I didn’t know how to read him. One moment, close enough to feel his breath. The next, pushing me gently but firmly back to the edges.
I told myself not to take it personally.
I told myself this was just who he was.
Igotit. I truly did. His protectiveness. His need to control the variables. The way he shut things down the moment they started to feel… complicated.
Was his distance about boundaries?
About fear?
Or about me?
I’d spent most of my life learning how to be easy to be around. Pleasant. Helpful. The girl who didn’t take up too much space. The one who kept things light so no one felt burdened by her presence.
Still, as I gathered my things and stepped out into the morning light, one thought refused to leave me alone:
For someone so determined to keep his distance, Logan had looked at me like staying away was costing him something.
And that made the stakes suddenly feel dangerously real.
Chapter 13
Logan
Routine took over, as it always did, when I needed distance.
Predictability.
Clean edges.
The soft clatter of keys in the lock as I left after Harper went to bed, the whispering creak of the front door swinging shut behind me, became a nightly occurrence. I returned before dawn, the hiss of the coffee machine the only sound present as I prepared for another day. Same route. Same quiet house in the mornings.
Dani learned the rhythm quickly.
She was there just before dinner every night, on time, never early. Still in her work clothes and always put together in a way that didn’t ask for attention. Blouses in neutral colors, slacks, heels, and a structured bag slung over one shoulder like armor.
Nothing about it matched the woman who laughed too loud at brunch, or danced barefoot at a wedding, or let Harper paint glitter on her nails like it was sacred work.
I noticed that too, even though I told myself I shouldn’t.
She kept things professional, polite. Now, she was less talkative than the first night. No longer lingering in doorwaysor making jokes that stretched longer than necessary. And since that morning, no more offers to help in the mornings.
She’d slip out just as I came home, murmuring a soft “Morning” as she passed me in the hallway, already reaching for her keys.
Like she was trying not to exist in my space any longer than required.
Relief should have followed, but instead, my chest tightened. Why was that? Was I protecting myself, or just refusing to admit something uncomfortable?
Harper adored her, of course. That part hadn’t changed. She talked about Dani nonstop—what they’d made for dinner, which story Dani read, how Dani braided her hair better than I ever could.
But Dani herself stayed carefully on the perimeter, and I encouraged that.
I kept my answers short, as I always had. I didn’t ask about her day. Didn’t comment on her clothes or the way she looked, more tired as the week wore on. Didn’t acknowledge the faint disappointment I caught in her eyes the first morning she offered to take Harper to school again, and I shut it down.
Boundaries, I reminded myself.
This was what boundaries looked like.
