyoto years ago. I was going to use it for the cake today.”

“Maybe we should drive you to urgent care just in case? Or I could call Dad?”

I glance up at Logan for validation, and he nods his agreement. But Grandma’s stern expression pierces me. “Don’t you dare. I don’t need anyone else fussing over me. What you can do is clean up that plate and then cut some slices of cake so we can eat.”

Logan’s eyebrows are furrowed in concern and possibly frustration, and I feel the exact same way. This is what my parents have been so concerned about—Grandma falling and then refusing to call for help. They’re going to freak when I tell them. It looks like we got lucky today, but fear of the future keeps my heart racing.

Logan’s hand on my shoulder pulls me from my thoughts. “I’ll get new plates and silverware,” he whispers.

His voice is more soothing than it should be. I hardly know Logan, really. But that doesn’t stop me from swooning over the fact that he’s concerned about Grandma and that he likes me enough that he can’t stay away from me any longer. Granted, I have no idea where that leaves us, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t grateful to have him here right now.

Grandma clears her throat, and my attention fixes back on her. “I told you I had a good feeling about him,” she whispers.

And if the mischievous sparkle in her eyes is any indication, she’s already perfectly fine.