My brain starts spinning. Maybe because he’s this big strong man, but it’s never occurred to me that I would have to be careful with him. Yet it’s obvious I do. I curl myself into his chest and wrap my arms around him and just hold him. Breathing in his winter-air scent, I murmur into his neck that everything will be okay.

I stroke my fingers through his hair and tell him he’s incredible and that everyone is proud of him. He lets out a deep grateful exhale and holds me tighter. I tell him that he’s so strong, and that it’s okay to be vulnerable too, sometimes. He makes a low wordless sound.

I can actually feel him healing and being knitted back together right in front of me.

It’s a side of Logan I didn’t imagine I’d ever see, and I’m so grateful that he’s comfortable enough around me to let his walls come crumbling down.

When we finally part a few minutes later, there’s an easiness about him that wasn’t there before.

“Thanks, Summer.”

I meet his serious expression with one of my own. “You’re welcome.”

I can sense a change in him. Before me sits a man who, at one time, I thought was all hard edges. But I was wrong. There’s a softness about him too.

He doesn’t let many people see this side of him, which I can understand. The less people know about you, the less they can pry. It’s a self-preservation technique. Keeping people at arm’s length is one of Logan’s coping mechanisms. But knowing I’m someone he’s willing to let into his inner circle makes my heart squeeze a little. I feel warm all over, and it’s not just because of the hot water we’re lounging in.

Sometimes I wonder if I’m qualified for my new job. But when I’m talking to Logan, I feel qualified, helpful even. Maybe it’s sporting of him to amuse me into thinking so, I’m not sure, but I definitely appreciate how useful he makes me feel.

When he finally breaks the silence, it’s with a question I never could have seen coming. “How did you lose your mom?”

A burning sensation sizzles in my chest. I wasn’t at all prepared to talk about this, but he’s been so vulnerable with me, the least I can do is return the favor.

“Car accident,” I choke out, examining my hands to avoid his gaze. “Drunk driver. She died on impact.”

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers. “How do you . . . how did you get through it?”

I meet his worried gaze and lift one shoulder. “I don’t know. One day at a time.”

“God, Summer. I’m sorry. That’s awful.”

“You can’t appreciate the sweet if you never have the bitter.”