Full Strength

Fourteen-Lillian ❤️‍🩹

Yesterday, I hadn't hidden. I'd truthfully needed to work on Logan's present. Today, I was hiding. Officially.

We'd woken up on the couch together, curled up under my plaid blanket. Logan had accidentally hooked one arm around my waist, letting me sleep against his other arm. I'd been horribly confused when I'd opened my eyes to see the living room, then mortified.

I was never trained for what to do if you accidentally end up snuggling your patients. So there was a lot of blundering apologies and hasty unwrapping of blankets. Mentally, I'd given myself a hard kick in the pants. It was so unprofessional, so undignified. Wildly inappropriate on the job. Logan had insisted that it was no big deal, and not to worry about it, but that went against my very nature.

         Ever since then, I'd hidden. Logan had attempted to return things to normal, but I'd made an effort not to see him today. I'd made breakfast for us, then locked myself in my room. I could hear Logan if he called for me, or he could always text me, but otherwise it was like we weren't in the same house.

          My distraction was working on his Christmas present. I spent most of the day stitching the tiny Wave jersey from felt, since my skills were extremely limited. Either it was my skills, or I was subconsciously procrastinating in order to avoid Logan.

        It was already dark again by the time I looked up, but that happened earlier every day thanks to it being winter. I set down the felt and the needle, realizing my hands were stiff and tense. Flexing my fingers, I looked out the window. It was dark out, the frost on the window pane illuminated by the lanterns lining the path to Logan's backyard patio.

The knock on my bedroom door scared me half to death. Logan, who was mostly immobile, had not been knocking much lately. Dread filled me; was he draped across the hall floor, withering in agony? I yanked open the door, the possibilities terrifying.

To my bigger shock, it was someone standing up, looking down at me. It took me a second to register him as Graham, who I had not expected and how had he gotten in the house?

He bowed. "I've been instructed to give this to you," he said, handing me a long, black bag meant for an outfit. "If you have no other obligations tonight, Mr. Kingston has invited you to dinner at seven."

        Dumbfounded, I took the bag. "Um...okay. Where?"

        "The dining room," Graham said, giving me a weird look that said obviously Logan couldn't drive. Silly me.

        I still hesitated, not shutting the door. "Um, does he need any help? Like cooking or anything?"

        He grinned. "It's kind of weird to help make a dinner you were invited to, Lillian."

         "I'm just saying-"

        "We have everything under control," Graham assured me.

         "Okay," I said, still not totally convinced. "Thank you. I accept his invitation."

        Graham winked and shut the door, clearly off to assist Logan with shenanigans such as dinner. I really hoped he'd just ordered takeout, but I got the feeling there was cooking involved. Setting the bag on the bed, I unzipped it and peeled away the fabric.

         "Oh," I breathed, lifting it up by the sleeves. It was a beautiful thing, sparkling in the dim light of my lamp. It was pale pink, with shimmering sheer sleeves and a flared skirt that came just above the knees. Checking the tag, I found that it was my size. I couldn't decide how creepy that was. I would have to ask.