“And?” Cami’s lips press together to hide a smile.
“And he said…” I hesitate, heat creeping up my neck. “He said, ‘I’m tired of pretending I don’t want you.’”
The words replay, heat rising up my neck, relentless as ever.
“FINALLY,” Cami said as her hand slapped against the desk as she jumped up, startling me.
“He’d been drinking,” I add quickly.
Her eyes narrow. “So?”
“So maybe it was just… that.” But the way he looked at me, clear-eyed, steady, almost fierce, cut through any haze of alcohol. I remembered how his gaze lingered, searching, like he wanted me to believe him.
She leans back in her chair and crosses her arms.
“Dani.”
“What?”
“You really think that man needs alcohol to admit he wants you?”
I stare at the grain of my desk. My thumb brushes over the edge of a sticky note, peeling it back and letting it snap flat again.
The truth was, Logan wasn’t impulsive. He was measured, controlled, and deep down, I knew everything about that kiss was deliberate.
His hands hadn’t been frantic. His mouth hadn’t been rushed.
It had been careful. Intentional. Like he’d crossed a line he’d been pacing for months.
“What happened after?”
“Harper came outside.”
Her eyes widened. “Of course she did…kids.”
I nodded.
“We broke apart like teenagers. He walked her back inside. And then I fell asleep… He was gone before I woke up. Probably remembered his walls had slipped.”
Part of me wondered if he left out of regret, if remembering his world shattered what we had, or if it simply frightened him to stay. Did I want him to miss me, or to never look back? I clung to the ache of not knowing, letting it pulse in my head.
Cami nodded because she understood exactly which walls I meant.
“He’s complicated,” I said, defeated.
“So are you.”
I exhaled, slower this time. “He’s still grieving, Cam.”
“And?”
“And he has a kid.”
“And you adore that kid.”
That hits hard. I do adore Harper. She leans into me, trusts me, lets me into her world without hesitation. That trust scares me more than anything else.
My chest softens instantly.
