One brow raises. “Pretty sure two guys moving your junk doesn’t count as a full schedule.”
“Bold words from a guy whose job is literally to glide on ice and get hit in the face.”
His mouth twitches. “Difference is, I get paid for it.”
I sigh loudly, pressing a hand to my chest. “Wow. And here I thought you played hockey for the love of the game. Silly me.”
His eyes narrow just a fraction. “Love doesn’t keep the lights on, Parnell.”
A low hum rolls across my lips. “Mm. Funny, most people turn themoffwhen they’re doing the love thing.”
Logan goes still for a beat, jaw ticking to grind back a response.
I grin wider, pleased at the tiny crack in his armor. This is our rhythm—him trying to be stoic, me refusing to let him.
Betty claps her hands suddenly, making us both jump. “Finally! He actually speaks. Eight months across the street, and this is the first conversation I’ve heard. I assume you know this beautiful creature, Mr. Miller?”
Logan’s eyes shoot to mine. “Unfortunately,” he says at the same time I chirp, “Of course.”
Betty’s grin widens. “Well, why the heck aren’t you datinghimthen? Man’s got thighs that could crack a walnut, Sugarplum. Don’t waste that sort of gift.”
My jaw drops, and Logan slowly blinks, caught for once without a comeback.
The movers snicker, and the tall one mutters, “Guess we’re out of the running for pizza night.”
Logan’s head swivels toward them, slow and lethal. “Pizza night?”
“Just, uh…” The winky one clears his throat. “Offering to help her unpack.”
Logan doesn’t even bother disguising the skepticism in his tone. “Right.”
The word curls maddeningly low in my stomach, because I know exactly why he’s bristling. Eli would’ve told him tokeepan eye on me, like I’m still the little sister who needs protecting instead of a grown woman who can manage her own damn life. I can practically see the calculation in Logan’s head: harmless flirtation versus duty to my overbearing brother.
“Relax, Miller.” I roll my eyes, but my pulse betrays me. “They were just being nice.”
His eyes flick back to mine again, so damn sure, and the zing that shoots through me is both infuriating and impossible to ignore.
“Sure they were.”
Betty chortles, and I turn around abruptly, shuffling boxes just to have something to do with my hands, but the thought won’t let go. I hate the idea of being supervised, like I’m a kid with training wheels. And yes, I know Eli’s protectiveness comes from love, but it’s suffocating. I don’t want a babysitter. And I definitely don’t want Logan Miller playing that role.
The movers reappear at the door, mumbling excuses about another job, and I wave them off, secretly relieved because the last thing I need is them trying to flex harder under Logan’s stormy glare. Which is when I realize they haven’t moved my floor-length mirror in, and it’s still propped up against the porch railing.
“Guess I’ll drag it in myself,” I mutter, tilting my head as I eye it, weighing up the dimensions.
Before I can bend to grab it, Logan’s bag thuds onto the porch floorboards. “You’ll scratch the frame if you try that alone.”
I blink. “Was that an offer to help?”
He doesn’t answer, just grabs one end.
“Wow,” I say, wrapping my fingers around the other side. “Chivalry isn’t dead after all. It just lives across the street and glares a lot.”
“Less talking, Parnell. Stairs.”
“Don’t drop it!” Betty sing-songs as she watches us, utterly unbothered. “It’ll be hard to explain the seven years of bad luck when you two inevitably get married.”
Logan’s jaw flexes. I bite down a grin.
