A small balcony, barely big enough for a table and two chairs, is accessible from a glass door near where we sit. The times I’ve visited, it’s never been warm enough for me to utilize, but it faces the northwest, so I imagine it’s an ideal spot for watching the sunset with a drink in hand. On the other side of the condo is astraight iron staircase that stretches to the upstairs loft. It’s an open-concept bedroom with an enclosed bathroom—somewhat similar to my place in Minneapolis, only smaller.
“Thanks.”
“So,” she begins. “What do we have planned for tonight?”
“Nothing.” I lean forward, propping my elbows on the kitchen island and checking my watch. It’s just after four o’clock.
“Should we go out on the town?” she asks. “I heard Casper mention going out to some bars.”
“Or . . .” I turn to look at her. “I could make us an old-fashioned and we can watch the sun go down behind the mountains.”
Our eyes meet, and we regard each other for a moment. I press my tongue into my cheek.
Her mischievous gaze has me rooted in place, like she’s already imagining the things I plan to do to her. “I like your idea better.”
I feel so . . . content. After stocking the fridge and showering off the hectic day, we’re finally alone on his balcony, sipping old-fashioneds. The warm bourbon softens the mood as we settle into our cushioned chairs, watching the vibrant pink sky sink below the peaks.
The mountains almost don’t look real. They sprawl across the entire horizon, shooting out of the earth, mingling with the clouds like giant snow-capped castles in the sky. Pine trees cover the lower ridges, caught between valleys and foothills with pops of green. It’s like a postcard one might find at a gift shop—wish you were here. Except the only person I want with me is already by my side.
The peaks possess an untamed wilderness that doesn’t answer to anyone. The beauty that exists in Montana isn’t something you can claim, regardless of whether you were raisedhere or are just passing through—it tolerates your presence the same way it tolerates the sunrises and sunsets.
Even with the occasional chilled breeze, I’m perfectly comfortable in my leggings and T-shirt—I opted not to wear anything underneath in hopes he might notice.It seemed to work during our photo shoot.Logan must have had a similar idea, because he threw on a pair of sweatpants—and I noticed, Idefinitelynoticed.
I’ve always been someone who believes in fate, and it seemed like the universe chose to force us together when my hotel reservation got screwed up. Earlier, when he suggested we spend the night alone with stiff drinks and a gorgeous view, there was a flicker of something mischievous dancing in his eyes, enough to spark the hope of another kiss—one similar to our first, but this time I don’t want to stop.
I inhale, filling my lungs with fresh mountain air. Montana is stunning. “I can’t believe you don’t come out here more often.”
He shrugs. “Black Rabbit is there.”
“Is that what’s keeping you from leaving? I mean, who wouldn’t want to see this every day?”
“No.”
“You could probably open another shop if you wanted to . . .”What the fuck? Why would I even suggest that?
He shakes his head. “The way you feel about your dad’s house is the way I feel about his shop. It has to stay there. That’s where he started it, that’s where it’ll remain. It wouldn’t feel right, it’s a piece of history.”
Butterflies swarm my stomach. There’s something so sexy about the way he respects my father, even though I’m the only one left. He’s protective and proud of what my dad built, and even though it’s been years since his death, every decision Logan’s made regarding the shop has been done with that consideration in mind.
“I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to express how grateful I am to have someone like you taking the reins, helping it thrive while still preserving the reputation of my family’s name.”
He nods. “It’s an honor I don’t take lightly.” The atmosphere feels more charged as we lift our cocktails in sync, letting the smooth liquor slip down our throats concurrently.
I roll the glass between my palms. “Dad always was a good judge of character.”
He chuckles.
I smile. “What’s funny?”
Logan shakes his head. “Nothing. How are your nerves doing after that?” He nods to my drink.
“Much better, thank you.” I take another sip. “I confirmed with my model, my stencils are ready, but I probably won’t sleep a wink until it’s over . . . How’s your tattoo recovery going? Any regrets?”
He pushes up his sleeve to show me; it’s healing nicely. The more I look at it, the more I’ve come to love it. I can admire the beauty of it the way he does.
“Never.”
My attention returns to the mountains. I stand, step up to the edge of the balcony, and soak up the panorama. Logan’s gaze sears my skin; even in the crisp evening air, I feel him.
