Chapter 20
CHAPTER
TWENTY
LOGAN
Ilove having Tessa at my place. I love everything about her being here—except for the reasons she is.
I find her to be the most beautiful, fascinating woman I’ve ever met.
But I can’t tell her that. I refuse to be the guy who makes a move on a woman who’s carrying so much, who’s still finding her footing after escaping an abusive relationship.
Yes, I flirted with her at the coffee shop even though I knew something was off, but I didn’t know the extent of it.
Now that I do…all I want is to support her, to be here in whatever way she needs.
Over the past week, I’ve watched her heal—physically, as the bruise on her face faded from dark purple to yellow-green to almost nothing, and emotionally too.
She’s opening up and laughing more. She’s looking lighter.
Happier. Yesterday at the basketball game, I watched her collapse on the gym floor, breathless and grinning, and something in my chest cracked wide open.
I know she still has a long road ahead of her, and I know we haven’t heard the last of Preston. But there’s more good than bad now, and I’m so damn grateful for that.
She emerges from the hallway, her hair still damp from a shower, wearing a cute pair of cutoff jean shorts and a yellow tank top that makes her skin glow.
I recognize the outfit instantly from our online shopping spree the other day.
I had to practically force her to add it to the cart because she kept insisting she “didn’t need that many clothes. ”
“Oh,” I say, pausing mid-flip with the spatula hovering over the pan. “That outfit looks really good on you.”
She glances down at herself, tugging at the hem of the tank top self-consciously. “You think? I wasn’t sure about the yellow.”
“Are you kidding?” I say, plating the French toast I’ve been working on. “It’s perfect. It fits you great.”
It really does. But I don’t elaborate because I’m already dangerously close to sounding like I’m hitting on her, which is the last thing she needs.
I pour her a cup of coffee—two sugars, splash of milk, exactly how she likes it—and slide it across the counter toward her. “What do you want to do today?” I ask.
She wraps her hands around the mug, raising a brow over the rim as she takes a sip. “As in… we’re leaving the house again? Two days in a row?”
She’s still riding the high from the basketball game last night. I can hear it in her voice—that thread of excitement she’s trying to contain.
“I think so,” I say, bringing her plate over with two slices of French toast, dusted with powdered sugar and topped with fresh strawberries. “Don’t you?”
“Yeah,” she says, her smile growing. She sits down at the counter, pulling the plate closer. “I mean, Cole is very well trained. I really don’t worry about Preston when he’s nearby.”
“Right?” I agree, leaning against the counter across from her. “He and Jack both seem more than capable. Anna said they’ve dealt with some pretty scary situations and handled them well.”
“Like what?” Tessa asks, cutting into her French toast.
“Stalkers. Pushy paparazzi who cross the line. There have even been some weirdos who sent death threats.” I shrug. “Apparently, keeping you safe from your abusive ex-boyfriend is pretty standard for them.”
She chews thoughtfully, then swallows. “That’s both reassuring and depressing.”
“Yeah.” I clear my throat, grabbing my own plate and sitting down beside her.
“Anyway. I was thinking we could go to the farmers’ market downtown.
It’s Saturday, so it’ll be busy, but Cole can blend in pretty easily.
And we can just… walk around. Get some fresh air.
Maybe pick up some fresh groceries and make something really good for dinner. ”
“That sounds nice,” she says softly.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” She looks at me, and something warm in her expression makes my chest tighten. “Thank you, Logan.”
“You don’t have to thank me.”
“I know,” she says. “But I want to.”
We sit there for a moment, just looking at each other, and I have to physically force myself not to reach across the counter and tuck that damp strand of hair behind her ear.
Instead, I take a bite of my French toast and change the subject before I do something stupid.
“So,” I say. “Farmers’ market. That was a definite yes?”
She grins. “Yes.”
“Good,” I say. “Because I already texted Cole with the plans. He’s excited to pick up some fresh-cut flowers for his girlfriend.”
The farmers’ market is already bustling by the time we arrive, the morning sun bright and warm overhead. Rows of white tents line the blocked-off streets, and vendors call out about their fresh produce, homemade jams, artisan breads, and handcrafted goods.
Cole follows at a discreet distance, blending in surprisingly well in jeans and a plain T-shirt, sunglasses covering his constantly scanning eyes. He looks like any other guy here shopping on a Saturday morning, except for the way his gaze never stops moving.
Tessa stops at the first stand, a table overflowing with colorful heirloom tomatoes.
“Oh my God,” she breathes, picking up a deep purple one. “Look at this. Have you ever seen a tomato this color?”
“Can’t say I have,” I admit, leaning in to look. “What would you even make with that?”
“Same thing you’d make with any tomato,” she says, setting it down carefully. “But it would look way cooler.”
The vendor, an older woman with sun-weathered skin and kind eyes, smiles. “That’s a Cherokee Purple. Sweetest tomato you’ll ever taste.”
“We’ll take four,” Tessa says immediately.
I pull out my wallet, but Tessa’s already handing over cash.
“I have it,” she says.
“Tessa—”
“Logan, you’ve bought me literally everything for the past week. Let me buy the tomatoes.”
I raise my hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. You can buy the tomatoes.”
She looks pleased with herself as the vendor bags them up, and it makes me smile.
We wander through the market, stopping at nearly every stand. Tessa picks out fresh basil and mozzarella, talking animatedly about making caprese salad. I grab a loaf of sourdough. We sample honey from local beekeepers, artisan cheeses, and jam made from berries I didn’t even know existed.
“Try this one,” Tessa says, holding out a small plastic spoon with raspberry preserves.
I take it, and my eyes widen. “That’s incredible.”
“Right?” She’s already asking the vendor for two jars.
As we move through the crowd, I notice the way people glance at me—some with recognition, some just curious. A couple of guys do double-takes, and one nudges his friend and points. But nobody approaches, and I’m grateful for that.
Tessa doesn’t seem to notice. She’s too busy examining a display of fresh flowers, her fingers hovering over a bunch of sunflowers.
“You should get them,” I say.
She glances at me. “For what?”
“For the condo. It could use some color.”
“Your condo is beautiful,” she protests.
“It’s very bachelor pad,” I counter. “Very ‘I paid someone to decorate this and haven’t changed anything since.’ Get the flowers.”
She bites her lip, considering, then picks up the sunflowers. “Okay. But only because you admitted your place is boring.”
“I said it could use color. There’s a difference.”
“Tomato, tomahto,” she says, grinning.
I pay for the flowers before she can argue, and she rolls her eyes but doesn’t protest.
We’re looking at a stand selling fresh pasta when Tessa suddenly goes still beside me.
“You okay?” I ask.
She’s looking over her shoulder, scanning the crowd behind us. Her expression has shifted—not quite afraid, but wary.
“Yeah,” she says, but her voice is tight. “I just... I felt like someone was watching me.”
My protective instincts kick in immediately. I glance back too, searching the crowd. Dozens of people are milling around—families with strollers, couples holding hands, groups of friends laughing. Nobody stands out.
I catch Cole’s eye across the crowd, and he gives me a subtle nod. He’s already on it, scanning the area.
“Do you see Preston?” I ask quietly.
“No,” she says, still looking. “I don’t see him. I just… I don’t know. It was probably nothing.”
But her shoulders are tense now, and the lightness from earlier has dimmed.
I step closer, angling myself so I’m between her and the crowd behind us. “We can leave if you want.”
She shakes her head, pulling her eyes away from the crowd and back to me. “No. I’m okay. Really. I’m probably just being paranoid.”
“You’re not being paranoid,” I say firmly. “You’re being careful. There’s a difference.”
She gives me a small smile.
“Cole’s here,” I remind her. “And so am I. Nobody’s getting near you.”
She nods, taking a breath. “I know.”
The tension doesn’t completely leave her shoulders, but she turns back to the pasta stand, forcing herself to engage with the vendor about which shape is best for different sauces.
I stay close, hyperaware of everyone around us now. Cole has moved closer, positioning himself so he can see both us and the crowd behind us.
The crowd continues moving, oblivious to our apprehension. Thankfully, no danger appears.
Regardless, the moment has shifted in some way. The carefree morning has a shadow over it now, a reminder that Preston’s influence hasn’t completely disappeared just because she’s not living with him anymore.
“Hey,” I say softly, touching her elbow. “Let’s get some of those fresh peaches from that stand over there, and then we can head home. Make that caprese salad. Open some wine. Watch a movie.”
She looks at me, and the gratitude in her eyes is almost overwhelming.
“That sounds perfect,” she says.
We make our way through the rest of the market, still stopping here and there but with less leisurely wandering than before. Tessa picks out more fresh fruits and vegetables.
By the time we’re heading back to the car, her shoulders have relaxed again. Not completely, but enough.
“I had fun,” she says as we load our bags into the trunk. “Even with the weird paranoid moment.”
“Me too,” I say. “And you weren’t being paranoid.”
She glances at me as I close the trunk. “You really think someone was watching me?”
“I think you’ve been conditioned to recognize when you’re in danger,” I say carefully. “And I think your instincts are probably sharper than you give them credit for. If something felt off, I believe you.”
She’s quiet for a moment, processing that.
“Thank you,” she says finally. “For believing me and for not making me feel crazy.”
“You’re not crazy, Tessa.”
She holds my gaze, and for a second, I think she might say something else. But she just smiles and climbs into the passenger seat.
Cole gives me a nod from where he’s standing by his car, a few spaces down. He didn’t see anything either, but he’ll stay alert.
I slide into the driver’s seat and start the engine.
My entire existence feels surreal right now.
A couple of months ago, I couldn’t have imagined my summer turning out like this—living with a woman I barely know, hiring bodyguards, navigating the aftermath of someone else’s nightmare.
But the strangest part? It doesn’t feel weird.
And that’s entirely because of the woman sitting next to me.
Tessa grounds me in a way I can’t fully explain.
Like no matter what chaos swirls around us, as long as she’s here, I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.