“Yeah. Keeps my hands busy.”
“You’re lying.”
He wipes his mouth with a napkin, then stands, grabbing his plate and mine.
“I don’t lie,” he says. “I’m on the honor system.”
He hovers for a second, close enough that my breath catches.
Like he might kiss me.
“Take a glass of wine,” he says instead. “Head out to the patio. Brainstorm some marketing campaigns. Enjoy the vibe of the evening…Cass.”
He clears his throat.
“I mean, Miss Cassie.”
I try to shoot him a dirty look, but he’s already in the kitchen.
A second later, music starts playing. Something easy and acoustic. It sounds like either John Mayer or maybe some old-time rock and roll.
He sings along. Not loud, and definitely not for show. Just casually, like this is normal for him.
I step out onto the patio with my wine, the evening air soft against my skin and listen to his voice drift through the open door.
And somewhere between the music and the quiet sounds of the evening, a realization settles in.
I actually might miss that man.
Chapter Seventeen
CASSIE
The car door slams just after sunrise.
I blink awake, groggy and disoriented, my arm flung across the empty side of the bed like I was waiting for someone to be there.
But Logan’s already gone.
Of course he is. He told me last night. He has a ten-day road trip, early flight, long stretch of games.
Still, something about hearing the engine start…the gravel crunching as he pulls out of the driveway…it leaves this odd little hollow in my chest. Like something just left that I wasn’t ready to lose.
I sit up slowly, brushing my hair back, and glance toward the window. The sky is soft and pink, still heavy with dew. It’s too early for anything, really—but I’m up now. And restless.
Whyam I thinking like this?
Maybe I’ll go back to that coffee shop.
Maybe I’ll actuallydosomething today.
The place is even quieter than yesterday when I pull up, the gravel lot mostly empty, just one beat-up blue truck parked near the side entrance. There’s a chalkboard sign out front that reads:
TRY OUR NEW LAVENDER VANILLA LATTE (It’s the best in town!) WE’RE STILL HERE, DAMMIT!
That makes me smile.
Inside, it smells like cinnamon and dreams. The light filters through tall windows, catching on mismatched chairs, a worn velvet couch, and a bookshelf filled with used novels. It feels like someone’s living room collided with a Pinterest board and decided to raise a rebellious teenager.
