Symbol of Redemption
“You’re kind to flatter me, Mr. Snow; generous even. But let’s be realistic; everyone in your building looks like they just came off the cover of Vogue. Hell, even the sixty something year old red head had more class than I do. Whatever game you’re playing, whatever bet you made, I assure you that you’re wasting your time.”
“What I choose to dedicate my time to, Allison, is never a waste.”
“You’re entitled to your perspective as I am mine, Mr. Snow.”
“I’ve asked you to call me Logan and I’d prefer not to repeat myself.”
I opened my mouth only to shut it, which he clearly took as a victory if judging by the self-gratified curve of his lips. But more interestingly, his smirk didn’t bother me. Instead I felt oddly happy to have pleased him.
“Share a meal with me.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
I lowered my gaze, unable to watch the sincerity of his disappointment. It was easier to pretend he was merely being charming.
“You feel it. This pull. This ravaging sensation whenever we’re together.”
It wasn’t a question, so I found no reason to supply an answer.
Logan stepped impossibly close and suddenly there wasn’t enough air in the tiny space between us. His palm was warm as it caressed my cheek and against wisdom, I leaned into it. My lungs were heaving, my pulse racing and I felt hyperaware. My eyes shut tight with great strain, yet I sensed his every move; his every breath.
His hands were wound into my hair as they cradled my head. Logan lowered his forehead to touch mine and I could feel the tension rolling off him in waves, each rippling through me in search of release.
“You call to me like a siren.” He breathed.
Somehow I understood his meaning, for I felt much the same about him. I sensed his reluctance to fully embrace what seemed to keep pulling us together and somehow that hurt, even though I was doing the same. Logan’s breath was hot against my skin and each time his mouth released a breath, my lips trembled with the urge to lift just high enough to touch his.
We stood there, deeply connected and yet still light years apart. I clung to these shared seconds like dreams of the impossible. I memorized the feeling of his warmth; more soothing than the sun…and the ache of it. I wanted to stop time, forget all else, and melt beneath Logan’s lips pressed against my forehead. If wishing worked, I would’ve wished for nothing else.
But as I dreamed from behind my closed lids, I couldn’t dismiss my fear. A warning—it was time to go.
“Take care, Logan Snow.”
My feet felt heavy with lead, my heart wounded. I made my way to my Pilot and swung open the door, fully aware of every added inch between us. Faintly I imagined Logan sweeping me off my feet, whisking me off to a Happily Ever After; but in real life you couldn’t write an alternate ending if unhappy with the way the story was headed. The hero wasn’t bulletproof and bombs didn’t get disarmed three seconds to detonation. In real life people cried, bled, died, and love couldn’t cure evil. I knew this, and paid a high price for the lesson. So when Logan’s fairytale rebuttal never came, I slid into my car, closed the door, and drove away without looking back.