Lies I Told(31)

Finally the house came into view, and I maneuvered the car beside a white Range Rover in front of one of the three garage doors. Logan met me on the porch, lined with pumpkins and strung with a garland of autumn leaves. He looked happy to see me, and my heart fluttered a little at the sight of him, barefoot in well-worn jeans and a V-neck tee that was loose enough to be casual but fitted enough to show off his lean muscles.

He smiled. “Sorry about that. I have to keep the gates closed when my parents aren’t home.”

“It’s fine,” I said. “Your parents aren’t here?”

He reached out a hand as I climbed the steps to the porch. I took it, and a rush of warmth spread from my fingers to the rest of my body.

“They had a dinner. Some kind of charity thing.” He stopped, looking a little worried. “Is that okay? Because if you’re not comfortable being here alone, we can hit up a movie or something.”

I was touched that he’d ask. I was used to doing things that needed to be done. Whether or not I wanted to wasn’t usually part of the equation.

“It’s fine. As long as they don’t mind.”

He opened the front door and led me into the foyer. “Not at all. I told them you were coming and that we were going to watch a movie.”

“Great.”

He closed the door. “Have you eaten?”

I nodded.

“Does that mean you’re too full for popcorn?”

I laughed. “Is there such a thing?”

He grinned, leading me toward the kitchen. “You’re perfect.”

“Can I do anything to help?” I asked.

“Nah. I’ve got this covered.” He pulled out a stool at the big kitchen island, indicating that I should take a seat, and went to work opening cupboards, choosing a big pot and a bottle of oil from the pantry.

“Are you making popcorn or a four-course meal?” I teased, watching him.

He stopped moving. “Don’t tell me you’ve never had real popcorn?”

“And by real you mean . . . ?”

He set the pot on the stove. “Not nuked in the microwave.”

I thought about it. “I’ve had it at the movie theater.”

He shook his head. “Doesn’t count. Now I consider it my duty to initiate you in the ways of real popcorn.”

“Great,” I laughed. “A life skill I can really use.”

“Trust me,” he said, “you’ll use this way more than trig.”

He moved easily around the kitchen, pouring oil into the hot pan and swirling it in the bottom, waiting for it to get hot before pouring in the popcorn kernels. He put the lid on the pan and turned his attention back to me.

“So do you miss it?” he asked. “San Francisco?”

I had to think about it. Both because we hadn’t really come from San Francisco and because, here with Logan in the warm kitchen, my other life seemed very far away.

“Not really.” I searched my memory for things I’d learned about San Francisco during my research. “It was pretty, but crowded. Playa Hermosa feels . . .” I expected him to fill in the blank. People usually did. But he just looked at me, regarding me with interest. Like he had all the time in the world to listen. “Apart,” I finally finished.

He shook the pan a little as the sound of kernels popping against the pan rang into the kitchen. “Apart?”

“Just . . . separate from everything else, I guess.”

“And you like being separate?” he asked.

“Sometimes,” I admitted.

He smiled a little, his eyes never leaving mine. “Me too.”

The corn was popping full speed, and I watched with fascination as it lifted the lid from the pan, the time between pops slowly dwindling. Logan turned off the heat and grabbed an oven mitt, turning the popcorn out into a big bowl he’d set next to the stove.

“And what about your friends?” he asked, dropping a stick of butter into the still hot pan. “Do you miss them?”

The butter sizzled as I tried to regain my footing. Guys usually liked to talk about themselves, and since the only guys I’d ever dated had been part of a con, I’d been happy to let them. This was different. I had to provide details. Had to make things up about San Francisco and school and friends that hadn’t really been friends. And I had to do it with a straight face while looking into Logan’s mossy eyes. Of course, I knew I’d be lying on the job. Knew I’d do a lot of it before the con was over and we moved on to another town. But now, looking into Logan’s face, his eyes so attentive, so interested, it somehow felt more wrong.

“Not as much as you might think. When you know you’re going to move, you try not to get too attached. To anything.” It was more true than I wanted to admit. More true than I should have admitted.

He nodded as he poured the melted butter over the popcorn. Then he threw in a handful of salt and tossed it all together with a rubber spatula before pushing the bowl toward me.

“I await your verdict.”

I plucked a couple of pieces from the bowl and popped them into my mouth. It was perfect, covered with a thin coat of salt and butter and not at all dry.

He raised his eyebrows. “Well?”

“Amazing,” I said. “Completely different from theater or microwave popcorn.”