Everyone Shipped Me With The Wrong Man

To Logan, this show was probably nothing more than a strategic PR move to smoothly wrap up his marriage.

Outside, the snow was falling.

Logan was tall, with sharp, chiseled features. He was leaning one hand against the counter as he prepped steak.

The domestic vibe was palpable.

I snapped a photo of his back and posted it to Instagram, ticking off the mission from the production team.

Once we finished eating, Logan didn't even let me touch the dishes.

He cleared them up efficiently, washed his hands, and started making the bed for me.

There was only one bed.

He said he'd take the floor.

"Does the injury on your waist need fresh bandages?" I asked.

"I can manage," Logan replied.

By the time I showered and stepped out of the bathroom, a thin makeshift bed was already laid out on the floor.

Logan was rummaging through his suitcase, pulling out a fresh roll of long bandage.

I instinctively averted my eyes and pulled out my phone.

A voice note from Eddie popped up.

My hands were still damp from the shower, and my finger slipped, hitting play on speakerphone.

Eddie had seen my Instagram post.

"Since when do you eat steak? By the way, I happened to be passing by that bakery you mentioned, so I picked up that cake you wanted."

That was the cake I had asked for on my birthday last year, but he hadn't bought it for me then.

I had waited so long, and now that he finally bought it, it was solely to maintain his doting-husband persona for the cameras.

I stared down at my screen.

Then, a shadow fell over me as Logan blocked out the overhead light.

"Can you help me?" He was holding the roll of bandage.

Didn't he just say he could manage?

To dress the wound and wrap the bandage, my arms weren't quite long enough. I had to loosely circle my hands around his torso.

In this northern rental apartment, the heating was weak. The bitter chill of snow mixed with rain seeped through the cracks of the old house.

It was freezing. Yet, Logan and I meticulously maintained our distance.

My fingertips touched nothing but the fabric of the bandage. He kept his face turned away, staring blankly at the wall.

It was nothing like that year in our rental apartment down south. That place had been stiflingly hot, completely cut off from the world.

It was hot, but we had clung to each other over and over again, consuming one another as if there were no tomorrow.

The tungsten bulb flared to life. Logan and I were standing directly beneath it.

During our poorest, most hopeless year, we couldn't even afford to replace a lightbulb. We used whatever still worked.

That old tungsten bulb had been repaired countless times, always flickering and buzzing in the dead of night.

Back then, an 18-year-old Logan had told me, "Every time it hums, it means I'm thinking of you."

That night, the tungsten light hummed incessantly.

I looked up at Logan. "Did you not fix it properly just now?"

He froze for a fraction of a second, then looked down, holding my gaze. "No. I did it on purpose."

"Why?" I asked.

"If I fixed it, you wouldn't hear it humming."

I froze for a second.

He took the remaining bandage from my hands and deftly tied it off himself.

"Alisson," he called my name. "Do you prefer steak or cake?"

A person should always be honest when it came to food.

"Steak."

The livestream chat exploded.

"Alright, time for me to go eat crap."

"This awkward, deliberate boundary-pushing vibe… Something is definitely up."

"Oh, Logan just turned off the lights."

"Is there something my premium VIP membership isn't allowed to see?"

In reality, nothing happened.

Logan wrapped himself in a thin blanket and slept on the floor while I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to drift off.

The bed was just too loud. Every time I tossed or turned, it groaned and creaked.

I used to complain to him about it back in the day. But those complaints were always followed by an exasperated plea. "Logan, don't be so… Hold back a little."

We used to go all night when we were young.

Now, with every shift of my weight, the frame let out a loud creak.

I wasn't the only one remembering that.

Logan threw off his blanket, dressed only in a thin gray T-shirt, and walked out into the hallway. He then pulled the door shut behind him with a crack.