I swallow hard and force my voice back into bite. “My eyes are up here.”
Logan’s blue eyes meet mine instantly, and I can see the heat swirling in them, which I know matches my own.
I hesitate, then whisper, “You were looking at my mouth.”
Logan’s gaze holds mine. “And you were looking at mine.”
Heat floods my cheeks.
I should leave.
I should retreat back to my room and lock the door and pretend this never happened.
But my feet don’t move.
Instead, I take one slow step closer—just enough to be dangerous.
Logan goes very still.
His voice is low. “Sloane.”
My throat tightens. “What?”
His eyes flick to the bracelet again. “Put it on for me?”
I blink. “What?”
“The bracelet. Put it on,” he repeats quietly. “Let me see.”
The request is small.
It shouldn’t feel like a cliff.
It does anyway, because putting it on means accepting it, and accepting it means admitting he matters.
My hands tremble slightly as I slide the bracelet around my wrist and try to fasten it, but fail.
Logan’s gaze tracks the movement, then lifts to my face. For a second, his expression softens completely—like he forgot how to be guarded.
He reaches up and takes the clasp in his fingers, carefully fastening it on my wrist. My arm erupts in goosebumps from the simple touch.
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “That’s…you.”
My chest aches.
I swallow hard. “Sounds like someone is getting a bit sentimental.”
Logan’s mouth twitches faintly. “Sorry. I’ll shut up.”
I stare at him, throat tight, heart doing stupid things.
Then, quietly—so quiet it barely counts—I say, “Thank you, Logan.”
Logan stills like the words hit him physically.
His eyes soften. “You’re welcome.”
Silence stretches again.
