I watched him fight tears.
“Is that him?”
“No, I borrowed a baby for dramatic effect.”
His eyes met mine.
For half a second, the old Logan appeared.
A smile.
Then it vanished beneath emotion.
“He’s beautiful.”
“He looks like an angry potato most mornings.”
“He’s the most beautiful angry potato I’ve ever seen.”
I folded my arms.
The humor faded.
Logan looked at me.
“I’m sorry.”
There it was.
Two words.
Months late.
Still necessary.
“I know.”
“No.”
His voice remained soft.
“I don’t think you do.”
“I read your letter.”
He swallowed.
“All of it?”
“Yes.”
He lowered his eyes.
“I wanted to tell you those things in person.”
“You should have told me before you left.”
“Yes.”
No defense.
That was unfamiliar.
“I thought if I admitted how terrified I was, you would stop seeing me as someone reliable.”
I stared at him.
