His expression changed then—not dramatically, but enough for me to see the sentence reach him.
The waitress brought our coffee.
Logan wrapped both hands around his cup.
“Chelsea thinks you have money you never told us about.”
I said nothing.
“She said the notices could only happen if you had some kind of account or trust.”
“I have savings.”
“How much?”
“That’s not the question.”
“It is to me.”
“No.
The question is why you believed I was entitled to keep financing your life after you made it clear I wasn’t welcome in it.”
His mouth opened, then closed.
The café noise filled the space between us.
Finally, he said, “I didn’t know.”
“I know.”
“I didn’t know you felt that way.”
“You knew enough to look away.”
He sat with that.
When we left, Logan offered to drive me home.
“I’ll take a cab,” I said.
