He moved his hand, holding his phone away from me. "No," he warned. "I'm gonna watch this video. You wait, I'm gonna be the best damn pepper cutter-upperer you've ever met."

I rolled my eyes. "I could've done it by now." I tried to remove the peppers from the board in front of him but he slapped my hands away. "No, that's not the point. I need to learn to do this stuff."

Giggling, I crossed my arms and lifted my chin. "Why? Why is learning to cut peppers so damn important?"

"I don't know." His shoulders lifted. "You shouldn't always be cooking. It's time I learn this shit. What if you're pregnant and too tired to cook, or whatever?"

I heard Alan's intake of breath. We both turned to him. His eyes bugged out of his head. "I'm not!" I assured him, at the same time as Logan said, "She's not."

He breathed out a sigh of relief before taking a swig of his beer. He pointed the bottle at me before placing it on the counter. "You should know by now that Logan needs to do things his way. He needs to learn the specific details of everything he does, overanalyze things. That's the way his brain works."

"See? Even Dad knows that about me." He looked down at his phone, frantically typing. "Geez, Amanda. What kind of future wife are you?"

Alan gasped again.

Logan laughed at him. "That one I said just to mess with you."

Logan

"You guys know I can cook other meals apart from Taco Casserole, right?"

Dad and I glanced at each other before glaring at her. "What is wrong with you?" I only half teased, but the words were muffled by the mouthful of the greatest tasting food in the entire fucking word.

"I make a really mean pot roast," she declared.

I huffed out a sigh and turned my body to her. "Baby, quit it. You're ruining this moment."

Her eyes narrowed at me. "What moment?" I motioned with my eyes to the plate of food in front of me. "You're kidding right?" She laughed out. "You're having a moment with food?"

Dad's chuckle caused us both to turn to him. "Sweetheart," he said to her. "I think he may love your food more than he loves you."

I mocked gasped loudly, and covered her ears with my hands. Sticking my nose in the air, I joked, "Father, not in front of the child." She scrunched her nose, and swatted my hands off of her. I lowered my voice and spoke in her ear, "Seriously, babe. I could never love anything more than you. Ever."

Her eyes lifted to glance quickly at my dad. She smiled a little, a blush creeping to her cheeks. I kissed her there, leaving a splatter of taco sauce. I chuckled as I wiped my mouth with a napkin, and then wiped her cheek. "What am I going to do with you? Honestly, I can't take you anywhere."

She turned her head and lifted her chin to face me. Her smile caught me off guard. Our eyes locked.

Then: Thump. Thump.

But it was different this time. Not nerves, or anxiety. It was like the world’s way of telling me that I was alive, and to pay attention, that the girl in front of me, the one who could make or break me, was here. But she did neither of those things. Instead, she healed me.

I love you, she mouthed. It made my thumping heart race, but in all the good ways.

I opened my mouth to speak, but her ringing phone cut us off.

"Sorry." She grimaced. "It's Ethan, I should get that." She stood. "I'm sure I told him I wasn't going to be home," she mumbled to herself before exiting the room.

Dad cleared his throat. I gave him my attention. "You seem happy."

"Of course I am," I said, a sudden cockiness returning. I began to count on my fingers. "One. I have my girl." I paused. "Two . . ." I trailed off. There was no two. Nothing else really mattered. Shrugging, I stated, "I have my girl. That's all."

His smile got wider. "And she doesn't just make you happy. She makes you whole?"

I nodded.

"And Ethan? He's okay with it now?" He must've known Ethan was the one to do the damage on me, but he never brought it up, never accused him. That's the thing with Dad; he always took a step back and waited for me to make my own choices, but he never pushed, he only ever encouraged. Like in seventh grade when I told him that I wanted to be doctor, he smiled, but all he said was, "If that's what you want, of course I'll support you, but you make sure you're doing it for you." I didn't get what he’d meant back then, but I get it now. He didn't want me doing it for him. Truth; in a way, I kind of was. I guess I wasn't doing it for him, but I did it because I wanted to be the kind of man he was. The kind of man who could give his life over to a complete stranger—a little boy who needed help—and not once expect a thank you for any of it. So I let the words flow out of me before I dared stop them. "Thank you, Dad." His eyes widened in surprise. "Thank you for never giving up on me, and for always being there. And understanding me better than anyone else. You've done all this stuff for me, and I can't—" My voice cracked. I cleared the knot in my throat. "I can't thank you enough, for all of it. Taking me in—"

He raised his hand to interrupt. "That's enough of that." I didn't miss the moisture that welled in his eyes. "You never have to thank me for anything, Logan. You may think I saved you, but to me, it was the other way around. You gave me a family when I thought I'd never have one. I'm so damn proud of you."