9. Logan
Logan
Idon’t get to choose the moment.
It’s chosen for me.
“Logan—over here!”
Flash.
Another.
A phone shoved too close to my face before I even step out of the truck in front of Susie’s diner.
“Is it true you’re with Quinn Mercer?”
Yeah.
That answers that.
I don’t flinch.
Don’t step back.
I step forward instead.
“Move,” I say, voice low enough it doesn’t need to be loud.
The guy hesitates.
Then shifts.
Not because he wants to.
Because he recognizes the tone.
Good.
I shut the truck door behind me and circle around, already aware of how fast this is spreading—faster than gossip, slower than damage.
Quinn’s door opens.
She steps out like this is planned.
Like she expected the ambush.
Like she’s done this before.
Probably has.
Her hand finds mine without hesitation.
That part?
That part I didn’t expect to hit the way it does.
But it does.
“Stay close,” I murmur.
Her fingers tighten once. “I don’t need the reminder.”
No.
She doesn’t.
But I like saying it anyway.
That’s new.
I don’t think about it.
Don’t have time.
“Logan, are you confirming the relationship?”
“Is this tied to Mercer development plans?”
“Is this a deal—”
“That’s enough,” I cut in.
Not loud.
Just final.
The noise dips.
Not gone.
But controlled.
That’s all I need.
I pull Quinn in closer—not subtle, not hidden—and guide her past them like this is exactly how this goes.
Like this is normal.
Like she belongs at my side.
And the second we move as one—
the tone shifts.
Not just curiosity now.
Something else.
Something closer to acceptance.
We don’t stop until we hit the diner’s door.
I pull it open.
Let her go in first.
My hand stays at her back a second longer than necessary.
Not strategy.
Instinct.
The bell rings.
Conversation dies.
Again.
But this time—
it’s not surprise.
It’s confirmation.
“Well,” Susie says from behind the counter, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Guess that answers that.”
A ripple moves through the room.
Whispers.
Faster now.
Less questioning.
More deciding.
I don’t hesitate.
Guide Quinn straight to the counter.
Our hands still linked.
Not even trying to hide it.
“Coffee,” I say.
Susie doesn’t move right away.
Her gaze flicks between us, sharp, assessing, taking in every detail we’re giving her.
“You going to introduce her properly,” she says, “or keep letting the town guess?”
I glance at Quinn.
Give her the opening.
She doesn’t hesitate.
“Quinn,” she says.
Simple.
Clean.
Like she’s not carrying a name that just walked into enemy territory.
Like she doesn’t care who knows it.
A few people shift.
Martha Greene leans forward in her booth.
“Mercer,” she says.
Not asking.
Stating.
Quinn doesn’t look at her.
“Does that change anything?” she replies.
The room stills.
That was the wrong answer for safety.
The right one for control.
I feel it.
The shift.
Less gossip.
More attention.
More interest.
Good.
I lean back slightly, still holding her hand.
“It doesn’t,” I say.
That lands.
Hard.
Martha’s eyes flick to me. “That so?”
“Yeah,” I answer. “That so.”
“And Vegas?” someone else asks.
There it is.
The part they want.
The part they think they understand.
I don’t hesitate.
“We met,” I say. “We didn’t expect it to go anywhere.”
A beat.
Then I tighten my grip on Quinn’s hand just slightly.
“But it did.”
Silence.
Then—
a low murmur rolls through the diner.
Different this time.
Settling.
Believing.
Beside me, Quinn leans in just enough that her shoulder brushes mine.
Natural.
Easy.
Convincing.
Too convincing.
“You’re moving fast,” Susie says.
I shrug. “So is everything else.”
Her eyes narrow slightly.
Not disapproving.
Not convinced either.
But she pours the coffee anyway.
Behind us, the door opens again.
Boots.
Heavy.
Familiar.
Grayson.
Cole.
Luke.
Of course.
They don’t stay away.
Grayson steps in first, eyes going straight to us—our hands, our stance, the way we’re not pretending this is anything else.
Cole’s expression is tighter.
Less accepting.
Luke just watches.
Always watching.
“You making this official now?” Grayson asks.
Not loud.
But the whole room hears it.
That’s intentional.
I meet his gaze.
“Yeah,” I say.
No hesitation.
Cole exhales sharply. “You’re serious.”
“Yeah.”
His eyes flick to Quinn. “You too?”
She doesn’t flinch.
“Yes.”
That earns a few more looks.
A few more whispers.
But less doubt.
More certainty.
Luke nods once, almost to himself. “Then people stop asking questions.”
Exactly.
Grayson studies us another second.
Then nods once.
“Then make it count,” he says.
That’s all the approval I’m getting.
All I need.
The room settles.
Conversation starts again.
Not the same as before.
Quieter.
More certain.
The story’s already changing.
And for the first time since this started—
it’s changing the way we need it to.
Beside me, Quinn shifts closer.
Not for them.
Not entirely.
I feel it.
The difference.
The weight of it.
I glance down at our hands.
Still linked.
Still solid.
Still real enough that I don’t question it.
That’s the problem.
Because somewhere between the truck—
the cameras—
the way she stepped into this without hesitation—
I stopped thinking of it as just strategy.
I tighten my grip slightly.
She looks at me.
Quick.
Sharp.
Questioning.
I don’t answer it.
Don’t explain.
Because I don’t need to.
The message is already there.
Mine.
The thought hits before I can stop it.
And this time—
I don’t push it away.
“Coffee’s on the house,” Susie says, setting the mug down in front of me.
I huff a quiet breath. “That’s new.”
“Not really,” she says. “Just means I expect you to fix whatever this is.”
Fair.
I take a sip.
Too hot.
Doesn’t matter.
Because this—
this is working.
Better than it should.
Faster than it should.
And standing here with her—
with the town watching
with my family backing it just enough
with her hand still in mine—
I realize something I wasn’t planning on.
I don’t just need this to work.
I want it to.
And that?
That’s going to be a problem.