Logan leans down, and I close my eyes instinctively. The first touch of his lips against mine is soft, just a whisper of contact, warm breath mingling in the cold air between us.
And then something shifts.
The kiss deepens, his mouth pressing more firmly against mine, no longer hesitant but purposeful. My hands find his coat lapels, clutching the fabric as I rise slightly on my toes to meet him.Logan makes a sound low in his throat, and his other arm wraps around my waist, drawing me closer until I'm flush against him.
I forget we're in public. I forget this is supposed to be practice. I forget everything except the taste of him.
When we finally break apart, we're both breathing harder than before. Logan's pupils are dilated, his expression stunned, as if he's been hit by something unexpected.
"That..." he says, voice rough, "didn't feel fake."
Reality crashes back with humiliating speed. Didn't feel fake because I got carried away. Because I treated a simple practice kiss like it was something real.
"Sorry," I murmur, stepping back slightly, mortified heat flooding my cheeks. "I got a little... I mean, it's been a while, and I—"
"No," Logan interrupts, still looking slightly dazed. "Don't apologize. That was..." He trails off, running a hand through his hair. "That was good. Convincing."
Convincing. Right. Because that's what this is about, convincing other people. Not the fact that my knees feel like they might give out, or that I can still taste him on my lips, or that for one brief, delusional moment, I forgot this wasn't real.
We start walking again. There's a tension in his shoulders that wasn't there before. I've made him uncomfortable. I've crossed a line. I've revealed too much.
I keep my eyes on the snowy sidewalk ahead, mentally cataloging all the ways I've just embarrassed myself.
When we reach the corner of Pine and Main, Logan finally breaks the silence. "We should go on a date tonight."
I look up at him, startled. "What?"
"A date," he repeats, clearing his throat. "To make our story more believable. If we're going to convince people we're together, we should be seen... you know, together. Properly."
"Oh. Right." I nod, trying to ignore the ridiculous flutter of disappointment. Of course that's all he means. "That makes sense."
"I'll pick you up at seven? After your shift?" There's something different in his tone, a hint of hesitation that doesn't match the confident lieutenant everyone knows.
"Seven works," I agree, mentally calculating how much time that gives me to panic and change outfits approximately twelve times.
"Great." Logan smiles, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. He seems distracted, almost unsettled. "I should get back to the station. Paul will send out a search party if his coffee doesn't show up soon."
"And I should get back to work before Marco burns something," I say, attempting lightness. "He's not allowed to touch the ovens unsupervised."
Logan nods, releasing my hand slowly, almost reluctantly. "I'll see you tonight, then."
"Tonight," I echo, already missing the warmth of his touch despite my best efforts not to.
I watch him walk away, his broad shoulders disappearing around the corner toward the fire station. Only when he's completely out of sight do I let out the breath I've been holding, reaching up to touch my lips with trembling fingers.
Chapter 3 – Logan
"Price, are you even listening?" Paul's voice cuts through my mental fog. He's standing in the station kitchen, arms crossed, waiting for a response to a question I didn't hear.
"Sorry, Chief. What was that?" I straighten up from where I've been staring at the same incident report for fifteen minutes without reading a single word.
Paul narrows his eyes. "I asked if you finished the equipment inventory from yesterday's training. Twice."
"Right. Almost done." A complete lie. I haven't even started it.
Paul studies me for a beat too long, that penetrating look he gets when he's deciding whether to press an issue. "Get it to me by end of shift," he finally says, mercifully letting it go.
As he walks away, I drop my head into my hands. I'm supposed to be reviewing safety protocols, not replaying a kiss that's carved itself into my muscle memory like it's trying to rewrite my DNA.
