Free Waiting for the One by L.A. Fiore

“I’m fine, I just think I need a bit of air.”
    Before he can object, I move from around the bar and step outside into the cool night. I’m not alone for long when Logan appears before me. “What happened in there?”
    No way I am sharing. “Nothing.”
    “It didn’t look like nothing.” There’s curiosity in his expression, but there’s also tenderness. He touches a lock of my hair before his finger brushes lightly against my cheek. His voice is very soft when he asks, “Why are you looking at me like that?”
    Oh, how easy it would be to fall completely for him. I answer almost without thought, “I’ve missed you.”

    Sitting on my front step the following night, I’m waiting for Logan. My thoughts are on Frank’s request that I make myself happy. He’ll be happy to learn that I am happy, happier than I’ve been in a long time. Logan makes me happy. I’ve a bit of regret that we wasted six months, but then our six months of observing is probably why we’re so comfortable with each other now.
    The sound of a motorcycle coming down the street catches my attention seconds before Logan appears. Logan straddling a motorcycle; that is a picture. He shuts off the engine and climbs off to greet me as I walk down the path.
    His perusal is both thorough and arousing because I know exactly what’s going on in his head. He likes the dress on me, would like it even more off me.
    “Beautiful.”
    Hearing that word from him about me makes me feel beautiful.
    Logan is taking me to dinner at The Harbor, which is where Mitch works. When we arrive, a quiet table in a corner has been reserved for us. Wine is served, meals are ordered, and then Logan’s focus narrows to me.
    “The chef here is married to your friend?”
    I don’t remember mentioning that. “Yeah, how did you know?”
    “When I called to make the reservations, the receptionist turned very chatty.”
    “More so because it was you on the line, I’m sure.”
    His grin is his only response.
    “Mitch is the chef and, yes, he’s married to Gwen.”
    “You, Gwen, and Tommy have been friends a long time.”
    “And Josh, you can’t forget Josh. We’re all only children, and found what we didn’t have from siblings with each other. What about you? Any longtime childhood friends you left when you moved here?”
    “No, but I have two brothers who live in Manhattan.”
    “Are you close?”
    “Very.”
    “Older or younger?”
    “One of each.”
    “Are they like you?”
    “Meaning?”
    “Hot.”
    Speaking of hot, I’m nearly scorched from the heat of his pointed stare. “I’m hardly the judge as to whether my brothers are hot, but we all look very much alike.”
    “So that’s a yes. Your poor parents. Do they live in Manhattan too?”
    “No, they’re in Scotland.”
    “Really? Moved there or are they from there originally?”
    “Originally, lived here for a time, but they prefer home.”
    “And you, when did you come here?”
    “A long time ago. What about you? You never mention your parents.”
    The change of subject isn’t lost on me, but I move on. “We aren’t close. That sounds so generic. The truth is my parents didn’t want kids. I happened and they dealt, but not well. For the longest time I thought there was something wrong with me that kept them at a distance. It was Frank who finally got through to me that my parents’ indifference stems from something missing in them.
    “I’d watch my friends with their families, the closeness, the desire to be together and I can’t lie, it hurt that I never had that until Frank. And even with Frank, there were just some things I didn’t get to experience.”
    “Like what?”
    “It’s silly but I always wanted to go on a family vacation. I didn’t need Europe or South America, but somewhere that wasn’t home, where we could be tourists together. Even watching movies in our room, in a place that wasn’t home, would have been fun.”
    “Did you ever tell them that?”
    “I did,