He gives me a look. “I’m not an idiot. They’re terrifying.”
That pulls a laugh out of me before I can stop it—quick, surprised, almost rusty.
Logan’s smile shifts, like hearing me laugh does something to him.
“Come on,” he says, nodding toward the passenger side. “Day date. No pressure. We can go home whenever you want. If you hate it, you can blame your friends.”
I stare at him over the rim of the cup, my chest tight and full at the same time.
“Where are we going?” I ask quietly.
Logan’s mouth curves. “You’ll see.”
I should argue.
I should demand details.
I should keep control of every variable like I always do.
But Pops’s voice echoes in my head.
Have fun.
So I take a breath that feels like stepping off a ledge.
And I nod.
“Okay,” I say.
Logan’s relief is instant. His shoulders drop slightly, like he didn’t realize how hard he’d been holding himself together.
He opens the passenger door for me like he’s trying to be old-fashioned on purpose. Like he wants this to feel different.
I slide into the seat, clutching the latte like it’s a lifeline.
Logan shuts the door gently, then jogs around the front of the truck.
As he climbs in, he glances at me, that familiar teasing edge returning like it’s something he’s offering.
“You ready?” he asks.
I take a sip. Perfection.
I swallow, then look at him.
“No,” I say honestly. “But I’m coming anyway.”
Logan’s smirk softens into something warmer.
“Good,” he murmurs, and then he pulls away from the curb, the truck rolling forward into the bright, ordinary day.
And for the first time in a long time?—
I let myself go.
35
SLOANE
