I had that out, plus the butter and plates, forks, and napkins on place mats before I went back to the stove to relieve Logan of his duties.
“Heat up your coffee, Snooks,” I said softly, pushing in to take the spatula from him. “And grab a stool. I’ll finish here.”
“Babe,” he replied.
I looked up at him.
It was then my heart stopped.
Because now, his eyes were shining. Shining and happy and relieved.
And I saw his girls got that from him, too, that look transforming his beauty into something breathtaking.
As I gazed up at him in wonder, he bent and touched his mouth to mine. It was a swift kiss. Light. There and gone.
But it was happy too.
He relinquished the spatula, grabbed my mug as well as his, and heated up both our coffees before he took a stool.
I served French toast. It was good French toast. But it was just French toast.
Still, I was going to remember that French toast for the rest of my life.
Because I ate it listening to Cleo babbling, Zadie joining her, and watching my man eat his surrounded by all his girls, looking straight down to his bones happy.
*??*??*
“Okay, so that went good,” I said to Logan, who was moving around me in the kitchen.
It was late evening. He was finishing up his last beer. I was cleaning my wineglass.
We were headed to bed.
The girls were already down.
Bribery apparently worked.
It worked so well that even when Pitch Perfect proved to be a tad bit too adult for Logan’s girls (as decreed by Logan, even though they’d both already seen it so he couldn’t put the kibosh on it) and he’d shared that unhappily, nothing came of this since we were still riding the wave of mall, yogurt by the pound, and girlie treat in-house mani-pedis.
Zadie may not have been about hugs and shouting endorsements of me from the top of her lungs, but she hadn’t done a single bratty thing all day. She’d even shyly, almost like it was against her will but she couldn’t stop it, asked my opinions on things she’d purchased.
And she’d listened to my answers.
As for Cleo, any barriers that may have remained between her and me had crumbled down. She saw her mom with me. She saw her father not happy to be at the mall shopping but definitely happy to be with his girls. And she appreciated all my efforts, and not just the gift cards.
The people she loved were settled and content and that was all Cleo Judd needed.
Therefore, she was open and talkative, friendly and familiar, and riding a near-teen-girl wave of joy at having a new top, earrings, bangles, hair stuff, and girl gizmos.
She was just a phenomenal kid. It was remarkable watching her be carefree after seeing her so often be careful about all around her.
I watched this falling in love with Cleo.
I knew Logan agreed with my assessment on the day when I felt his arms round me from behind.
He gave me his verbal agreement when he shoved his face in my neck and muttered, “Yeah.”
“You were wrong,” I told him, placing my glass on a spread kitchen towel by the sink.
He took his face out of my neck and turned me in his arms.
When he got me face to face, I wrapped mine around him.
“Yeah?”
“You said six point five visits for Zadie.” I grinned up at him. “It only took four.”
“Five,” he returned.
He was counting too.
But he was wrong.
“Four,” I returned.
“Five, babe. She was still holdin’ back over dinner with Deb.”
This was true.
Which meant he was right.
Therefore, I muttered, “Whatever.”
He gave me a squeeze not to give me a squeeze, because he’d begun laughing.
It wasn’t unadulterated mirth. He was being quiet because we had two sleeping girls in the house.
But it was still open, genuine, and amazing.
And further, we had two sleeping girls in our house.
I stood in his arms, in the kitchen, watching my man laugh quietly.
The road to that moment sucked big-time.
Having that moment, just that one, Logan and me holding each other in our kitchen, him laughing and happy, two girls who’d had a good day with their dad and his woman sleeping in our house, that road was worth it.
So I gave him a squeeze and I did it to give him a squeeze.
He focused on me, still chuckling.
I was not chuckling.
I wasn’t even smiling.
And when Logan caught that, his amusement died.
“Baby?” he whispered.
“Sometimes I felt consumed, like I didn’t exist, gone,” I whispered back. “Every day it was just going through the motions.”
He dipped his face close to mine and his repeated, “Baby?” was rougher.
It was also confused.
I didn’t explain outright, even as I did.
“But it was worth it. Every step was worth it. Even if all I ever get from it was this one moment with you.”
“Millie.”
That was abrasive.
He got me.
I gave him the rest anyway.
“I’d do it again for another moment like this. And again for a moment like I had over French toast with you and your babies. And again and again and again, for each night I get to sleep with you. No joke, Snook’ums. No lie. I’d do it every day it was so worth it to walk through fire for you.”
He didn’t call me baby. He didn’t call my name.
He kissed me.
Not a touch. Not a peck. Not light.
Hot and hard and so, so wet.
I ended it, breaking the connection to slide my lips to his ear because I wasn’t done.
“I love you, Logan Judd,” I whispered there. “I never stopped loving you. Thank you for making it worth it.”
He groaned, grasped on to my hair, and turned my head so he could kiss me again.
It was as good as the one before and then some.
Yes.
Absolutely yes.
Consumed by the flames for twenty years, every second was totally worth it.
*??*??*
“Zadie?” I called, then stutter-stepped on my way down the hall because Chief, chased by Poem, ran under my feet.
There was no answer.
I looked into the living room and saw nothing, which I wouldn’t, since I’d left her on the couch.