“Not even a little bit. But a rotten diva with her own talk show? Absolutely.”
His deep chuckle sends chills through my body, and I resolve to make him laugh more.
“Does your team have everything ready for this Saturday? It’ll be here before we know it.”
He scratches his chin. “I think so. I already told you about the harebrained idea they came up with today. There’s no telling what they have for me tomorrow. They can be pretty creative.”
“Well, now. I don’t think it’s harebrained. I would have put at least twenty bucks down on trying to dunk you.”
His fierce scowl only makes him more attractive. “Maybe I'll have them put it back on the schedule and volunteer you instead.”
“You'd have to physically carry me there. I'd cling to you like a barnacle.”
His brows shoot up. “Deal, Grill Sergeant! I'll personally escort you.”
“Logan, I swear to god. Stop calling me that,” I growl through clenched teeth.
“Nope.” His eyes twinkle as he takes another swig of beer, as if he’s daring me into action.
We stare at each other for a prolonged moment, and he edges closer, his gaze shifting to an intensity I’ve never seen before. My lips part and my chin tilts up, hoping beyond hope for another kiss. His head drops until his mouth hovers just above mine. His breath brushes my cheeks, and I close my eyes in anticipation.
“I’m hungry.”
Violet’s announcement yanks us from our little world and we jump apart.
“Dinner’s almost ready, sweetpea,” Logan replies, his voice strangled.
Cookie eyes me with her judgy doggy squint. I’ve seen it a million times, and yet, this time its making me squirm. The ungrateful turd.
Logan clears his throat and turns to the grill, flipping the steaks with more force than necessary. “Yeah, we better get this food on the table.”
I take a large gulp of wine, hoping it will calm my racing heart. Every time Logan gets close to me, I feel like a hormonal teenager again, all flustered and breathless. It's ridiculous.
In minutes, we’re all seated around the large wooden table. The steaks are perfectly cooked, the potatoes are crispy on the outside and fluffy inside, and everything tastes amazing. But I keep stealing glances at Logan seated across from me.
“Uncle Logan,” Violet says as she chews a mouthful of potato, “can Cookie sleep over tonight?”
Logan pauses mid-chew and looks at me. “I don't think?—”
“Please?” Violet's eyes go wide and pleading. “She's my best friend.”
Cookie, who has been lying at Violet's feet throughout dinner, hoping for scraps, lifts her head and lets out a small whine as if reinforcing the request.
I bite my lip, glancing between Logan and Violet. Part of me wants to say yes immediately. Cookie clearly adores Violet, and the feeling is mutual. But letting my dog sleep over at his house feels intimate in a way I can't quite pinpoint.
“It's up to Heather,” Logan says carefully, his eyes meeting mine. There's something in his eyes I can't quite read. “Cookie's her dog.”
“I mean...” I hesitate. “Cookie’s not picky where she sleeps and she does love to snuggle under a blanket.”
“Yay!” Violet bounces in her seat.
“Wait, I didn't say yes yet.” I hold up a hand, laughing. “Let me think about it for a second. Your uncle and I both have to work tomorrow, and you have school.”
But even as I say it, I know what my answer will be. Because Cookie's nub of a tail is wagging furiously under the table, Violet's face is bright with hope, and there’s something molten in Logan’s gaze that makes my insides turn gooey.
“Okay,” I finally say. “But just for tonight. And you have to promise to take good care of her.”
“I promise!” Violet jumps out of her chair and throws her arms around my waist. The hug is so fierce and unexpected that I nearly knock over my wineglass.
