Harper gasped. “Daddy! Look! It’s perfect!”
“Harper,” he said softly, “say thank you.”
“Thanks,” she muttered, already checking herself in the mirror as I clipped the last piece of hair into place with a sparkly clip.
Logan looked at her as if she were the axis the world tilted on. When she smiled at him, his shoulders eased just a fraction, a silent breath escaping him, as if the world he held so tightly had temporarily lifted.
“Thank you,” he said, voice low.
“Lawyer by day,” I replied lightly, stepping back. “Hair whisperer by night.”
That earned me an airy, low and rich laugh.
Not long after, Harper was off chasing Cami’s son Zeke across the dance floor, leaving the grumpy Marine and me at a table near the cake. As the music played softly in the background, a lull settled between us.
“So,” he said, glancing at me, “you’re a lawyer.”
“Public defense,” I said, taking a sip of champagne. “Which means long hours, low pay, and constantly being told I ‘could’ve done better’ by everyone in my family.”
He nodded once, thoughtfully. “Sounds like a hell of a job.”
“It is,” I said. “But I like it. Even if it doesn’t make sense to anyone else.”
I loved my job. There’s something incredibly rewarding about fighting for people who don’t have a voice, who can’t afford to be heard. Every case was a chance to make a real difference, to challenge the system. Maybe it’s naive, but I believe in that kind of justice. It gives me a purpose, even when things seem impossible. Even when the doubts tried to crowd out the hope, I held onto the belief that what I did meant something, if not for the world, then at least for the people who needed it most.
He leaned back, that steady calmness never breaking. “Let me guess, you were supposed to end up in one of those fancy corporate firms, with glass offices and skyline views.”
“Bingo. Instead, I chose to argue with judges before breakfast.”
I’m known as ‘scrappy’ in the office. As a first-generation college student, raised by parents who immigrated to the States from Mexico, I’ve learned to fight for every opportunity, and I never quite gave that up.
His lips twitched. “Sounds fun.”
“Oh, it’s a blast,” I said dryly. “You?”
“Security.”
“Like bodyguard-for-hire security or mall-cop security?”
He shot me a look. “The kind where people actually have to trust me.”
I smiled into my drink. “So… bodyguard.”
He shrugged off the question. “Not quite.”
He leaned back, nursing the drink he’d held in his large, calloused hand. Before I could come up with a reply, Cami appeared out of nowhere, radiant and barefoot, carrying that familiar energy that meant she was about to meddle.
Her curls were pinned up loosely, with soft tendrils framing her face. Her natural makeup highlighted her warm eyes and the happiness on her features. The dress hugged her curves in a simple, elegant, design and the sweetheart neckline of the bodice displayed the small necklace I had bought her as an early wedding gift.
She looked exactly the way she always did when she was happiest. Comfortable, glowing, and entirely unaware of how easily she stole the attention of everyone in the room.
“There you two are! I’ve been looking for you.” she sang, eyes bright with purpose.
I raised my champagne. “Why? We’re exactly where civilized people belong. Near the bar.” I said.
She ignored me, and instead turned her gaze between Logan and I assessing, calculating, meddling. “Dance floor’s looking a little empty. You two should fix that.”
Logan’s reply was flat, cold as stone. “I don’t dance.” He left it there, a wall dropped between us and the music.
