Our breaths mingled in the quiet aftermath, the room filled only with the sound of our slowing heartbeats.
Together, we lay there, wrapped in the comfort of newly shared secrets, knowing this was just the beginning.
???
Later, I lay curled into Logan’s side, my cheek pressed to his chest, listening to the unwavering rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my ear. His arm wrapped around me, his hand resting low on my back, thumb moving in slow, absent circles like it didn’t require thought.
The room carried traces of us—heat, breath, the faint scent of my candle blending with his scent, the sheets still tangled from pulling each other closer. It grounded me instead of overwhelming me, settling something deep in my chest that I didn’t want to disturb. I stayed there, soaking in the moment, because thinking too hard meant naming it, and naming it meant risking it.
Logan shifted slightly beneath me, his chest rising with a deeper breath. “I’m gonna grab us some water,” he murmured, his voice rough with sleep.
“Or…” I said, catching his arm and tilting my head just enough to meet his eyes, “You could not.”
A flicker of amusement passed through his expression, subtle but there.
“Yeah?”
I traced a slow line across his chest with my fingertips, holding him there. “We could just stay like this. Ignore everything. No real world.”
His mouth curved, but his gaze didn’t leave mine. “And what happens when you run out of coffee?” he asked, his Southern drawl softer now, warmer in the quiet.
A small laugh slipped out, but it didn’t quite land the way I meant it to. “That’s future me’s problem.”
His hand stilled against my back, and something shifted between us. The lightness faded, replaced by something deeper, more aware. I felt it as it happened—the moment the teasing gave way to something that mattered more.
“I’m serious,” I admitted, my voice lower now, tighter in a way I couldn’t fully hide. “I just… I don’t want things to go back to the way they were before.”
The words slipped out before I could soften them, before I could make them smaller, safer. I almost pulled back immediately, instinct pushing me to reframe it, to make it sound like less than it was, but I didn’t. I stayed there, even as my chest tightened and old insecurities pressed in, whispering that I was risking too much by saying it out loud.
“That’s probably… a lot,” I added quickly, trying to recover. “I just mean—it’s new, and I—”
His hand came up to my face, his thumb brushing lightly along my cheek, stopping the spiral before it could take hold.
“Hey,” he said softly.
Something in his voice closed the space around my thoughts, not sharp or corrective, just confident reassurance.
“I get what you’re sayin’,” he continued, his drawl slow and deliberate. “And you don’t have to walk it back.”
That hit harder than I expected.
Because I always walked it back. Always adjusted. Always made sure I wasn’t asking for too much.
My gaze dropped, my voice softer when I spoke again. “I just don’t want to mess this up. Whatever this is.”
It wasn’t a fear of him. It was the fear of losing this.
“I’m not used to…” I hesitated, searching for words that didn’t feel so exposed. “This.”
His thumb stilled slightly against my cheek. “Used to what?”
I let out a slow breath. “Being wanted like this.” The words came out softer than I intended. “I’m used to being appreciated—for what I do, what I achieve. For being reliable.” My lips pressed together briefly before I looked back at him. “But this feels different. And I don’t know how to exist in it without overthinking.”
Without ruining it. Without asking for too much. Without becoming something harder to keep.
His expression didn’t shift dramatically, but something in his eyes did, something deeper settling there. His hand slid from my cheek to the back of my neck, fingers warm and grounding.
“You think you’re the only one tryin’ to figure this out?” he murmured.
