I blinked, because I hadn’t considered that—not really.
“I’ve spent a long time keepin’ things simple,” he continued. “Work. Harper. Routine. That was enough.” He paused, holding my gaze. “Then you walked in, and suddenly enough didn’t feel like enough anymore.”
The words landed deep, in that place that doesn’t shift easily.
“I don’t know exactly what this turns into yet,” he said, honest in a way that didn’t feel uncertain. “But I know one thing.” His thumb brushed along my jaw again. “Nothing about my life goes back to the way it was before I met you.”
My throat tightened.
Because that wasn’t reassurance for the moment. That was something bigger.
“You didn’t just show up,” he added. “You stayed. With Harper. With me. You made space for us like it wasn’t a question. You’ve made me feel things I don’t let myself feel, and you showed Harper what it means to just be.”
Emotion rose too fast, too sharply.
“And that matters,” he said. “More than you think.”
I swallowed hard, because no one had ever framed me that way before—not as someone who mattered simply for being there, without having to earn it.
“I’m scared,” I admitted.
His hand tightened slightly at the back of my neck. “Of what?”
I hesitated because saying it out loud made it real. “Of this, meaning more to me than it does to you.”
The words settled between us, fragile and exposed.
His response came without hesitation. “Impossible, darlin’.”
The way the word rolled off his tongue pulled the air from my lungs. He didn’t soften it or over-explain it. He just held my gaze, his eyes locked on mine.
“You don’t feel this alone, Dani. Not for a second.”
Something inside me shifted, a subtle settling I didn’t know how to name. His hand moved from my neck to my cheek, his thumb brushing beneath my eye like he could feel the emotion building there before I fully recognized it myself.
And that—more than anything—undid me.
The way he didn’t need anything from me in that moment. Didn’t expect me to explain it better or make it easier to hold. He just stayed there with me, steady and present.
The way he expected nothing, only wanted to make sure I was cared for—it carved out a space inside me I hadn’t known I needed. It wasn’t overwhelming or consuming, just grounded and real, a gentle safety. The warmth of being chosen for who I was, not what I could offer or how perfectly I performed.
For a moment, I saw myself the way he seemed to see me, and something inside me shifted. Maybe I could be more than everything I did for others. Maybe I could be worthy of this simply by being here.
The truth of it swept through me all at once.
I felt wanted. Seen.
And it softened everything—the pressure I carried, the voice that told me I didn’t deserve to rest, didn’t get to ask for what I needed. It all quieted under something simple.
His care.
With Logan, I was safe to be myself.
Emotion caught in my throat, and I pressed my face into his chest, letting the warmth of him ground me while everything inside me shifted. His arms wrapped around me instantly, like he felt it too.
“I don’t know how to do this perfectly,” I whispered.
His chest rose beneath me. “I thought we established I don’t either.”
