“Okay,” he murmurs, like he’s trying not to sound too happy about it and failing. “Hi to you too.”
“Shut up,” I say, already smiling.
He laughs, gets out, and opens my door like he’s committed to being annoying about it.
I step down, and he immediately takes my hand. No hesitation. No asking.
Just mine.
We walk into the bookstore together, and the bell above the door rings softly, the sound familiar enough to settle something in my ribs. The air smells like paper and dust and new ink. Safe. Quiet. Controlled.
Logan leans in, voice low like we’re sharing a secret. “I’m letting you lead.”
“I always lead,” I mutter.
He nods seriously. “Yes, ma’am.”
I glare. “Don’t call me ma’am.”
He presses a kiss to my temple. “Yes, ma’am.”
I elbow him lightly, and he laughs under his breath, squeezing my hand.
We wander the aisles, slow and unhurried. Logan doesn’t rush me. He doesn’t trail behind bored. He reads the back covers of books I pull out like he actually cares what I’m into, his brow furrowing in concentration like romance tropes are a game plan he’s trying to master.
“This one says ‘enemies to lovers,’” he says, squinting at the description. “Sounds toxic.”
“It’s not toxic,” I say, taking it from him. “It’s character development.”
Logan’s eyes flick up, amused. “Uh-huh. And the part where they hate each other is…foreplay?”
My face heats. “Logan.”
He grins like he lives for that reaction. “I’m just trying to understand the genre.”
“You’ll never understand the genre,” I tell him.
He leans closer, voice dropping. “I understand you.”
My breath catches in my throat.
He’s watching me like he knows he hit something tender.
Before I can respond, he straightens, clears his throat like he needs to shake it off too. “Pick one. Two. Whatever you want.”
“I can pay,” I argue automatically.
Logan’s expression shifts—gentle but firm. “Let me.”
I blink.
Because it’s not about money.
It’s about being taken care of without having to earn it.
So I pick two: one comfort read and one new release I’ve been wanting but wouldn’t let myself buy. Logan pays without blinking, then hands me the bag like it’s precious.
“Next,” he says, swinging our hands between us. “We eat.”
