This was something forming around us.
And I didn’t want to shut it down.
Chapter 25
Dani
We’d spent all afternoon at the farm, enjoying the horses, tending to the grounds, creating new memories that made the idea of leaving even harder.
Eventually, we took the two-hour trek back to Logan’s and settled down for a quick dinner. Now I sat in the living room trying to keep my mind busy as Logan laid Harper down for bed.
The flickering hum of the TV filled the dimly lit room, mingling with the rich taste of the second glass of wine I didn’t need and Logan’s solid presence beside me. Once Harper had wound down from the excitement of the ranch, Logan and I found ourselves aimlessly watchingThe Vampire Diaries. I had begun binge-watching it on nights when Harper had gone to sleep, as I’d sit and text Logan after long days. He insisted that I continue. At first, I was a bit embarrassed to admit I had been watching the show, but aside from a few joking comments, he didn’t seem to mind.
“Just one more episode,” I said, even though I wasn’t watching anymore.
He nodded, opening another beer. “Yeah. One more.”
Harper was asleep down the hall. I could still picture her—curled on her side, hair splayed across the pillow, bunny tucked under her chin. That knowledge softened everything.
Logan sat beside me, close enough that our knees brushed when he shifted. Not quite accidental anymore, but not acknowledged either. He filled the space on the couch without trying—broad shoulders, solid presence, the kind of man who didn’t fidget or fill silence just because it existed.
I told myself I was relaxed.
I wasn’t.
My gaze kept drifting to his arm, stretched along the back of the couch, displaying the exposed ink on his forearm, the dark line a contrast against his sun-warmed skin. I’d noticed it before. More than once. But tonight, with the wine humming softly in my veins and the room wrapped in low light, it felt impossible not to.
The tattoo wasn’t flashy, no skulls or weapons, just clean lines.
I took a sip of wine and set the glass down slowly, like maybe if I moved carefully enough, I wouldn’t spook whatever fragile thing was happening between us.
“Can I ask you something?” I said.
He glanced at me, one eyebrow lifting. “You ask that like you’re about to interrogate me.”
“Occupational hazard,” I teased. “But this one’s harmless. I promise.”
He nodded once. “Shoot, Counselor.”
My gaze dropped to his arm.
He was wearing a soft gray T-shirt, sleeves pulled snug around his biceps. I reached out before I could stop myself. My fingers brushed his arm, and I felt the subtle flex of his muscle beneath my touch. His body reacted instantly, not pulling away, but going still.
“This,” I murmured, tracing the edge of the ink with my fingertip. “What is it?”
His breath shifted, and his jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
“That one?” he asked.
“Yeah. I’ve been trying not to stare all night, but I’m failing.”
I hesitated, then reached out again slowly, giving him time to stop me if he wanted to. But didn’t pull away. Didn’t cover it. Just looked at it for a second, like he was deciding whether to let me in.
Finally, he shrugged. “Marine Corps thing.”
“That’s vague.” I tipped my head, studying the lines again. “It doesn’t look like the typical Marine tattoo.”
“No,” he said quietly. “It’s not.”
