about Logan. It seemed to make things more exciting, adding to his
alluring air of mystery. She didn’t even know what he did for a living. She’d
tried to ask him on a couple of occasions, especially when he’d mentioned work—perhaps
telling her he had to be up early or apologizing for being late because
something came up with his job.
“What is it that you
actually do?” she'd ask.
He'd invariably reply, “Oh,
it’s very boring and complicated. It's not worth talking about,” or something
along those lines, then he'd give a little laugh and quickly change the
subject.
She assumed since they'd
be living together, she'd find out more about him. After all, she’d be there
when he left for work and when he came home. She'd see how he dressed when he left,
whether he carried a briefcase or any papers. Even if he chose to continue not
to tell her anything—which was his right—she might be able to make an educated
guess, based on her observations.
They couldn’t move all of
her things in one night. There was too much and she hadn’t been prepared, so
nothing was packed or organized. All of her clothes, kitchenware, bits and
pieces were still all over the place. Logan helped a little by putting things
into boxes and suitcases for her. Most of the time, he just stood by, sipping
on the beer she’d kept in her fridge for him. He also ordered her around in
that casual, laid back manner of his.
He'd say things like, “It’d
be better if you put the cups and the dishes together,” he told her lazily. “That
way, it'll be easier to unpack," and, "Maybe you should do your
clothes next.”
She didn’t mind him being
the director of operations. It had been a long time since she’d moved and she
didn’t have a clue where to begin. Sometimes it made things easier if one
person was in charge.
By ten o’clock, Logan was
bored and Charlotte was physically exhausted. They'd loaded up the van with
what she’d managed to pack so far. It was only about one quarter of her
belongings. Then they headed over to Logan’s house. This was the first time
she’d ever been there.
He lived in a very nice
area of Chicago, on a long residential street with wide pavements and large
front gardens. All of the homes were big and modern, so she knew his job must
pay well to afford to live in a place like this.
When they pulled into his
driveway, she gaped in amazement. It was a magnificent double story home on at
least half an acre, set well back from the road. It was protected by a tall
brick and wrought iron fence. As the automatic wrought iron gates slid open silently,
she turned to him.
“Oh my goodness! This is
beautiful! How much does this cost you to rent?” she blurted out without
thinking.
“I don’t rent it,
sweetheart,” he laughed. “I own it.”
Her eyes widened in
amazement. She'd a fairly decent job, yet she could only afford to rent her
apartment; her dream of owning her own home had to be put on the back burner,
in favor of establishing a more successful career and working her way up the
ladder. Now, she had to admit she was utterly fascinated about his job. She
wanted to know what he did to earn so much money. She bit her tongue, knowing how
much he hated her asking.
At least her imagined vision
of him pushing rows of collected shopping carts in a supermarket parking lot
had been well and truly been disabused.
Logan helped her unload
the various boxes and suitcases from the van, dumping them all down in the
living room, initially. The inside of the house was just as spacious and
impressive as the outside, if not more so. Plush, white leather sofas lined
each wall of the main room, situated at perfect angles to view the large
television screen that hung proudly above the fireplace. The décor was classy
and expensive, minimalist but with a warm tone.
She was pleased to see he
had good taste in home furnishings, as well as in the clothes he wore and the
neat way he combed his hair.
He's quite a
alluring air of mystery. She didn’t even know what he did for a living. She’d
tried to ask him on a couple of occasions, especially when he’d mentioned work—perhaps
telling her he had to be up early or apologizing for being late because
something came up with his job.
“What is it that you
actually do?” she'd ask.
He'd invariably reply, “Oh,
it’s very boring and complicated. It's not worth talking about,” or something
along those lines, then he'd give a little laugh and quickly change the
subject.
She assumed since they'd
be living together, she'd find out more about him. After all, she’d be there
when he left for work and when he came home. She'd see how he dressed when he left,
whether he carried a briefcase or any papers. Even if he chose to continue not
to tell her anything—which was his right—she might be able to make an educated
guess, based on her observations.
They couldn’t move all of
her things in one night. There was too much and she hadn’t been prepared, so
nothing was packed or organized. All of her clothes, kitchenware, bits and
pieces were still all over the place. Logan helped a little by putting things
into boxes and suitcases for her. Most of the time, he just stood by, sipping
on the beer she’d kept in her fridge for him. He also ordered her around in
that casual, laid back manner of his.
He'd say things like, “It’d
be better if you put the cups and the dishes together,” he told her lazily. “That
way, it'll be easier to unpack," and, "Maybe you should do your
clothes next.”
She didn’t mind him being
the director of operations. It had been a long time since she’d moved and she
didn’t have a clue where to begin. Sometimes it made things easier if one
person was in charge.
By ten o’clock, Logan was
bored and Charlotte was physically exhausted. They'd loaded up the van with
what she’d managed to pack so far. It was only about one quarter of her
belongings. Then they headed over to Logan’s house. This was the first time
she’d ever been there.
He lived in a very nice
area of Chicago, on a long residential street with wide pavements and large
front gardens. All of the homes were big and modern, so she knew his job must
pay well to afford to live in a place like this.
When they pulled into his
driveway, she gaped in amazement. It was a magnificent double story home on at
least half an acre, set well back from the road. It was protected by a tall
brick and wrought iron fence. As the automatic wrought iron gates slid open silently,
she turned to him.
“Oh my goodness! This is
beautiful! How much does this cost you to rent?” she blurted out without
thinking.
“I don’t rent it,
sweetheart,” he laughed. “I own it.”
Her eyes widened in
amazement. She'd a fairly decent job, yet she could only afford to rent her
apartment; her dream of owning her own home had to be put on the back burner,
in favor of establishing a more successful career and working her way up the
ladder. Now, she had to admit she was utterly fascinated about his job. She
wanted to know what he did to earn so much money. She bit her tongue, knowing how
much he hated her asking.
At least her imagined vision
of him pushing rows of collected shopping carts in a supermarket parking lot
had been well and truly been disabused.
Logan helped her unload
the various boxes and suitcases from the van, dumping them all down in the
living room, initially. The inside of the house was just as spacious and
impressive as the outside, if not more so. Plush, white leather sofas lined
each wall of the main room, situated at perfect angles to view the large
television screen that hung proudly above the fireplace. The décor was classy
and expensive, minimalist but with a warm tone.
She was pleased to see he
had good taste in home furnishings, as well as in the clothes he wore and the
neat way he combed his hair.
He's quite a
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