Avery steps toward him, weary of the butterflies floating in her stomach, a feeling that seems ever present in Logan’s presence. He puts both of his hands on her cheeks, in a possessive manner that she has truly come to love in the past few weeks.
"We are going to prove each other wrong, Avery. Understand?"
She nods her head in agreement before his mouth swoops down for a melding of their lips.
His kiss unleashes a part of her she had long forgotten existed. The feeling of passion Avery had so long ago pushed aside comes barreling forth, and it takes all her strength to keep from pushing Logan toward the bed. Instead, she wraps her arms around his neck, bringing her body closer to his, and mingles her tongue against his. A growl releases deep in Logan's throat and she knows if they continue, their plans for the day will vanish into air.
Reluctantly pulling her lips from his, Avery works to level her breathing. Closing his eyes, Logan bends his head forward, resting his forehead against hers.
"You do something to me, Avery. I lose control of everything when you kiss me."
"I'm sorry," she whispers.
"Don't be sorry, baby. It's not a bad thing. It's a feeling I've never had before. We have something special, something incredible."
"You think so?"
Leaning back and cocking his eyebrow, he says, "You don't?"
"Oh, I do.
I've never felt anything remotely close to how I feel when we're together. I'm just surprised you said something about it. I didn’t get the impression that you were the type."
"Well get ready to be surprised, a lot."
A cocky smile spreads across his face and Avery feels herself swooning.
Damn that smile.
Logan walks her to her car and promises to pick her up in two hours, though mentioned after another heated kiss against her car.
Back at her apartment, she takes the letter and information left from her grandmother and places it on her desk. With shaking hands she opens the paper containing her father's name and address:
Joseph Connelly
1255 Blue Mountain Way
Carson, NC
OMG! He lives here! In this town? What are the chances that my escape would bring me closer to my father?
Exasperatedly running her hands through her hair, Avery can't seem to grasp the fact that her father lives here. She contemplates back and forth with herself as to whether or not she wants to look him up. Her initial reaction was to open a search on the internet, when she suddenly stands from her chair in complete disgust, closing the screen on the laptop.
If I'm going to do this, then I am going to do it in person. And I'm not even sure that face-to-face is something I can handle.
Growing up, she never took the time to ask many questions about her father. She asked her mother once why her father didn’t live with them. Her mother’s response was to snarl and slap her across the face before sending her back to work. From that moment on, she never asked another question about him.
Mila, on the other hand, gave her as much information as she could after overhearing a conversation between Avery’s mother and grandmother. From what Mila had gathered, he was older than Avery’s mother, much older. Growing up, she had been completely disgusted because her mother had gotten pregnant with her at fifteen. But knowing now what she did about her mother, Avery wasn’t the least surprised. She’d seen pictures of her mother at fifteen: she had looked much closer to thirty in age. Mila had also learned that Avery’s mother had met her father at a bar. From that conversation, Avery learned two things: One, that her father would have had no idea that her mother was nowhere close to the age she claimed and two, she was the product of a one-night-stand.
Conversations about her father never continued, and as a child, Avery never thought to ask more. Eventually, any thought of her father left her consciousness and she never thought about him again - until this letter.
Needing to think about anything else, Avery strips and moves into the bathroom and turns on the water. Stepping into the scalding spray, she lets the rivulets wash away all of her unwanted thoughts. The tension slowly releases from her body and she can feel a sense of calm wash over her with the water. Avery fills her loofa with soap and runs the soft cushion over her heated skin. As she shampoos and conditions her hair, she luxuriates in the feel of her fingers massaging her scalp. Rinsing herself off completely, she steps from the shower into the steam-filled bathroom.
Avery wipes the mirror clean with her hand and gazes at her haunted reflection in the glass. She questions if she’s ready to move forward with Logan – if she’s willing to risk pummeling into a deep and dark hole of despair if she loses him, too. But Avery immediately knows her answer when she envisions Logan; in her mirrored reflection, there is lightness in her eyes. He sparks something in her that had so long ago been buried deep within.
Blow drying her hair quickly, not realizing how long she had spent in the shower, Avery braids it over her shoulder in a fishtail design to keep it out of her way. The fall weather is a bit cooler here than in Savannah, so she tugs on a pair of dark wash jeans and a burgundy sweater, the color bringing out the blue of her eyes, then pairs the ensemble with brown leather knee-high boots. Back in the bathroom, Avery applies a little bit of makeup, something she hasn't done in ages, but she doesn't need to sit and wonder why that is. She knows it's because she wants to impress Logan.
Soon a knock sounds on the apartment door and Avery tries not to rush to answer, but she can barely contain herself. Looking through the peephole, a cautious measure, Avery swings open the door to gape at the handsome man waiting on the other side. Logan pairs a cream-colored, long-sleeve shirt with dark wash jeans and distressed brown boots. His hair is a disheveled mess, which she adores, and his hazel eyes glisten in amusement. Reaching forward, he uses his finger on her chin to close her mouth, and being bold, he uses the tip of his thumb to wipe away a collection of moisture that had congregated at the corner of her mouth.