Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
LOGAN
I’m up before my alarm, which is new. Usually, I sleep like a rock, with a clear head and no distractions. I fall into routine easily in whichever city I’m in. But not today.
Today, I’ve got a girl in the next room who is throwing me off my game. So naturally, I do the only logical thing, which is to make coffee and breakfast.
Because nothing says I’m handling this well like making French toast at six-thirty a.m.
The front door creaks faintly as the house settles. Old houses have noises, apparently. And I’m pretty sure this old Riverbend place was built in the early 1900s. I do love the high ceilings, though. And honestly, the lack of a dishwasher doesn’t really bug me.
But hell, my mind is not on dishes right now. Every few seconds, my eyes flick to the hallway.
Then I hear her footsteps. She sounds slow and hesitant. Like she’s on her tiptoes.
Cassie appears in the doorway, hair slightly messy, oversized tee hanging off one shoulder.
She stops when she sees me, along with the coffee and the food.
Her eyes narrow, and she does this thing where she plays with her brown hair a little on top of her head. “What is this?”
“Breakfast,” I say, like that’s obvious.
“I can see that. Why are you making it?”
I shrug, flipping the bread. “I contain multitudes.”
She crosses her arms, still eyeing me like I’ve committed some kind of crime.
“You’re being weird.”
“Am not.” I grin.
“Are too.”
“If you want to see weird, I can definitely…get weird,” I smirk.
Her cheeks flush instantly.
“Logan. Come on. It’s too early for this.”
“Cassie.”
She exhales, stepping further into the kitchen, like she’s trying to regain control of the situation.
“If this is about last night, I needed a good night’s sleep.”
“Oh? Seemed like you slept quite well after we had our little night of fun. That was the first time I’d seen you sleep past nine a.m.”
“Coffee?” I offer when she doesn’t say anything.
She hesitates, then takes it, and our fingers brush for half a second.
It’s not much, but it’s enough to ignite a little spark. Her breath catches—barely—but I hear it.
I don’t say anything. I just meet her eyes.
“Don’t,” she says.
“Don’t what?”
She shakes her head, turning away, but there’s a hint of a smile fighting its way through.
I plate the food, sliding it toward her.
“Eat. You look like you’re about to pass out.”
She eyes it suspiciously. “Is this part of your…European trend phase?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Very progressive. Breakfast. This one’s a Swiss trend. Unlike those blue Swedish yoga pants.”
She huffs a laugh despite herself.
I lean back against the counter, watching her take a bite. God, this is a bad idea.
“So,” I say, casual, “barbecue tomorrow.”
“Right. You going for sure?”
“I’ve got the day off,” I add. “Figured I’d show up. Maybe not in yoga pants this time.”
She nearly chokes. “Please don’t.”
“No promises.”
She sets her fork down, studying me now.
“You’re…tense.”
I raise a brow. “Am I?”
“Yeah,” she says. “Your shoulders are practically up to your ears. You okay?”
“That’s just my natural state.”
“Mm.” She steps closer. “I could fix that.”
Oh, this is dangerous. I stifle a chuckle. She knows exactly what she’s doing.
“You’re so hot and cold, you know that?”
She giggles. “Maybe I like to keep you on your toes.”
“And how exactly would you do that? Fix my tension, I mean.”
“Yoga,” she says simply. “Basic stretches. Relaxation.”
I huff a laugh. “You’re prescribing yoga right now?”
“I’m offering help,” she says. “You seem like you need it. Might be good for your swing.”
I tilt my head.
“Alright,” I say. “Show me.”
Her eyes flicker like she didn’t expect me to agree that fast.
Too late now. She steps behind me, hands light on my shoulders.
“Stand straight.”
I do.
“Okay. Now breathe.”
“Am I bad at that too?”
She sighs. “Logan.”
I grin. Her fingers press in slightly, guiding my posture. It’s subtle. But it’s not nothing.
“Roll your shoulders back,” she says softly. “This is Mountain Pose. One of the most basic of all the yoga poses. But there’s a beauty in simplicity, you know?”
“I think I’m picking up what you’re putting down.”
She steps around me now, close. Closer than she needs to be, it seems.
Her hand brushes my arm, and it doesn’t seem like it’s part of Mountain Pose. We both feel it.
I turn my head, and her eyes lift to mine. Then my gaze drops to her mouth.
There’s a half-second where either of us could step back, but neither of us does.
I think I move first, or maybe she does. Hard to tell when my mind’s a blur.
All I know is, suddenly she’s there and I’m kissing her, and yeah—this is definitely not part of anyone’s yoga routine.
Her hands find my shirt, mine slide to her waist, pulling her in. She exhales against me, and this feels like the moment this stops being a joke.
I tilt my head, hold hers, and deepen the kiss for a few moments. She moans lightly, then she pulls back just a little, breathing a little faster now.
“We said separate rooms,” she says.
I look at her, and the way she’s still close. She hasn’t moved away.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “That’s true. What’s that got to do with making out in the kitchen?”
She laughs. “Not much.”
“I think there’s only one way to finish this…”
She squeals as I lift her up, and we head to the bedroom.
I lay her down gently. “Your brother isn’t going to come in repairing cabinets any time soon, is he?”
“Not supposed to,” she grins as I help her slip her shirt over her head. “But you could always hide in the closet. Seems like you’re good at that.”
I grin as I grip her panties, tugging them off, too. “I’ll be your dirty little secret, sure. What are rebounds for?”
The next day, I get back from my workout just in time to walk into a house that smells dangerously good.
The smell of cookies and something else I can’t quite place wafts into my nostrils. It’s warm and savory.
I drop my bag by the door and follow my nose straight to the kitchen.
Cassie’s at the counter, fully in the zone.
Her apron is on, her hair is pulled back, and she’s fully focused. Okay. She looks incredibly hot in domestic mode.
I didn’t see that coming.
“What smells like heaven in here?” I ask.
She glances over her shoulder, barely missing a beat. “I made dip.”
“Just…dip?”
“My mom’s recipe,” she adds, like that explains everything.
It kind of does, actually.
I step closer, peering into the bowl. “So this is serious, then.”
“Very serious,” she says. “Don’t mess with it.”
“Wasn’t planning to.” I lean against the counter. “Didn’t know you had this in you.”
She narrows her eyes slightly. “Cooking?”
“Yeah. You’ve been giving off more ‘viral chaos’ energy, not your mom’s dip recipe.”
She huffs a laugh. “Wow. Rude.”
“Just calling it like I see it.”
She dips a spoon in, holds it out toward me.
“Try it.”
I hesitate for half a second. Not because of the dip. But because of her. I feel like she’s mean-mugging me, and then—boom—she suddenly offers me dip.
I step in and take the bite. Our eyes lock for a second longer than necessary.
I pull back, nodding. “Okay. Damn, that’s actually really good. Like really good dip.”
“Told you.”
She turns back to the counter, but there’s a small smile there now.
“Try not to eat all of it before we leave,” she adds.
“No promises.”
She points the spoon at me. “Logan,” she says in her bad-dog voice.
“Cassie,” I reply.
A beat passes, and we both smile.
“Are you ready?” she asks, nodding toward the door.
“Pretty much. You driving?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “I figured you would.”
I grin. “Get your dip. I’ll be back down in a few. Just need to freshen up.”
A few minutes later, we’re in the truck the team loaned me for my stay. The windows are down, and the late afternoon sun is cutting through.
It’s a quiet ride at first, but not awkward.
She adjusts the container in her lap. “If this spills, I’m blaming you.”
“Noted.”
“You nervous?” I ask.
“For a barbecue?” she says. “No.”
“Your brother’s there.”
She glances over. “So?”
“So you tend to act like we’ve never met when he’s around.”
She rolls her eyes. “I do not.”
“You absolutely do.”
“I’m just being normal. My romantic life is none of his business.”
“Is that what that is? Just normal?”
She turns toward me slightly. “You want me to be less normal?”
I smirk. “Depends what your version of not normal is. You’re already the weirdest girl I know.”
“Oh, is that so?”
“Yeah. You text from the next room over but say you need your sleep.”
She shakes her head, looking back out the window, but she’s smiling.
I let the silence sit for a second.
“You ever think about staying here?” I ask, breaking it.
The question lands between us for a moment, and she looks over again, this time more serious.
“Here?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Riverbend. The shop. All of it. I know you’ve only been here, what, almost a month? But it seems like you fit in.”
She hesitates, thinking.
“I don’t know,” she says finally. “It’s…easy here. I feel like I can finally hear myself think. I do like the quiet. That was hard to come by in Dallas.”
“Easy’s not bad. Neither is quiet.”
“No,” she says. “But it’s not everything. I don’t know if this is just a phase, or I’ll settle down here. It’s nice being around Jackson and Ivy and the kids.”
I nod. “You’re lucky, having family like them.”
“What about you? You a big city guy at the end of the day?” she asks.
“Not really,” I say. “But I’m not exactly built for staying in one place forever either. I’m too used to going where the wind blows me. Which ends up being whichever city a team needs me. Last year I was living on the East Coast. The year before that it was Arizona.”
“Yeah,” she says softly. “I can see that.”
When I glance over, she’s already looking out the window again, conversation closed. Or maybe just paused.
We pull up to Jackson’s place a minute later.
People are already outside, and music wafts in from speakers in the backyard.
This should be a totally normal barbecue.