CASSIE
This is the day Logan is getting back from his road trip.
Not like I have it marked on my calendar or anything, or like ten days without him has seemed like an eternity…
No…definitely not.
I return to the coffee shop that morning, notebook in my bag, half-hoping that the spark I’ve had this week about coming up with a way to save June’s shop isn’t just caffeine-fueled optimism. The place is quiet again, and June gives me a raised brow when I offer to help behind the counter.
“Still on that mission to save the world, huh?” she says, pouring herself a weak cup of drip.
“Just the parts I can reach,” I shrug. “Besides, you make a mean blueberry scone. It’d be a crime to let that vanish.”
She snorts, but her smile softens.
I roll up my sleeves and settle in at a corner table with my laptop and a lukewarm latte. I’ve barely typed three lines when the bell over the front door jingles.
And then keeps jingling. And jingling.
And jingling.
I look up, expecting one or two people.
Instead, it’s a crowd. Guys. Clearly baseball guys. Laughing, loud, still half in uniform. The place is instantly ten degrees hotter and three times as loud.
At the front of it all, he’s just grinning like he owns the damn planet.
Logan. Who else would it be?
He scans the shop until his eyes land on me.
“Everyone,” he announces, “go buy a bunch of coffee. I promised my friend here that we’d boost local business. Let’s get caffeinated, y’all.”
My mouth opens. Closes, and then opens again.
June is staring at them like she’s not sure whether to faint or hug someone.
“Logan, what are you doing here? What is all this?”
He just shrugs, stepping closer.
“You said you wanted to help the place. I figured you needed some foot traffic.” His eyes glint. “Besides, I missed your coffee.”
“I didn’t make the coffee,” I mutter.
“Yeah, but you’re here, so it tastes better.”
I head toward the counter to talk to June, but steal a glance back at Logan, who’s leaned against the back wall, sipping something iced and watching me like I’m the only thing worth noticing.
Then he winks, like this is all a game, and he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.
“You really did something,” June whispers, looking around.
I swallow.
“I think he did.”
Before I can overthink it, I grab my phone.
