That sentence made the decision for me.
Come over.
He arrived thirty-eight minutes later.
I knew because I watched the clock.
There was a knock.
Soft.
Three times.
My pulse quickened.
I opened the door.
Logan stood in the hallway.
For seven months, I had rehearsed this moment.
None of the rehearsals helped.
He looked thinner.
His hair was longer.
There were shadows beneath his eyes.
But he was still Logan.
The same brown coat.
The same scar near his chin from falling off a bicycle at twelve.
The same gray-green eyes I had once trusted enough to imagine growing old beside.
“Hi,” he said.
I almost laughed at the inadequacy of it.
“Hi.”
He didn’t move.
“Can I come in?”
I stepped aside.
His gaze went immediately to Ethan’s bassinet.
He stopped.
Every emotion crossed his face at once.
Wonder.
Grief.
Love.
Regret.
He covered his mouth with one hand.
