Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 109038 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 545(@200wpm)___ 436(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109038 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 545(@200wpm)___ 436(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
She gasps as she stands to shake his hand. “Is this… is this some sort of prank?”
I scratch the back of my head. “Mom, did you happen to see the recent photoshoot Logan did? The one that’s been all over the internet for the past few days?”
“Only things I’ve done online this week were ordering groceries, watching some YouTube videos about knitting, and holy fuck, it’s really you, isn’t it?”
“It’s me, in the flesh.”
She stands up slowly.
Logan closes the distance between them, giving her a hug. As he hugs her, she looks out at me over his shoulder, her eyes practically bulging out of her head.
“Is this an early birthday gift for me?” she asks me, grasping Logan’s shoulders after the hug. “I can’t believe I’m in the same room as Logan Stone. How are you here?”
“I worked with Logan on a photoshoot, Mom,” I tell her. “And we’re kind of… well…”
“We’re boyfriends,” Logan says.
“What? How could you not tell me? How long has this been going on?” she exclaims.
I scratch the back of my head. “Well, I first met him last year, actually—”
“Last year? Chase, are you trying to kill me? Keeping that from me all year?”
“I came back to New York at the start of last month,” Logan clarifies. “And we only made it official this week, so don’t worry. No secrets.”
She claps her hands together. “I’m dreaming. Damn, this is a good dream.”
“We’re late for an event right now, Mom,” I tell her. “But we could come by your house tomorrow for dinner?”
She cackles. “I still think I’m on a secret prank show right now, but sure. Yes. Come for dinner. With Logan Stone.”
I lean in to give her a hug, and Logan hugs her again, too, which makes her swear a few more times.
We head out through the front door, and Logan’s grinning wide the whole way downstairs. “I love your mom already.”
“I love her, too. She is going to ask you a thousand questions tomorrow once she realizes this is actually happening and not a prank, by the way. So get ready.”
“Bring it on.”
On the way to the event, Logan can tell I’m nervous, so he pulls out his phone and looks up some Shakespeare to read to me while he holds my hand.
He reads it out loud in a British accent that’s so good it could convince anyone, and I’m reminded that I’m sitting in the car with a fucking Emmy-winning actor who will probably be well on his way to some Oscars, too, when he starts filming more movies.
I don’t understand half the shit he’s saying, but it all sounds amazing coming from him. I’m sure if I asked, he could explain it all to me perfectly.
So I just listen. And somewhere along the drive to the event, my nervousness melts away.
It’s going to be great.
It’s going to be fucking fun, because I’m going to be there with him.
I reach out and squeeze his thigh as he moves on to the next Shakespeare passage, and the enormity of this simple moment finally hits me. Tonight is a major first for Logan, too. It’ll be the first event he brings a date to since his career exploded last year.
I want to make the night perfect for him.
I love him, and it still feels too soon to say.
A deeper part of me feels like it would never be too soon, and that I’m so much crazier not to have said it to him, yet.
The words claw at me almost every moment I’m with him.
He makes me a smoothie, and I think it.
I love you.
He reads me Shakespeare only to calm me down, all the while keeping a hand laced in mine, and it pulses through my mind, over and over.
I love you.
His existence, on its own, when he’s tired, or burnt out, or happy, or laughing with me in the shower, brushing the droplets from my eyelashes… it’s so much more real than any connection I thought I’d share with another person.
I love you, I love you, I love you to the bottom of my beating heart.
If I could, I’d want to give Logan the whole world.
So tonight, I’m going to show him a good time.
Every fear I had about the event disappears when I walk in and see the food and desserts on display there.
It doesn’t hurt that Logan keeps his hand holding mine as we walk in, too.
The gala is being held in the ballroom of a trendy, modern hotel in Soho, and their desserts absolutely rival the ones I used to make at the Bellwood. I gawk at the amazing fruit tartlets and tiered tiramisu bites, and I make a note to ask about their pastry chef later on.
“Stone, my man,” someone says behind us only a minute into walking by the food tables.