Chapter 2 #3
Except I did. My ball clipped the log again, sending it to the edge of the green. At least it stayed on the course this time. I ended up getting my golf ball into the hole after five swings. Five. Par was two.
Logan got it in one.
“I’m winning,” he announced to me with a beautiful glint to his eyes. “Technically.”
After he putted a hole-in-one on Hole 3—and I putted another five—I frowned at him. “Are you hustling me?”
“Who, me?” He leaned his weight onto his putter, turning away to hide his smile. “No. Never.”
I scoffed in disbelief.
He so was. As we played through Minnie’s Mini Golf, it became increasingly clear that I was playing with some mini golfing pro.
And it became increasingly clear that Logan was fun—and not the kind of fun I was used to.
There was a mix of unbridled energy and steady composure to him.
He knew exactly how to tease and joke without ever crossing the line.
There was no biting sarcasm underneath his words; nothing about him felt sharp-edged or mean-spirited.
In my mind, there was something so… puppy about him. Bright-eyed, quick to grin, full of boundless energy. Something so… lovely.
And with every putt, I found myself drawn to him even more.
The way he leaned down to line up a shot, even going as far as squinting one eye shut.
The way his smile crinkled at the corners, and how it always seemed to stay there.
The way he claimed not to care whether if he won or lost, just that I was laughing.
It was infuriating, in the most charming way.
I thought about how I’d almost refused to get out of his car in the parking lot. I couldn’t believe how close I’d come to missing this.
“Okay.” Logan straightened from the picnic table he’d been leaning on, lifting the scorecard. “Tallied up all our putts. Drum roll, please.”
I leaned down to drum my palms along the picnic table’s surface.
“The scores came out to 66-84.” Logan paused for dramatic effect. “And I won.”
“No way!” I snatched the scorecard from his fingertips. “No way. Your score was so high on that lumberjack one!”
Logan gave a languid shrug, and—annoyingly—his math was correct. “It was a one-off. It’s all about consistency, Madison.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Are you saying I was consistently bad?”
He spread his hands with an inhale through his teeth, as if to say you said it, not me.
I swatted at him, but couldn’t stop the laugh that burst free. I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d laughed like that, the kind that just rushed out before I could think.
The ice cream shop shared the same parking lot as the mini golf course, so we were able to just walk next door for Logan’s victory cone.
I still had the scorecard pinched between my fingertips.
The midday sun was hot, and I was sure my makeup had smudged from the intense putt-putt competition, but I strangely couldn’t bring myself to care.
“Admit it,” Logan said as we stood in line, leaning down just enough that some of his golden hair fell into his eyes. “You had fun.”
I met his steady gaze, letting myself sink into the color. His eyes were very nearly the exact shade of Brentwood Blue, with tiny flecks of navy that caught in the sunlight. They were perfect, and focused solely on me. “I had fun.”
Logan’s grin curved slow, like he knew he’d just won something more important than a round of mini golf. “You’ll have to bring your friends next time.”
“They’d never come. They’d say this was dweeby.” Heck, I said it was dweeby an hour ago.
“Then I guess I need to stick around,” Logan murmured, his fingers brushing absently against the side of his neck. “Make sure you’re getting your daily dose of dweeb.”
His words set the butterflies in my stomach into a frenzy, darting and tumbling like they were doing their own cheer routine. I almost felt weightless, like I could float right out of my shoes. “I guess you do.”
For a second, we just watched each other, as if neither of us wanted to break whatever this was.
We both ordered ice cream cones, but Logan passed over a few bills before I had a chance to pull my wallet out of my bag. “You won,” I said as I looked up at him, surprised.
“I know.” Logan’s expression shifted, that strange flicker passing through it again. His gaze held mine a second too long, his voice dipping just enough to feel different. “I—I didn’t think I would.”
Realistically, I knew he was talking about mini golf, but the way he said it—low, almost hesitant—made my stomach tighten in a way that had nothing to do with the game.
We talked about small, everyday things while eating our mint chip ice cream—how I’d become co-captain of the cheer squad, a little about my friends, a little about him working at Expresso’s. Nothing monumental, nothing over-the-top, just… easy.
And with every laugh, every glance, my heart kept skipping beats, caught somewhere between excitement and disbelief.
By the time we got back to his car for the drive home, I knew one thing for absolute certain:
Logan was perfect.
As he opened my car door, our hands brushed on the handle, and neither of us pulled away right away.
Logan’s fingers lingered on mine for just a second, long enough for a spark to shoot through my veins.
And when I glanced up, there was that flicker in his eyes again, like he was feeling it too.
It reminded me of the moment in Brentwood’s hallway yesterday, where for a heartbeat, it was just the two of us suspended in that perfect, fleeting moment.
I knew another thing for absolute certain: I couldn’t wait to see him again.