Chapter 8
Logan
Ican't sleep.
It's past midnight, and I'm lying in bed staring at the ceiling, replaying every moment with Heather on the patio. The way she looked at me when I told her I wasn't going anywhere. The taste of her lips. The soft sound she made when I pulled her closer.
I'm thirty-two years old and feeling like a teenager again.
Except it's different this time. Back then, I was all hormones and fear, and too chicken to admit what I felt. But now I know exactly what I want, and it scares the hell out of me in an entirely new way.
Because this isn't just about me anymore.
Every choice I make affects Violet. Every relationship I pursue becomes part of her world, part of her healing process.
And if I screw this up with Heather, if I let myself fall completely and somehow lose her, it won't just devastate me.
It'll shatter that little girl sleeping down the hall who's already drawn us into her family pictures.
The responsibility of that should make me pump the brakes. Instead, it makes me want to sprint full-speed toward Heather and lock this down before the universe can throw another curveball at us.
I've spent my life playing it safe emotionally. Dating women I knew I'd never fall for. Keeping everything surface-level. Insisting I was protecting my career, my focus, my freedom.
But the truth is I was protecting myself from feeling anything close to what I felt for Heather so long ago. That terrifying, all-consuming certainty that someone could matter more than baseball ever did.
And now she's right next door, acting like maybe she feels the same way. I'm not letting that slip through my fingers again. Not this time.
With a sigh, I throw off the covers and pad down the hall in my shorts and t-shirt. I need to check on Violet anyway—old habits from those first terrible months after Tracy died. Some nights Violet would wake up screaming, and I quickly learned to sleep half-awake, always alert.
I ease open her door, letting the hallway light spill across the room, and stop in my tracks.
Violet is sound asleep flat on her back, her thumb tucked in her mouth, blonde hair spread across her pillow. Cookie’s potato-shaped body curves along Violet’s side, her head resting protectively across my niece's chest like a furry guardian.
Cookie's eyes open when I step closer, fixing me with that steady, watchful gaze. For once, there's no judgment in it. Just a quiet understanding, as if she's saying I've got her. She's safe.
“Thank you,” I whisper to the dog.
Cookie's nubby tail gives one small wiggle, then her eyes drift closed again.
I stand there for a long moment, watching them sleep. Violet's face is peaceful, relaxed in a way I haven't seen since before Tracy's accident. No tension, no fear. Just a little girl sleeping soundly with her best friend.
My throat tightens. This is why I brought her to Pelican Point, for this peace and a sense of normalcy. But I couldn't have predicted that it came in the form of a stubborn corgi and a beautiful, brilliant librarian.
I pull Violet's door almost closed and head downstairs, knowing sleep won't come anytime soon. My mind is too full of Heather, of possibilities, of the way my life has shifted in just a few short weeks.
The giggling wakes me up.
I fumble for my phone in the pre-dawn darkness. Six AM. A groan escapes as I drag my hand down my face. Four hours of sleep, maybe.
“Cookie, wait! It fell off again!” Violet's voice floats from her bedroom, chased by giggles and a muffled woof.
Curiosity pulls me upright. I grab a t-shirt from the dresser, tug it on, and pad down the hall. Her door stands wide open. When I reach the threshold and peer inside, I freeze as a slow grin stretches across my face.
Violet is sprawled on the floor in her nightgown, surrounded by every stuffed animal she owns—an audience for a very important gathering. Her small pink blanket lies spread in the center, her tea set positioned with meticulous care.
Cookie lies across from her with Violet's sparkly pink princess crown perched at a crooked angle between her ears. The corgi is fully splooted, her back legs stretched behind her like a frog, front paws extended, and her belly pressed flat against the carpet.
“Like this, Cookie?” Violet asks, trying to copy the pose, stretching her legs behind her. Cookie watches with the gravity of a yoga instructor assessing her student, then issues a single approving bark.
If my heart were made of granite, it would've cracked right open. This might be the most absurd, heart-melting thing I've ever witnessed. Needing proof this happened, I raise my phone and capture it before the moment vanishes.
The click turns both of their heads, and I take several more pictures: Cookie in her crown, Violet attempting to sploot, the circle of stuffed animals bearing witness to this absurd tea party. Then I pull up Heather's contact and attach the best photo before typing:
Your dog is teaching my niece important life skills. Also, she's wearing a crown again. I think this means Cookie is officially royalty.
Her reply pings back almost instantly:
OMG. I need to frame this. Also, Cookie only shares her splooting secrets with people she REALLY loves. Violet should feel honored.
I chuckle and type:
Come over for a quick breakfast? I know we both have work today, but I make a mean scrambled eggs.
Three dots appear, disappear, then reappear.
Give me 20 minutes to shower and look semi-human.
I huff a laugh. She probably looks incredible right now, all sleepy-eyed and tousled. Certainly sexy as hell.
You always look beautiful. But take your time. I'll start the coffee.
“Uncle Logan, look!” Violet squeals. “I'm like Cookie!”
Cookie’s crown is still askew, and if dogs could look smug, she's absolutely mastered it. She knows exactly how ridiculous she looks and couldn't care less.
I can't help but laugh. “I see that, sweetpea. You're both naturals.” I step back, gesturing toward the stairs. “But we should let Cookie out so she can use the bathroom.”
“We already went outside.”
Those four words stop me cold. I drag in a slow, deliberate breath, fighting to keep my voice steady, to not panic or snap. This is the second time Violet's slipped outside while I was asleep. That I know of, anyway.
“Violet Lynn,” I begin, keeping my voice firm as I step carefully around the stuffed animal circle. “You went outside by yourself in the dark again?”
Her bottom lip quivers, but she nods. “Cookie was with me and we only went in the backyard.”
Cookie lets out a soft whine but doesn't move. She can sense my displeasure and wants to protect her best friend.
That settles it—I need an alarm system installed immediately. Not to keep intruders out, but to keep Violet from wandering off in the middle of the night.
“That's still not all right.” I crouch down to her level and smooth my hand over her hair. “You could've gotten hurt, and I wouldn't have known. No one would.” I cup her face gently in both hands. “That would make me very sad, sweetpea. Promise me you won't do it again.”
“I promise.” She sniffles, and I brush away a tear with my thumb.
“I love you.” I press a kiss to the top of her head. “I'm making eggs for breakfast, and Aunt Heather is coming over. You two finish up here, then get dressed and come downstairs.”
“Okay!”
I head to the kitchen and get to work. Within minutes, the coffee's brewing, the eggs are whisked, and bread is browning in the toaster. I even find some fresh fruit in the fridge to slice up. Violet and Cookie have claimed the couch in the living room, tangled together and watching cartoons.
The routine of it all should feel foreign, but it doesn't. It feels exactly right. Natural.
This is what I want—this life, this peace, this strange and perfect little family taking shape around me.
Exactly fifteen minutes later, a soft knock sounds at the door.
I open it and my mouth goes dry. Heather is in a pair of jeans that hug her curves and a soft green top that makes her hazel eyes look nearly emerald.
Her hair's still damp from the shower, and she smells like something floral and fresh.
I want to pull her close and continue where we stopped last night.
“Good morning,” she says, her voice breathless.
“Morning.” I'm grinning like an idiot and can't help dragging her close for a quick kiss. She makes a soft sound into my mouth as her lips part under mine.
“Aunt Heather!” Violet's voice rings out from the living room. We spring apart like teenagers caught making out behind the bleachers. “Come see! Cookie taught me a new trick!”
“I need to apologize in advance…” Before I can second-guess myself, I back Heather gently against the wall and cup her face.
I capture her lips with mine, soft at first, then deeper until she melts into me with a quiet sigh.
Her hands twist into my shirt, and I kiss her the way I'd imagined doing all night.
“Logan.” She hums, and the sound vibrates straight through me, settling low in my gut.
“Mmmm?” My lips drift to her neck, savoring the softness of her skin, the clean floral scent of her.
“We should... Violet...” Even as she protests, she sighs and tilts her head, offering more.
“Is occupied with Cookie,” I murmur, brushing kisses along her jaw. “And I've been thinking about this since last night, wishing we hadn’t stopped.”
She laughs, the sound dissolving into a soft moan when I find the sensitive spot below her ear. “You're going to be the death of me.”
“God, I hope not. I have plans for us.”
I kiss her again, deep and slow, until we're both breathing hard. I ease back, noting with satisfaction that her lips are the color of crushed berries, and her eyes have gone dark and hazy in a way that makes me want to dive right back in.
“Now that's a proper good morning.”
“Very proper,” she agrees, looking pleasantly dazed.
“Uncle Logan, something smells funny.”
The acrid odor of burning food hits my nose. “Shit!” I spin around to see smoke rising from the pan on the stove. So much for my impressive cooking skills. Heather bursts out laughing as I rush to save breakfast, and the sound fills every corner of the house like sunshine.
Breakfast is slightly burned but nobody seems to care.
We’re settled around the kitchen table, Heather, Violet, and I, with Cookie on the floor beneath Violet’s chair.
Heather tells Violet about the new books that arrived at the library yesterday.
Violet tells Heather about every single stuffed animal at the tea party and their individual personalities.
And Cookie steals their toast when they’re not looking.
I just watch, my coffee forgotten, my chest tight with something that feels dangerously close to complete happiness.
“We should probably get going soon,” Heather says reluctantly, glancing at her watch. “I have that planning meeting with Amy.”
“I know. I have a bunch of meetings today, too.” I reach across the table and take her hand. “But before you go, how about Saturday night? After the artisan market wraps up, will you have dinner with me? A real date. Just the two of us.”
Her smile is radiant. “I'd love that.”
“I'll make reservations somewhere special. Wear something nice.”
She frowns. “Now I'm nervous. Where are we going?”
“It's a surprise.” I bring her hand to my lips. “Just trust me?”
“Okay,” she says softly. “I trust you.”
Violet glances between us, her expression thoughtful. “Are you guys gonna kiss again?”
“Violet,” I sputter, but Heather laughs.
“Probably,” Heather tells her honestly. “Is that alright with you?”
Violet juts out her chin, considering, then nods decisively. “It's okay. But only if Cookie can stay the night again.”
I chuckle. “We can make that happen, sweetpea.” I pin Heather with my gaze. “Saturday,” I remind her. “After the market.”
“Saturday,” she confirms. “It's a date.”
It’s only three days away but that feels like an eternity. After several more thorough kisses, I watch from the porch as she and Cookie cross the yard to her house. She turns back once to wave, and I wave back, feeling like a lovesick teenager.