Normal.
This is normal.
This is the kind of conversation Ishouldbe having. You know, because I’m single, and my brother just introduced me to one of the town’s most eligible bachelors. Since dating apps don’t exactly exist in this town.
So why do I keep glancing past him, spacing out on what he has to say?
Logan’s at the edge of the yard, surrounded by a handful of kids, setting up what looks like a very serious game of whiffle ball.
“No, no, no,” he’s saying, crouched down, drawing something in the dirt, talking to some kid who looks to be about ten. “You get three feet on either side of the basepath. Buddy, you ran six feet out of the way to avoid the tag. No arguments. That’s an out.”
“That’s not fair!” one of the kids protests.
“It’s absolutely fair,” Logan says. “I’m the commissioner.”
The kids groan, and he grins.
And I swear—he’s enjoying this way too much.
His T-shirt’s slightly damp from the heat, clinging just enough to be annoyingly hot.
He runs a hand through his hair, laughing at something one of the kids says, and then pats the little kid’s mop of hair and sends him up to bat, winds up and throws him a pitch.
He’s completely unbothered, and very much in his element.
And for some reason that does something to me.
A lot more of asomethingthan name dropping Wharton Business School, and a…summer? At Harvard. I’m still confused on what he actuallydidat Harvard. Like, was it a weekend visit?
I blink, snapping back to the conversation.
“—and that’s when we realized the entire campaign needed to pivot,” Eric is saying. “They were spending all of their time on the wrong targets! Like, duh! So wild. I was like, I’ve been to Harvard, I can help with this.”
“Yeah, right. Totally. Harvard. Wow.”
“You…okay, Cassandra?”
I clear my throat. Cassandra? I haven’t been called that since substitute teachers were reading off the attendance sheet in high school.
“Sorry,” I say quickly. “I zoned out for a second.”
He smiles. “All good. I can get a little carried away with this stuff.”
A little?
“Anyway,” he says, shifting slightly closer, “what you did with that video? There’s real potential there. You could build something.”
“Yeah,” I say. “I’ve been thinking about that.”
And I have. He’s not wrong.
My mind flits to dating, and what I want in a man. This is what I said I wanted: something stable.
With my ex, I felt like I had to beg him to move the relationship forward.
And I vowed afterward I’d find something that makes sense, not something that seemed shiny.
“Honestly,” he continues, “with the right strategy, you could turn that into a full brand. I’d be happy to help you map it out sometime.”
