He points to the menu. “But she should order what she wants. Not what everyone else wants.” He looks down at me. “Don’t be stupid, Em. Read the f**king menu.”

Tears sting the backs of my lashes. “Let me up, Trip,” I say, motioning for him to move.

“Why?”

“Because I need to get up.” My voice cracks, and I hate that it does. “Move!” I shove him, and he gets up, stumbling back.

“Em, you’re being ridiculous,” he says. But it’s finally clear to him that he’s said enough.

I start to tick items off on my fingers. “First, I was stupid. Now I’m ridiculous. Do you want to keep going?” I put my hands on my hips and glare at him.

“Em,” he says. He shakes his head. “Whatever you ordered is fine.” He points to the chair. “I was just trying to help.”

I’m shaking, and I can’t stop. This isn’t the first time this has happened. But it’s the first time he’s done it in front of other people. I turn to walk out.

“Where are you going?” he calls to my retreating back.

“I’m leaving.”

He sits down. I can still hear him, though. “She’ll be back in a minute. Sorry, folks. Must be some pre-wedding jitters.”

Pre-wedding jitters my ass.

“Penny for your thoughts,” he says playfully.

“I was thinking about that night in the restaurant, the night before the wedding,” I admit.

“The night I f**ked it all up.” He reaches for me and I sidestep.

“Don’t touch me,” I say.

“Fine,” he bites out. “Just talk to me. We never did talk about that night. We never talked about why you left. Is this about you not being able to learn?” He tries to look like he cares, but I still don’t think he cares about me at all.

“I can learn.” I point a finger at my chest. “I am smart.”

“I know you’re smart. I’m sorry I ever said otherwise. I know how smart you are.”

I turn away from him. “You called me stupid. You did it in front of your friends.”

“I was drunk!” he says. He looks over his shoulder and calms himself. “Either way, don’t I get a pass for choosing the wrong word?”

“Do I get a pass for being dyslexic?” I ask.

“I put up with your dyslexia for a long time, Em,” he says.

“You put up with my dyslexia?” I can’t believe he just said that.

“You can’t even read a f**king menu, Em. It can get a little frustrating at times.” He smiles at me. But it’s one of those smiles that don’t reach his eyes.

“How do you think it feels being me, Trip? I’m the one who can’t read.”

“You won’t even try!” He points to his chest. “I was there that night too. You wouldn’t even look at the menu. You could have at least tried. That’s all I wanted you to do.”

“Logan never makes me look at the menu,” I shoot back. It’s terrible to use Logan as an example, but he is the example for all men. He’s what they all should be. He’s kind and considerate and smart as hell and talented. And he loves me.

“Logan probably can’t read one either.”

I gasp. “How dare you?”

“He’s deaf, Emily,” he grinds out. “How much lower can you go?” He shakes his head. “Or is that what you were going for? Someone more on your level?”

What is that supposed to mean? “Logan is everything that you will never, ever be.”

“Well, I hope I’m never deaf, all tattooed up, and poor.” He blows a breath out through his nose.

“I’m done with this conversation.”

He glares at me. “Apparently.”

“Find a place to live, Trip. And do it soon.”

He nods. “I’ll try.”

“Try harder.”

He nods at me again.

I leave Trip standing in the kitchen. As I’m walking back out to the living room, my bedroom door opens, and Logan steps out. I have to catch my breath at the sight of him. He’s wearing black trousers, a black turtleneck, and he has on a royal-blue button-down shirt with long sleeves that’s open at the throat. He’s not wearing a tie, and he doesn’t need one. Goodness, he looks like he just stepped off the cover of a magazine. He has a jacket thrown over his shoulder, hooked by his index finger.

He lifts the edge of his pants for me. “Are these socks too much?” he asks. He has on socks with multi-colored stripes. He grins.

I shake my head. “None of it’s too much.” I sweep my eyes from his head to his feet and back again. God, he’s handsome. “You look amazing.”

“I guess I clean up okay, huh?” he asks. He looks unsure of himself.

“Logan, you look fabulous,” my mom says. She claps her hands together like she’s at the theater.

My dad is looking down at his phone. “Can we leave now?”

Logan helps my mom into her coat and then helps me into mine. He leans down close to my ear as he spins me away from him. “You look good enough to eat.”

My heart leaps. So do you, I sign.

His brows arch. Don’t talk like that. I’m wearing some silk boxers your mom picked out. He adjusts his pants.

I grin at him. We get in the elevator, and he signs to me from the back. Are you all right? You look upset?