Saved by the King

Sixteen*

The next morning, I stumbled down the stairs, feeling weak. I still couldn't conjure up a concrete memory of the rogues from the day before, but I remembered the fear, and figured it wasn't the worst thing in the world that I couldn't relive it in vivid detail. I remembered my conversation with Logan.

The couch was covered with blankets thrown aside and crumpled pillows. I skid to a stop, shocked, because while he obviously hadn't slept in his bed, I hadn't considered where he had slept.

A stone of guilt lodged itself in my stomach. Logan was nowhere to be seen.

Stupid, stupid. How could I not have realized? How could I be so thoughtless? The old fear was rising up in my chest-fear of anger, of punishment. Last night he had been soft, but would that hold true today? Were his feelings the same as last night? Would he not be angry that he had spent the night on the couch?

The idea was radical, but I had a vague suspicion that it was correct. Nothing about Logan's behavior last night had been different than how he'd been acting ever since I got to Gwinn Forest, and there wouldn't be any reason for that to change today.

Still, it didn't stop me from jumping when his voice sounded behind me.

"Coffee?"

I whirled around to see a messy-haired, stubbled version of Logan holding a mug. My heart jumped-from fear, or maybe from the realization that, even scruffy from sleeping, he was still ridiculously handsome. Maybe both. I couldn't tell.

"No, thank you," I heard myself to say. I had never tried coffee before, and I didn't have much interest in trying it. Logan raised his eyebrows but didn't comment.

"Ok, weirdo. Are you hungry?"

Weirdo? "Uh, no. Thank you."

Logan sipped his coffee, watching me through narrowed eyes. "You should eat, anyway," he finally said. "Follow me."

I trailed behind him into the kitchen. He stopped and turned to face me.

"Requests?"

I shook my head.

"Good. Because I can only make pancakes."

I couldn't help myself. I giggled. "Why don't I make something?"

***
///Logan///

I insisted on helping.

She seemed happy enough to do it herself, but there was more opportunity for interaction if I was involved. I wasn't the worst assistant in the world-I could at least do the basics, like cracking eggs-but my duties were mostly restricted to getting things off shelves she couldn't reach and measuring things out.

She knew was she was doing. She obviously had a lot of experience. I liked watching her cook; when she was focused on stirring or kneading or sifting she wasn't focused on me, which meant she wasn't tense or nervous. And when she wasn't tense or nervous, her personality came out.

Proximity wasn't as much of an issue when she let her guard down. Even contact didn't seem to faze her, though I kept it light anyway. A brush against her arm, a light hand on her back. She reciprocated once-a playful push on my shoulder when I tugged on her hair-and looked even more shocked than I felt when she did. Her skin on mine, even in such a casual way, was exhilarating. I decided I liked baking.

I liked baking because her eyes didn't nervously track every move I made, and her voice didn't tremble when she spoke, and she even met my eyes every now and then. It was like the familiar situation put her at ease, made her more comfortable with her surroundings. And that was what I was going for. Comfort.