I Love You, My Neighbour: Chapter 8
Thanks For Last Night
Kristy
The next day, approximately one week since I took Logan a peace offering, I close up the café and leave with the unsold muffins and cake. The weather isn't as pleasant as last Sunday, but the chill in the wind doesn't bother me much as I make my way home in my uniform and cardigan.
Logan isn't working outside his house today, probably due to the poor weather. If I want to talk to him, I'll have to knock on his door. However, when I reach his house and hear the loud noise coming from inside, I hesitate. He won't be able to hear me if I knock.
Despite having walked into Logan's house uninvited before, I'm hesitant to do it again. Last time, fatigue and anger fuelled me, but now I'm guided by the manners my parents instilled in me.
Looking down at the paper bag in my hands and then back at his front door, I convince myself that it's just a short interruption and that Logan won't mind. Taking a deep breath, I knock loudly and open the door. "Hello," I call out, though I know he likely won't hear me.
The construction noise and blaring music make it hard to hear anything, including my own thoughts. Since there's no one in the large foyer where I found Logan working last time, I follow the sound of the music to the lounge room. Inside, I find one of the guys Logan introduced me to yesterday—Kyle, I believe—on his hands and knees, pulling up the carpet.
Kyle, with his short spiky black hair and tattoos up his arm, looks like a frontman of a band. He's undoubtedly good looking, but he doesn't make my pulse race like Logan does.
"Hey," I yell to Kyle, waving when he sees me.
His face lights up. "Hey, neighbour! What's happening?"
Holding up the paper bag, I explain, "I owe Logan a thank you."
While I probably don't need to give Logan anything for getting rid of Simon, and I doubt he expects it, I feel it's the neighbourly thing to do. I'd do the same for anyone else. And if I try to drop off the food and leave, I'll look strange. That's something I'm tempted to do, given the curious way Kyle is looking at me.
"What did he do?" Kyle asks.
"You could say he rescued me from an unwanted visitor."
"Cool." His expression becomes even more open and curious, and I feel myself blush. "I guess I'll show you where he is then."
"You know, you could just pass them on for me," I suggest quickly. "I don't need to disturb him."
I'm regretting my decision to come inside. I probably could have left the bag on Logan's doorstep with a note, or found the kitchen and left the bag on the counter for him to find later. There was no need to interrupt Logan and Kyle's work just to announce that I brought muffins.
"Nonsense," Kyle insists. "I'm happy to disturb Logan. The man works too damn hard. Besides, how am I supposed to ask him for a muffin without interrupting him?"
His wink and smile ease my worries a bit, and I follow him as he leads me down a short wide hallway and into the bathroom, where Logan is smashing up bathroom tiles.
"Yo, Jacobs, we've got company," Kyle announces.
Logan frowns upon seeing me, pushing his goggles up to rest on top of his head as he leans on the sledgehammer he's been using.
Even with a frown, he still looks far too good in his black sweatpants hanging low on his hips and his grey sweat-soaked t-shirt clinging to his chiselled chest.
"Is the noise bothering you again?" he asks, assuming I'm there to complain about it.
"No, I, uh, just wanted to say thanks again for last night."
"She brought muffins," Kyle interjects, pointing to the bag in my hands.
Logan furrows his brow. "You didn't have to do that. It's fine."
"I wanted to. Please accept them and help ease my guilty conscience."
After a moment, he nods. "Okay."
"Thank you. Now I'll leave and let you get back to it." I glance at the bag in my hands. "Can I put them in the kitchen for you?"
"Aren't you going to stay and have one with us?" Kyle asks.
I smile at him. "Thank you, but no."
I don't mention anything about cutting back on sweets because I don't want to draw attention to my weight or my issues with it.
Instead, I say, "I have to go home and walk Cricket."
Logan's frown fades. "How's he doing?"
"Fine. He actually barked at Simon last night instead of me. That was kind of cool."
"Have you heard back about the dog training classes?"
"I'm on the waiting list. Last time I checked the website, it said new classes start two weeks from tomorrow. I'm hoping to get a call or something to confirm my attendance."
"Cool," he nods. "Well, I'd offer you a beer or something, but Adam and Jamie aren't here today—"
"Which means Logan is working me harder than usual," Kyle jokes.
I smile at both of them before looking back at Logan. "Will I see you around?"
The corner of his mouth almost curves up, and ridiculously, that almost smile makes my heart skip a beat. "Count on it," he says.
I walk out, cursing my foolish reactions to my neighbour as I follow Kyle out of the bathroom. I still don't know much about the man living next door, but I'm irrationally attracted to him regardless. Even though we've been talking every day for the past week, I shouldn't be so affected by him.
The kitchen is a square area just behind where Logan had been standing when I yelled at him and called him a lazy tradie. There's a sliding door, currently closed to keep as much dust and dirt out as possible.
Kyle opens the door, and I step inside, looking for an empty spot on the counter to place my bag.
That's when I notice it—a silver photo frame with a picture of a brunette and a dog that bears an eerie resemblance to Cricket.
Unable to resist, I set the bag of muffins and cake down on the nearest available space and pick up the photo. The brunette in the picture has stunning green eyes. She's slim, wearing a turquoise and white dress that accentuates her curves and toned body. Her hair cascades in waves, framing her face and highlighting her exquisite bone structure.
She is undeniably beautiful, and I'm convinced she must be Logan's girlfriend. She belongs in the same league as Jess, the same league as Logan. I can't compare to her, not that I want to compare. It's just that this photo underscores how futile and foolish my attraction to Logan is.
My gaze shifts to the dog sitting next to the woman on the grass. This picture reveals a lot about why Logan reacted the way he did to my lack of experience with dogs. This dog must remind him of Cricket. They aren't the same colour, and I'm not sure if they're the same breed, but their build and facial features are strikingly similar.
"Do you have a dog?"
"Had one.”
The words Logan said to me on Friday night hit me with a force that knocks the wind out of me. This is the dog he was talking about—the one responsible for the sadness and grief I saw in his eyes that night.
I study the photograph, desperately hoping it holds clues to what happened. Naturally, my eyes are drawn back to the woman. Could it be possible that Logan's grief wasn't solely about the dog? Did the woman move away or leave him, or did something much worse happen?
Turning to Kyle, whose smile has faded into solemnity, I hand him the photo, and he places it back on the counter.
"Izzy. Logan's fiancée," Kyle says with a haunted look and sadness in his voice.
"She's...?" I can't bring myself to say the word, but dread settles in my stomach, telling me I already know.
"Dead," Kyle confirms. "Car crash, two years ago."
Logan is grieving his fiancée. It all makes sense now—the rare smiles, the absence of laughter. My heart aches as I imagine the pain he must have endured losing the love of his life. Logan didn't just lose the woman he loved; she was cruelly torn away from him by forces beyond his control.
Sadness weighs heavily on my chest, and my throat feels constricted with a lump of emotions.
"I'm sorry," I say to Kyle, my voice filled with genuine sympathy. "I'm sorry for Logan, and I'm sorry for prying."
"You aren't—"
"I should have never picked up the photograph. It's just that the dog reminded me so much of Cricket, my dog," I explain.
Kyle nods in understanding. "Buster. He was Izzy's dog, but Logan... cared for him a lot."
Just like he cares for Cricket.
This afternoon, I've learned more about Logan. He has transformed from a person I've exchanged only a few words with to someone I can no longer consider a stranger—especially now that I know the kind of grief that haunts him.
Unsurprisingly, this newfound knowledge does nothing to ease my turmoil over my attraction to him or the way I felt watching him dig a hole.
Not. At all.
Forcing a smile at Kyle, I say, "I should go and let you get back to work. It was good to see you again."
Thankfully, Kyle doesn't protest, and I hasten out the front door, my mind consumed by thoughts of Logan Jacobs.