What the hell did I do? What could he possibly be saying to her?
Jessica nodded her head at his words. “Yes, not a problem, Mr. West. Good-bye.”
I looked over at her, surprised at her tone and the sudden use of Mr. West instead of Logan. Whatever he said to her, she was now talking like an actual teacher and not some enamored schoolgirl.
She held the phone to me, her face flushed. As soon as I took it, she walked out and I heard her tell Oliver to have a great weekend.
“Yeah?” I asked, confused.
“Cassandra, please, don’t make me beg. I really need your help. Tell me you’ll watch Oliver.”
“Quick question first, why not let him go to Jessica’s house? She is his teacher after all; you should trust her more than me. Not that I’m untrustworthy, but she seemed overly eager to make dinner for you. I’m sure you’d have a wonderful time.” I grinned imagining his expression at my taunting words.
“I have no interest in having dinner with my son’s teacher. And Oliver likes you as does Julia and most of this town. That says a lot. And about that meal,” his voice grew huskier, “if you’d like to prepare dinner for us, I’d be delighted to have a taste.”
I rolled my eyes, but a smile pulled at my lips despite myself. “I’ll watch Oliver but there will be no meal, at least not for you.”
“That’s a shame; those muffins you made were delicious. I’ve been looking forward to the next treat you have planned for me.” His voice grew smoother, deeper. I could picture that annoying, seductive smirk of his.
“Good-bye, Logan.”
He chuckled. “I’ll be there soon and Cassandra, thank you.” I heard him hang up as soon as the words left his mouth.
My stomach flipped. His words were sincere, genuine, and I couldn’t help smiling as I placed the phone back on the receiver.
“All right Oliver, looks like you’re coming over to my house for a while.” I stepped into the hall and Oliver stood up, worry marring his brow.
“Is my daddy okay?”
“Yes, of course. He’s just stuck in traffic. What do you say we go back to my house and find a game to play?”
Oliver nodded, taking my hand, and following me out of the building.
By the time we arrived at my house Oliver had convinced me he wanted to make blueberry muffins. Dropping his book bag on my couch, we went straight to the kitchen. I smiled as he pushed a chair across the floor to the sink and climbed up to wash his hands. I did the same, and then began handing him the ingredients from the cupboards.
Oliver dumped everything into a bowl after I measured it out and with a giant grin, he began mixing. Flour covered his hands as well as some blueberry juice. With Oliver’s help, the batter was mixed and poured into muffin tins ready for baking less than thirty minutes later. Pushing two pans inside the oven, I turned around assessing the room.
Flour was scattered around the countertop and floor. Oliver followed my gaze laughing.
“It’s a mess in here,” he said, grinning as he grabbed a handful of blueberries left in a bowl.
“You’re pretty messy as well.”
Flour had somehow been wiped across his brow and through his curly hair.
“I’ll help you clean,” he said, jumping down from the chair, blueberries still in his hand. As soon as his feet hit the floor, a blueberry hit the back of my arm.
“Hey!” I yelled turning to face him, my hands crossed over my chest. “Are you trying to start a food fight in my kitchen, Oliver?” My voice stern.
He stilled, eyes growing wide with nerves. “Um—”
“Because I’ll win!” I reached for a handful of blueberries and raced toward him.
He took off running, grabbing the entire bowl, and sneaking around the side of the kitchen table.
I ducked as he threw one after another missing more times than not. I managed to get a few good shots in which caused him to burst into a fit of giggles.
As I pounced to the side of the table, Oliver raced around me and grabbed the bag of remaining flour from the counter.
I held up my hand. “Don’t do anything you might regret now.” I giggled.
“Daddy says you should never have regrets.” With those words, he flung the bag in his hands up and down. Flour rained over me so I dove under the table to hide.
With a heavy laugh, adrenaline seeped from my body. It’d been too long since I’d had so much fun and I had never had a food fight before, especially not in my grandmother’s kitchen.
“It looks like Oliver wins.” My breath caught as the familiar smooth voice filled the cloudy air.
I looked up from under the table to find Logan leaning against the kitchen doorway, arms crossed over his chest wearing an amused smirk.
“I always win!” Oliver said as I crawled out, adjusting my rumpled skirt and stained top.
“You always win, huh?” I asked, avoiding eye contact with his father.
“Yeah, Uncle Jax tries but I win every time.”
Uncle Jax? How many West siblings were there?
I laughed, slowly glancing up to Logan. To my surprise, he was staring at his son, smiling.
Logan’s gaze traveled from Oliver, back to me. “So, are there muffins to be eaten or are you wearing them all?”
I looked down, wondering how badly I looked when Oliver spoke. “They’re cooking right now. Can we wait till they’re done?” he asked, with big hopeful eyes.
“Sorry, but I need to get some work done at home and you need a bath,” Logan replied warmly. His tone to his son was something entirely new, soft and gentle.
“I’ll bring them over when they’re done.” I chimed in, looking down at Oliver. “All right?”
Oliver nodded. “All right, but don’t forget.”
I laughed. “I won’t, I promise. Don’t forget your backpack.”
Oliver walked past his father into the living room leaving us alone.
“I forgot to ask over the phone. Does he have any allergies?”
Logan’s eyes held mine, his smile melting away into a serious line. He looked almost confused at my question. His eyes suddenly brightened after a fleeting moment. “No, no allergies.”
His expression grew lighter, amused. My brows scrunched when he leaned in and slid his thumb over my cheek. I stilled, my breath caught, stomach rolling, and wild heat racing through me.
He pulled back and I noticed the blueberry his thumb collected. My cheeks blazed as his eyes locked with mine and his lips parted. Sucking the blueberry from the pad of his thumb, he smiled.
“Delicious.”
My tongue darted out unconsciously wetting my lips. His smile grew, watching me with intent eyes.
“Got it!” Oliver said, appearing beside me.
Swallowing loudly I looked down at the small boy who took a giant whiff of the fresh baked smell seeping from the oven.
“Don’t forget to bring them over later,” Oliver said, seriously.
“I won’t,” my voice cracked.
“Bye.” Oliver waved taking Logan’s hand. I shut both my screen and solid wood door, after a quick wave, and without another word to his father.
My body slumped against the door and let my head fall softly back as I let out a heavy sigh. Heat racked my body and I knew only two things would help, and giving into Logan was not an option. That left me pushing off from the door, heading into the kitchen to watch the muffins cook while I fantasized about all the dirty things Logan could have done to me in the tiny room. The moment my stove beeped, I pulled out the pans, resting them on the top of the racks covering the counter, and headed into the bathroom for a cool shower.