***
“You can’t stay here.” Tess stared at the stubborn frown on Logan’s face. He was paying more attention to his container of Chinese takeout than he was to her.
He sucked a noodle off his chopstick, then hunted for a pork ball in the Chow Mein.
“It’s bad enough that you’re here,” she growled. “It’s even worse that you got the China Inn to deliver takeout. To my home.”
“You didn’t offer to make me dinner. I was hungry.”
Tess couldn’t believe he was still sitting in her apartment. It was eight o’clock. She’d planned on having a long soak in a bubble bath. She would have washed her hair, painted her nails, then slept the night away.
“You can’t barge in and stay the night. I’ve got things to do.”
Logan took a sip of water. She refused to offer him anything else.
“I didn’t barge in.” He sounded as though he was having a rational conversation with someone who cared. Except she didn’t feel rational and she didn’t care. She wanted him gone before he poked and prodded into more of her life.
“You invited me in,” he continued in the same modulated tone.
It was beginning to grate on Tess’ nerves.
“I’ll leave as soon as you tell me why you’re working all hours of the day and night to help total strangers.”
Tess glared at him. “Have you ever heard of squatting? It’s when you stay somewhere you’re not welcome.”
Logan shook his head. Max, Sally’s dog from the shelter, had more manners than the man sitting at her kitchen counter.
“You’re being overly dramatic,” he insisted.
Tess crossed her arms. “If you don’t leave my apartment I’m going to tell your mom you overstayed your welcome.”
“You fight dirty.” The smile on Logan’s face told Tess he didn’t care diddly-squat about his mom knowing about his bad manners.
“You’re impossible.” She glanced at the other container of takeout sitting on the counter. Logan had ordered an extra Chicken Chow Mein. It was one of her favorite Chinese meals and the only thing she’d been able to smell for the last fifteen minutes. Her tummy rumbled.
Logan smiled and pushed the container toward her with the end of his chopstick.
She grabbed the box and opened the lid. “I’m only eating because it’s rude to waste good food.”
“Of course it is.” He was having trouble holding back the laughter in his voice.
Tess decided she’d ignore him while she ate her dinner. He was bad for her digestion and she wanted to enjoy every tasty mouthful.
She settled down on the kitchen stool as Logan pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. He touched a few buttons and the latest Michael Bublé song filled the apartment. All they needed was candlelight and a bottle of wine and they could have called their meal a date. Except this wasn’t a date. It was a takeout takeover.
They ate in silence. Michael Bublé continued to croon and Tess continued to simmer. By the end of her meal, she was beginning to feel slightly happier about Logan being in her apartment. But that was only because he had good taste in takeout and she didn’t need to do the dishes.
When Logan opened the bag he’d left in the fridge she almost forgave him his inadequacies. He’d ordered chocolate mousse for dessert. While he took two bowls out of the pantry, she found a tub of vanilla ice cream in her freezer.
He raised his eyebrows when she added a generous scoop to each bowl. “Ice cream is full of calcium. You’re getting old and need all the help you can get.”
“You know how to cut a man to shreds.” Logan split the chocolate mousse between the bowls and slid one to Tess.
“You don’t look too damaged to me.”
Logan focused on his bowl. “Looks can be deceptive,” he muttered.
Tess glanced at him. “Are you saying you’re damaged?”
“Slightly dented.”
Tess thought about what Logan had said. The problem with dents was that you tended to overcompensate so you didn’t get hurt again. And that wasn’t what life was all about.
She finished her dessert and rinsed her bowl. “I’m going to offer you coffee, but only because I want one.”
“Sounds reasonable.” Logan joined her at the sink and rinsed his bowl after she’d finished.
Now that they’d had something to eat, Tess was sure Logan wouldn’t stay the night. But even if she was wrong, she was getting too tired to care. She really needed to get some sleep. If he wasn’t gone by the time they’d finished coffee, she was going to bed and leaving him to make himself at home.
They sat in the living room, sipping coffee and dealing with whatever thoughts were spinning in their heads.
“Are you going to tell me why you’re a compulsive helper?” Logan asked.
“There’s nothing compulsive about my behavior.” Tess wasn’t sure she liked the word ‘compulsive’. It went hand in hand with obsessive, and she wasn’t like that either. “I help people because I can.”
“So do other people. But you don’t see them getting up at four thirty each morning to bake for the masses.”
“Everyone has different priorities. I know lots of people who get up early. Some write, some plan, some do yoga, and others run.” She glanced at Logan to make sure he got the message.
“Yeah, but I’ve got issues. You don’t.”
Tess held back the scoffing noise itching to break free.
Logan gave her an odd look. “What issues do you have?”
“If I told you, you’d think I was shallow.”
“Try me.”
“You’re clever, Logan Allen. You lull me into a warm fuzzy glow with Chinese takeout and Michael Bublé. Then you pounce on the information you wanted in the first place. Has anyone ever told you that you’d make a good reporter?”
Logan frowned. “The food was from necessity, the music because I thought you’d enjoy it. I asked the question because I’m worried about you.”
“Worried?”
“You look tired, you’re not sleeping and you’re always busy. When do you make time for yourself?”
Tess sighed. “That was supposed to be tonight. I was going to have a bath and paint my nails before I went to bed.”
“You want me to feel guilty?”
“I wanted you to go home.”
Logan looked hopeful. “Does speaking in past tense mean you’ve changed your mind?”
Tess glanced at his half full mug and smiled. “You can finish your coffee first.”
Logan looked down at his drink. “I can make it last all night.”
Tess always knew he was bone deep stubborn. What she’d completely missed was how single-minded he was. And she was tired. Too tired to dodge his questions. “Do you want the condensed version, or the longer, more twisted tale of woe?”
“I like a good story, so go for the long version.”
Tess frowned. “You can stay for an extra five minutes after I’ve answered your question.”
“What happened to an empty mug of coffee?”
“I changed my mind. It’s five minutes after my story ends, or your time’s up now.” Tess wanted to double check that he knew he was leaving and not making himself at home in her spare bedroom.
“All right. What if I want to ask a question?”
“One question and that’s it. Anything else waits until the next time I see you.”
He nodded and Tess tried to work out where she’d start. “My mom had a few issues.” That had to be the understatement of the year. Tess’ mom had been as reliable as a block of ice on a desert island. “I came to live with grandpa and grandma when I was thirteen. When I was fifteen, I was spotted by a talent agent and for the next ten years traveled around Europe, modeling the latest clothes to hit the catwalk.”
Logan waited for her to say something more. When she didn’t say anything, he frowned. “That’s it?”
Tess frowned right on back. “You wanted to know what issues
I’ve got. I told you, so now you can leave.” She didn’t know what Logan’s problem was. She’d given him what he’d asked for and he still looked as though he was ready to stay the night.
“Living with your grandparents and working in Europe don’t seem like issues to me.”
Tess crossed her arms. “They are if you consider everything else that happened. I developed trust and abandonment issues from my mom. I let people tell me what to do because I wanted them to be happy with me. My low self-esteem probably helped in my early modeling days. I’d do just about anything for my agent, including not eating. How’s that for issues?”
“It’s not a competition.”
“No, but they’re a complication. They color what I do and add more importance to things that shouldn’t matter. Angel Wings Café is my way of celebrating food. While I was modeling, I was careful about what I ate. What I looked like became more important than who I was. Providing meals for the Lighthouse Café is my way of helping other people feel special.”
“Where’s your mom now?”
“She died from a drug overdose when I was thirteen.”
Logan stared at her. “And your friend died from a drug overdose three years ago?”
Tess nodded. “I could have done more to help her.” She closed her eyes and remembered the Evie she’d met in New York twelve years ago. It was the first time either of them had been to a big city. Evie had been full of life and ready to take the world by storm.
It was still hard to think about the last time they’d seen each other.
“My psychiatrist would call that survivor’s guilt. You did the best you could. Your friend made choices that ultimately killed her.”
In her heart, Tess knew he was right. But that didn’t change what had happened. Four weeks before Evie died, Tess had known something was really wrong. They’d met in Paris before going to separate modeling contracts. Tess was flying to Milan and Evie to Los Angeles.
Evie had always been hypersensitive about her weight and what she looked like. But this time she’d been neurotic. She’d lost more weight and looked gaunt and hollow-eyed. She’d told Tess she was taking drugs. Her addiction had spiraled out of control. The boyfriend she’d raved about for months was giving her everything she needed, killing her one fix at a time.
Tess had tried to convince her to cancel her contract in Los Angeles and come to Milan with her. Evie had laughed and told her there was nothing to worry about. When she got back to New York, she was going to check into a drug rehab program.
It hadn’t happened. Christmas had come and gone and so had Evie.
Tess looked at her empty coffee mug. “Whether I did the best I could doesn’t matter. Evie died.” Tess thought about what had come next; the funeral, the police, the lies and the publicity that had changed her life. It had been one of the hardest times of her life.
Logan stretched his legs out and focused on his sneakers. “When I got to Afghanistan it was different than I thought it would be. I went there to tell the real story, to let the rest of the world know what was happening. But it wasn’t that easy. Everyone had their own reasons for telling part of the story. When I got home, I had an independent interpreter look at some of the interviews I’d done. One of the official interpreters consistently translated everyone’s words into things they hadn’t said. I’d been reporting on information that was based on lies.”
Tess rested her head against the sofa. “How did that make you feel?”
“As though most of what I’d done had been a waste of time. I blamed myself for not speaking fluent Pashto or Dari.”
“Did any of the reporters know how to talk to the Afghan people?”
“No. Most of the contracts were for six months so they didn’t see it as a high priority. The official interpreters were supposed to help us.”
Tess pulled her feet up beside her and turned to Logan. “What happened at the school you told me about the other day?”
“I don’t talk about it very often.”
Tess knew whatever had happened must have been traumatic. Logan looked tense and stressed. The knuckles on his hands had turned white around his coffee mug. “That’s okay. You don’t need to tell me.”
He took a deep breath and left his mug on the table. “I started a school with some soldiers not long after I arrived. The children in the village knew a few English words, but not a lot. We didn’t think it would do any harm, so we set up a roster and started classes. Three-quarters of the children that came to the school were girls. It was a big deal for them.”
Logan glanced at Tess. “Abiba was twenty-one years old and knew more English than anyone in the village. She loved coming to school to help the students. One day she arrived late, which was unusual for her. I’d taken some of the older students outside to pick up the supplies that had arrived from the States. Friends and family would send chalk, pens, paper and anything else they could get in boxes.”
He stopped talking and crossed his arms in front of his chest. But not before Tess saw how badly his hands were trembling. What he was about to tell her had shocked him beyond anything he’d known.
“Abiba was a suicide bomber. That morning we lost two soldiers and at least ten children. After the bomb exploded, the Army evacuated the village. The Taliban had targeted the school and everything around it.”
Tess rested her hand on his arm. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“Is that why you’re not sleeping?”
“Some of it.”
Tess didn’t know what to say. “What happened to the people that lived in the village?”
“Most left on their own. Others were taken to a refugee camp. The injured soldiers and children were airlifted to the nearest hospital.”
“And you came home?”
Logan nodded. “I couldn’t go back.”
Tess rubbed his arm. It wasn’t much, but she wanted him to know that she cared. She walked across to the pantry and took out her four o’clock pick-me-up treats.
“Sounds like we could both do with a sugar rush before you go home.” She sat down beside Logan and offered him a cookie.
A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “That’s the subtlest way of giving me my marching orders that I’ve ever heard.”
“I aim to please. But not as much as I used to.”
“Good for you,” Logan said as he bit into a bar. “At least one of us is learning to deal with their issues.”