He takes another slow, deliberate slurp. “Real adults drink coffee.”
“Please.” I fold my arms. “Real adults know not to drink something that makes their breath smell like a tire fire.”
His mouth twitches, but he hides it behind his mug.
Dusty flops dramatically at my feet, clearly with me. “See?” I crouch to ruffle his ears. “Dusty’s on Team Matcha.”
“Dusty’s on whoever’s team will get him fed faster,” Logan mutters.
I roll my eyes and head for the bathroom for a shower, calling back over my shoulder. “Enjoy your dirt water.”
By the time I’ve showered and made it back into the kitchen, something new is waiting on the counter. A small metal tin with a glossy green label, sitting next to an express delivery bag. Matcha.
I blink. “You just… ordered this?”
He doesn’t look up from rinsing his mug. “Figured you’d want it.”
My brows lift. “Logan, I literally live across the street. I could’ve just gone home.”
“Yeah.” He shrugs, nonchalant. “But you’re here now. Might as well have some at both.”
My chest feels cracked open, air rushing into places I didn’t know were empty. His words shouldn’t do anything. It’s just a tin of tea powder, just a small purchase on a delivery app accompanied by a shrug. Other guys would’ve rolled their eyes, called me woo-woo, or made some crack about how high-maintenance I am.
Efficient. He’s always so damn efficient.
And I can’t stand it. Can’t stand how resolute he’s being when all I want is to shake him until that calm cracks.
So I lean against the counter, my smile slow and deliberate. “Careful,Pookie. This is dangerously close to boyfriend behavior.”
That gets his attention. His head snaps up, eyes narrowing. “It’stea.”
“It’s thoughtful,” I counter in a sing-song, watching his jaw tighten. “Pretty soon, you’ll be offering me drawer space and we’ll really be in trouble.”
A faint flush creeps up the back of his neck, and my grin sharpens. Got him.
He grunts, clearly refusing to take the bait, and tosses the delivery bag into recycling. “You want some or not?”
“Oh, Iwantsome,” I say sweetly, just to watch his ears go pink.
Dusty thumps his tail against the floor as I train my face to stay neutral and busy myself by making my matcha while Logan busies himself with the recycling, no doubt pretending I haven’t flustered him.
The knock comes ten minutes later when I’m mid-mug of matcha, and Logan’s already moving before I can set it down.
“Relax,” I say, catching up to him at the door. “It’ll be the plumber. Eli said he’d sort it.”
That makes him pause, hand hovering on the knob. “Eli knows you’re here?”
“Of course he knows.” I take a sip of my tea, casual as I can manage. “He called when I texted him to let him know what happened. Didn’t seem too freaked out.”
His brows knit, still weighing that, still not sure Eli wouldn’t storm down the block brandishing a hockey stick.
I grin, unable to help myself. “Relax, Pookie. It’s not like weslepttogether.”
His jaw ticks, eyes narrowing at the nickname. “Don’t call me that.”
That only makes my grin spread wider as he yanks the door open.
Two men in navy coveralls stand on the porch,PuroCleanstitched across their chests. One carries a clipboard, the other hefts a heavy orange dehumidifier.
