“I can take care of that,” I said.
She shrugged. “I don’t mind.”
The kitchen was quiet except for the faint sound of the ocean pouring in through the windows.
“I think she’s smitten,” Dani said softly, nodding toward Harper, curled up on the couch.
I hesitated, letting a pause linger before replying. “She has good taste,” I said, before realizing how that sounded.
She looked up, amused. “Smooth.”
I fought to keep my expression steady. I wanted to say something back, to correct her. I didn’t want to give her the impression that the statement meant anything close to what it came out to mean.
But then she smiled, not in a teasing way, in a knowing way that told me she’d already made up her own conclusion.
I walked Dani to the door a few minutes later.
“Thanks for coming,” I said. “You made her week.”
“She made mine,” Dani said. “And yours too, maybe?”
“Yeah,” I admitted. “Mine too.”
Her smile widened, soft but sure. “Good. Because Harper says next time, I’m teaching you how to braid.”
“Looking forward to it,” I deadpanned.
She laughed. “Night, Logan.” I was suddenly aware of how close she stood. Close enough that reaching out would’ve been easy. Too easy, my hands stayed at my sides, fingers flexing once before stilling.
“Night, darlin’.”
When the door clicked shut behind her, I stood there for a moment, just listening to the lull of the room.
Harper murmured from the couch, half-asleep. “Daddy?”
“Sleep, bug.” I brushed a hand over her hair, smiling despite the heat rising inside of me.
And as I turned off the lights and looked out toward the ocean, I watched the ocean roll steadily.
I’d built my life around that rhythm. Around routine, safety, structure. But tonight, there was something else. Something that felt a lot like stepping into deep water without checking the current first.
And I didn’t like that.
Chapter 7
Dani
The milkshake party the night before had left me in my own sugar coma and left my cheeks aching from smiling for hours after I left Logan and Harper’s.
Needing some best friend time, I made my way to Cami’s.
Slipping into her house without knocking.
The door was always unlocked for me, and we’d never been the type to stand on ceremony. Our friendship went back to high school cheer tryouts, and even after she had kids, we never drifted. I was there for the appointments, the school events, the everyday chaos—I loved being their aunt. And Cami was there for me, too. Her house had become my shelter when the weight of my parents’ expectations pressed in, and I needed somewhere to breathe.
Inside, the house smelled like vanilla and lemon cleaner layered over laundry detergent. It was lived-in. Loved-in.
Wedding gifts lingered everywhere, no longer stacked in neat piles but half-unwrapped, already folded into daily life. A new serving bowl rested on the counter, candles burned low on the bookshelf, and cards lined the mantel in a crooked row. Clearly, someone’s attempt at order was abandoned halfway through.
