Chapter 14 Logan
LOGAN
No visit to Louisiana is complete without a swamp tour.
So, that’s what Sophie and I were doing for our next fake date.
I adjusted my sunglasses, stepping onto the boat as the humid air wrapped around me like a damp blanket.
The boat was a flat-bottomed pontoon, wide and low, with faded green paint and a canopy that appeared to have been patched a few times too many.
It was big enough for probably a dozen people, including our entourage and the press.
The boat was tied to a crooked wooden dock that wobbled underfoot, sun-bleached and damp in spots.
A cooler rattled near the helm, and someone had duct-taped a plastic chair to the bow like it was an upgrade. Not exactly luxury, but it would float.
Behind me, Mick was annoyingly unbothered by the heat. The man looked like he belonged at a rooftop cocktail bar, not trudging through a marsh. His linen shirt was rolled up just so, his designer sunglasses perched perfectly, and somehow, not a single drop of sweat dared touch him.
“This is a terrible idea,” I muttered under my breath.
Mick snorted. “Oh yeah, real rough. Having to spend a day on the water, soaking up the culture.”
I shot him a look. “If by culture, you mean getting eaten alive by mosquitoes while dodging prehistoric murder lizards, then sure, sounds great.”
He patted my shoulder. “That’s the spirit, rock star.”
To be fair, I wasn’t entirely dreading it. Maybe I was just looking forward to seeing Elizabeth.
And there she was.
I was leaning against the side rail when I saw her.
Elizabeth stepped onto the dock like she owned it, eyes sharp and taking everything in.
Even here—surrounded by swampland, buzzing mosquitoes, and the faint smell of something dead in the water—she looked composed.
Capable. Like nothing could throw her off.
Her hair was pulled back into a twist, but the heat had already started working on it. Tiny curls clung to her temples, soft and out of place in a way that felt unfairly distracting.
That shouldn’t have been something I noticed. And yet, there I was. Noticing. I exhaled, adjusting my grip on the railing, trying to ignore the way my pulse kicked up a notch when she turned her head and caught me watching.
She didn’t say anything. Just arched a single, perfect eyebrow.
I looked away quickly, just in time to see Sophie teeter down the dock.
To say she wasn’t dressed for a swamp tour was an understatement.
Pink platform sandals, a white sundress that probably cost more than the boat itself, and—was that a hat with a veil?
Like she was heading to a royal garden party instead of a ride through gator-infested marsh.
She wobbled slightly as she stepped onto the deck, gripping my arm with a hiss. “You didn’t tell me this would be so… so gross.”
Elizabeth’s voice cut in smoothly. “It’s not a red-carpet event, but that’s part of the charm.”
I turned back in time to see her smiling. Not her professional, I-have-everything-under-control smile. A real one.
Something in my chest tightened.
Sophie shot her an exasperated look. “I don’t know! I thought it would be… less muddy?” She smoothed the front of her dress, as if that would help. “Why didn’t you warn me?”
Then, low enough for only me to hear, Mick muttered, “I assumed common sense would do the heavy lifting.”
I smothered a laugh as Sophie turned away. But my attention was still stuck on Elizabeth.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw several photographers step onto the boat. Then our guide clomped onto the boat with the confidence of a man who had seen some things.
“Name’s Cajun Cal.” He tipped his hat, a well-worn thing adorned with mock alligator teeth.
His skin was sun-kissed to a deep brown, his eyes sharp with amusement as he scanned our group—me, Elizabeth, Sophie, Mick, and a handful of photographers—like he was sizing us up.
“By the time we’re done, you’ll know all about gators and what not to do if you fall overboard. ”
“Wait,” Sophie cut in. “People fall overboard?”
Cal just winked.
Sophie muttered something under her breath and tightened her grip on my arm.
We hadn’t even left the dock when Cal pointed to the shore. “Looky there, got ourselves a big ol’ gator already.”
Sure enough, a massive alligator lay half-submerged near the bank, eyes barely above the waterline.
Sophie shuddered. “This is so not necessary.”
Then, as if this tour wasn’t already on thin ice, Cal reached into a small cooler and pulled out a baby alligator.
“For those of y’all brave enough, we got a little fella here for a photo-op.”
Sophie wrinkled her nose. “I’ll pass.”
Before I could make a joke, Elizabeth spoke to me. “You should hold it.”
I scoffed. “You want to see me get bitten.”
“No, I want to see if you scream like a child when it moves.”
“Challenge accepted.” I sighed, trying for nonchalance, but I couldn’t suppress the edge of a smile. It was ridiculous, but something about the sting of her teasing got under my skin. I reached out and took the baby gator. It was surprisingly light, its belly cool and smooth against my palm.
Sophie watched warily, then sighed. “Fine. Give it to me.”
I handed it over, and for about three seconds, everything was fine.
Then the gator twitched, Sophie screamed, and the baby alligator launched itself onto the deck.
Chaos. Pure. Utter. Chaos.
The photographers scattered first, practically vaulting onto the dock. Mick scrambled after them. Sophie shrieked and jumped into Mick’s arms, who immediately buckled under her weight and stumbled back.
Meanwhile, Cal was not amused. “Get Lil’ Gumbo!” he bellowed, lunging for the loose gator.
I should have moved. Should have done something. But I didn’t.
Because Elizabeth was already on it. While everyone else panicked, she stayed on the boat, crouched low, and in one smooth motion, scooped up the gator like it was nothing. One hand securing its belly, the other casually pressing over its snout.
No hesitation. No flinching. No fear.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
She barely seemed winded as she adjusted her grip, arching an eyebrow at the mess unfolding around her. “You’ve got to hold ‘em right,” she said, voice calm despite the absolute bedlam on the dock. “Otherwise, they get ideas.”
Cal stomped forward, shaking his head as he took the baby gator from her. “Fool city people,” he muttered.
Sophie, still clinging to Mick, let out a dramatic breath. “You know what? No. I am done with this. I’m not going.”
Cal barely spared her a glance. “Fine by me.”
Elizabeth frowned. “Cal, she has to come. That was the agreement.”
Cal huffed. “Nope. She’s not coming.”
Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed. “The whole point of this is for the press to get photos of both of them enjoying the swamp together.”
Cal shrugged. “Nah. Gator nearly got loose ‘cause of her, and I don’t take liabilities on my boat.”
Elizabeth inhaled sharply, clearly scrambling to find another angle. “Okay, but look at it this way. She’s fine now, she’s calmer—”
Sophie cut her off, shaking her head. “No. I am not calm, and I am not going.”
Elizabeth’s mouth pressed into a thin line. She turned back to Cal. “Listen, I can promise you she won’t cause any more issues.”
Cal already had one hand on the throttle. “Not riskin’ it.”
The boat engine roared to life, and then we were off, leaving Sophie, the photographers, and the baby gator disaster behind.
I turned to Elizabeth, and she turned to me. For a second, neither of us said anything. We just looked at each other like we’d both realized at the same moment that we were now alone, on a boat, in the middle of the swamp.
Well. This just got interesting.
We were both still standing at the back of the boat, and I glanced at the dock.
Sophie looked much more at ease on solid ground, already talking with dramatic hand gestures.
I caught my name drifting across the water, followed by her giving an exaggerated shake of her head like she was deeply, tragically concerned for my well-being.
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. I didn’t comment.
Sophie gasped, throwing a hand over her mouth like she was watching us get dragged away to our doom. “Oh no,” she said, voice a touch too rehearsed. “I hope Logan will be okay out there. What if something happens?”
Elizabeth cleared her throat and called to Cal. “So, what, you’re taking us on a tour anyway?”
Cal shrugged. “Got the boat. Got the swamp. Might as well.” Then he gave me a squinty, disapproving once-over. “Besides, the boy looks like he could stand to learn a thing or two.”
Elizabeth faced the water, and we both leaned against the railing. “At least Sophie’s playing the supportive, caring girlfriend. That’ll get us some points.”
I whispered, “Why did you let Cajun Cal take us out here? Usually, you strong-arm people into doing what you want.”
“Usually,” she murmured, glancing at Cal, who was grumbling to himself. “But I also know when to pick my battles. “Because Cajun Cal runs on his own time, and if I try to tell him otherwise, he’ll probably drop us off in the middle of the swamp and let nature take its course.”
The boat rocked as Cal maneuvered us through the narrow waterways, Spanish moss dripping from the trees, the heavy scent of earth and water thick in the air.
The boat tilted slightly as we hit a wake, and Elizabeth grabbed my arm. It was instinct, the kind of quick reaction she probably didn’t even register. But I sure as heck did.
She laughed, squeezing my arm before letting go. “Careful, rock star, wouldn’t want to end up as gator bait.”
I swallowed, still feeling the heat of her fingers.
We drifted deeper into the swamp, the hum of insects surrounding us, the occasional ripple in the water betraying something moving beneath the surface.
Cal muttered something about feeding the gators and tossed a piece of meat over the side. A second later, a gator’s head broke the water, snatching it up with a sharp snap of its jaws.
Elizabeth leaned forward, eyes bright. “That’s incredible.”
Suddenly, I wasn’t watching the swamp anymore. I was watching her. The way she lit up, wholly absorbed in the moment, her usual composure slipping just enough for me to see something real beneath it.
“It is incredible,” I said, and I wasn’t talking about the swamp.
She turned toward me, still smiling. “See? Not so bad.”
I cleared my throat, forcing my gaze away. “So… gator-wrangling? How’d you become an expert in that?”
Elizabeth’s fingers tapped the boat’s railing as she gazed out at the swamp. I lingered beside her, sensing something was about to shift, but I didn’t know what.
Finally, she turned, her eyes softer, her voice gentler. “My dad used to bring my brother and me out here,” she said, her voice touched by nostalgia. “He’d tell us stories—about how wild and unpredictable the swamp is, but how beautiful… if you learned to respect it.”
She paused, and I waited. Then the name slipped out quietly. “Jake… you met him, my brother. He has Charcot-Marie-Tooth syndrome. It’s a nerve disorder. There’s no cure, but I try to help when I can.” She let out a breath, her fingers tracing the edge of the railing. “Not that he ever asks for it.”
She glanced at me, then away, like she wasn’t sure why she was saying any of this.
“You probably noticed something was off with him,” she added after a beat, her voice quieter now. “Most people do, even if they don’t know what they’re seeing. The way he holds things, how he moves. It’s subtle, but it’s there.”
I watched her carefully, noting the subtle shift in her posture. She hadn’t planned on saying that. “Sounds like he’s lucky to have you.”
She let out a small huff, but there wasn’t any bite to it. “He’d argue otherwise.”
I looked out at the endless stretch of water, the tangled roots rising from below, the way the swamp seemed both vast and closed in at the same time. I knew what it felt like to want to help someone who didn’t always want your help. “Yeah,” I said finally. “I get that.”
She turned to me like she hadn’t expected me to agree. Like she hadn’t expected me to see what she saw.
I glanced back at her, then away again, feeling something shift in my chest. “I saw you with him at the café.” The words came out before I could stop them. “The way you were with him. How close you are. I wanted that.”
Her brows furrowed slightly. “Wanted what?”
I hesitated, then shrugged. What was the point in dodging it? “A family. Or maybe just someone who feels like family.”
She opened her mouth like she was about to respond, something unreadable flickering across her face. But before she could say anything, the boat lurched beneath us.
It wasn’t dramatic, just a sudden, sharp shift that sent her stumbling forward. But we were near the edge, and the water wasn’t exactly forgiving.
And then, because the universe had a real sense of humor, a gator surfaced right next to the boat, its dark eyes barely breaking the waterline. A low, rumbling growl filled the air, deep enough that I felt it in my chest.
Panic shot through me. My hand shot out, grabbing her waist and yanking her back before my brain could even catch up.
She gasped, colliding against me, her hands bracing against my chest, her breath warm against my neck. Her eyes were wide with surprise.
Then, of course, she laughed. “Relax, city boy,” she teased, breathless but already regaining her balance. “I wasn’t going to fall in.”
I should have stepped back, cracked a joke, and brushed it off. But I didn’t.
And I didn’t let go of her immediately. Because here’s the thing—my heart was still racing. And not from the gator.
From how right it felt to hold her. Her waist beneath my hands, the way she had gripped me instinctively.
Neither of us spoke.
Then Cal, completely unfazed, called out from the back of the boat, “Well, if y’all wanted a honeymoon package, ya shoulda said somethin’.”
Elizabeth let out a sharp breath. “Oh, so hilarious,” she deadpanned, angling herself away from me abruptly.
The moment passed, but something in my chest hadn’t caught up yet.
As the tour wound down and the boat slowly turned back toward the dock, I found myself watching Elizabeth, noticing the way the wind tugged at the loose strands of her hair, sunlight catching in them, turning them to gold.
I’d spent a lot of time with Elizabeth. Late-night meetings, strategy calls where she was always the sharpest person in the room. And I’d started seeing a different version of her: with her brother at the café, showing me her softer side, that she was more than just a workaholic PR genius.
But on the boat, I saw even more. She had been more relaxed, for once. More unguarded.
And more undeniably… kissable.