Chapter 13
We drive into the late afternoon, winding through the quieter, dustier roads that hug the outskirts of Maplewood Springs.
As the pavement fades to gravel, and the gravel eventually gives way to packed earth, the weight of the day slowly begins to melt off my shoulders.
I look in the rearview mirror. No headlights.
No tailgating vans. No looming cameras. Out here, it’s just us and the serenity of the forest.
We’ve lost them.
Thank goodness. My heartbeat finally slows to something resembling normal human rhythm rather than the frantic beating of a hummingbird’s wings.
I steal a glance at Logan, who seems enchanted by the towering mountains surrounding us.
He’s like a kid experiencing the great outdoors for the first time, ogling the terrain with curious eyes.
Leaving shortly after high school, he probably hadn’t had the proper opportunity to explore our beautiful little town and its surroundings.
“Where exactly are we headed?” Logan asks, rolling down his window to let the crisp mountain air rush in. “Or is this the part where you reveal you’re actually a serial killer who lures pop stars into the wilderness?”
“If I were a serial killer, I’d pick a victim people would actually miss.”
His hand flies to his chest. “Wow. That’s cold.”
“You’ll survive.”
By the time we reach the foot of the Ouachita Mountains, the sun is low and golden. I pull the car into a small, unmarked nook—a dirt patch framed by overgrown shrubs and crooked trees. There are no signs, no trail markers. Just nature and the ever-present chirping of birds and crackling of trees.
Logan steps out and stretches his arms wide. “Seriously though, where exactly are we going?”
I shut my car door and sling my purse over my shoulder. “You’ll see.”
“So mysterious. I like it.” His smile seems real, not that practiced camera-ready grin I’ve seen plastered across billboards and magazines.
He follows me as I lead him down a narrow path that only locals—or maybe just me—would know. A few minutes in, the forest opens to a small clearing. There, nestled in a soft, leafy hollow, is my favorite place in the entire world: a hidden hot spring surrounded by budding maple trees.
This little spot has been my sanctuary since I happened upon during an eight grade’s camping trip. Whenever life got too hectic, I’d escape here to reset. No one else knew about it. Until now.
The pool shimmers in the fading light of the sun, steam curling upward in slow spirals.
Logan does a slow 360, taking it all in. “Incredible.”
“You should see this place in the fall,” I say, “when the leaves change colors and dance freely in the wind.”
I glance at him just in time to catch him staring at me. “What?” I ask, heart skipping like a schoolgirl’s jump rope.
“It’s plenty beautiful already,” he says softly.
I look away before my cheeks fully combust. I have no business blushing over him—not when we have bigger problems. “What are we going to do about the press? By tomorrow, the entire country will think we’re dating.”
He kneels by the edge of the pool and trails his hand through the steaming water. “That’s not entirely far off.”
Is he kidding right now? We’re in the middle of a nightmare, and he doesn’t think anything of it. Heat rises up my neck that has nothing to do with attraction and everything to do with frustration.
I cross my arms. “Don’t you take anything seriously?”
“I’ll handle the press,” he says with that cocky half-grin of his. “Trust me.”
“That answer doesn’t inspire much confidence. And why is Victoria here? What aren’t you telling me?”
His expression shifts, and I can tell something guarded flashes across his face. Would it kill him to give me a straight answer for once?
“Don’t worry about Victoria,” he says, standing up and—oh no.
He takes off his shirt, then starts unbuckling his belt.
“Logan—what are you doing?” I take several steps back, as if distance will protect me from all that . . . lean body mass. He’s somewhat wiry and yet sculpted.
“What does it look like?” He kicks off his shoes, seemingly oblivious to my internal shock.
I feel a tingling sensation in my chest as he dives in with a splash, and I shield my face from oncoming water droplets that hit my forearm like summer rain.
He resurfaces with a blissful sigh. “This feels amazing. C’mon, jump in.”
Yep, he’s nuts. “What if—“
He submerges again before I can finish, making my blood boil, and when he comes back up, water streams down his face as he rakes both hands through his hair. His eyes are closed, and he tilts his head back in the golden light like some kind of Greek statue brought to life.
I close my mouth, afraid I’ll appear like I’m salivating. As insufferable as he can be, there’s no denying the way he makes me feel.
The man looks like he was carved from marble.
“When you’re done checking me out,” he says, “you could join me.”
I flinch from embarrassment. “I was not checking you out.”
“Mmhmm.”
I put my hands on my hips. “As I was saying before you rudely submerged, what if someone sees us?”
“Look around you.” Logan spreads his arms wide at his sides. “There are only birds and maybe a few squirrels prancing around. I don’t think they’ll be seeing much of anything.”
Once again, he’s not wrong, and I’m pretty sure we weren’t followed. But still . . . “It’s getting chilly. We should probably head back.”
He ducks in the water so that only his head is visible. “Don’t be such a worrywart. Live a little, Maisie. Get in here.”
I doubt I’m going to win this argument, and it has been a day filled with drama. Reporters, pop stars, sneaking through hallways—a soak in a hot spring might just be what I need.
Maybe five minutes won’t hurt.
I look around. Just trees and birds and one very smug musician.
“Turn around,” I say, voice firm.
He grins and obliges, turning his back to me and planting his forearms on the rocky edge of the pool as he stares ahead.
Quickly, I strip down to my underwear, goose bumps rising across my skin as the evening breeze wraps around my shoulders.
Would any sane person strip down outdoors on a spring evening when the temperature’s dropping by the minute?
The things Logan gets me to do. I fold my clothes into a precise stack and dip one toe into the steaming water.
Then—
“Bunnies?”
My head snaps up, and I see him staring at the cute design on my panties.
“Logan!” I shriek, diving into the water like I’ve been launched from a catapult, splashing half the forest in my desperate attempt to hide my underwear choice from his prying eyes. I feel like I’m going to burst into flames, and not from the spring’s hot water.
When I finally gather enough courage to look him in the eye, he’s full-on grinning, those stupidly perfect white teeth gleaming in the fading light. “So that’s your style, huh?”
“You’re such a jerk.” I keep my chin raised despite the mortification coiling in my stomach.
I paddle closer, narrowing my eyes at him before I raise my arm and send a tidal wave of water directly into his smug face.
He sputters, water dripping from his eyelashes as he wipes his face. “Totally worth it.” Then adds with that infuriating half-smile, “They’re cute.”
Oh my god. I roll my eyes and swim away, trying to convince myself the furnace-level heat in my face is absolutely, incontestably from the hot spring and not from the way his gaze lingers on me.
Logan glides after me. He’s like one of those Olympic swimmers who make even the most awkward movements appear fluid and intentional. Meanwhile, I’m splashing around like a distressed kitten.
I veer left, putting some much-needed distance between us. “I need to know something,” I say, pausing near a moss-covered rock jutting from the pool’s edge. The rough surface feels reassuringly solid against my palm. “And don’t sidestep. Tell me the truth.”
He stops a few feet away, water lapping gently around his shoulders. “All right. Shoot.”
“Are you dating Victoria Delacroix?”
Something shifts in his eyes—like he knows he can’t keep it from me any longer. I brace for the revelation.
“No,” he says simply.
I keep swimming in circles across the surface while he trails behind me.
“Are you sure?” I glance over my shoulder, catching his gaze. “Because she definitely came at me like a woman scorned.”
He sighs, sending small ripples across the steaming water. “Our record label wants to sell us as a couple. It’s all part of some elaborate marketing ploy. Public appearances. Joint interviews. Singing duets.”
“So I’m a complication,” I say, circling around the shallow edge as he follows. Great. I’ve managed to get myself caught in the crossfire of music industry politics. As if my life wasn’t already a country song waiting to be written.
“That’s where you’re wrong.” That self-assured smirk returns, soft and cocky. “There’s nothing complicated about you.”
“Gee, thanks.” If that was supposed to be a compliment, he needs serious help in the delivery department.
“I mean that in the best way.” He raises his eyebrows, droplets clinging to them like tiny crystals. “You’re . . . real. Refreshing. Honest.”
I frown, treading water to stay afloat. “So your ideal woman is a chilled soda and a spreadsheet?”
“With a little sass and a killer eyeroll,” he adds.
“Is that why you wanted to be my wedding date?” I ask, curiosity getting the better of me. What exactly is he getting out of our arrangement?
He stops swimming and so do I, like we’re both suspended in this weird moment of truth telling. “Enough about me. It’s my turn to ask questions.”
“Okay, lay one on me.”
“Why are you going to a wedding you don’t even want to attend?”
I float toward the middle of the pool where the water coils warmest around my shoulders. The first stars have begun to blink into existence overhead, tiny pinpricks of silver in a velvet canvas. “Andy and I used to date.”
Logan’s brow furrows in concentration. “Andy . . .” He strokes his chin like he’s auditioning for a detective role. “Morrison?”
“Yep.”
”I cannot believe you dated that guy.“ His laugh erupts so loudly that a small flock of birds takes flight from nearby tree. “He was such a crybaby in kindergarten. Like, full-on wailer if a juice box slipped from his hand and spilled all over his white shoes.”
“Well, by high school he grew out of that. Kind of.” I shrug, sending small ripples outward. “It wasn’t some epic love story—we were friends hanging out all the time. Eventually it felt like the next logical step.”
“And he broke your heart?” Logan asks, his gaze intense as it locks with mine.
The memory wrings my stomach like a dishrag. “I walked in on him. With Lindsey. After the breakup, I couldn’t stay alone at my apartment in Unity Grove. That’s why I’m living with my parents in case you’re wondering.”
“Makes sense.” His eyes narrow suddenly. “Wait, Lindsey Lindsey? Your best friend Lindsey?”
“Former best friend,” I correct. “She acted like it was some competition she finally won. When I saw her at the diner that day, she practically rubbed it in my face. And I guess . . . I couldn’t let her win again.”
“So you invented a boyfriend.”
I nod, feeling slightly petty now that the words have been spoken out loud by someone other than me. If only I’d had better impulse control that day.
Logan swims closer, the water smoothing aside around his shoulders as if it had decided to make room for him.
His eyes meet mine for a moment before they drop, quick and unmistakable, to my mouth.
My heart responds like it had received a starting gun, sprinting into a frantic rhythm it had never rehearsed.
Without thinking, I plant a foot firmly against his stomach to halt his advance, then push off, my toes grazing the ridges of his abs as I propel myself backward until the back of my shoulders press against the rocky edge of the pool.
He raises his eyebrows, surprise and amusement mingling on his face.
“Let’s not forget we’re under a contract,” I say, half warning him, half reminding myself that this isn’t real. No matter how many times my stupid heart might temporarily forget.
He nods and swims backward to the other end of the pool, his gaze holding mine continuously. “Of course. All business.”
The sun has completely dipped below the horizon, shadows deepening around us, and a sudden breeze weaves through the trees, cool against my damp skin. My teeth nearly chatter as I mutter, “It’s cold. And I forgot to bring my emergency blanket I usually keep in my trunk.”
Without hesitation, Logan hauls himself out of the pool in one fluid motion. Water cascades down his chest and arms in rivulets that highlight the ridges of his muscles. My eyes trace the impressive veins running along his forearms before I catch myself and look away.
“Don’t worry. I’ll get it,” he declares, voice brimming with certainty.
“Wait—Logan, the keys—”
He’s already rummaging through my neatly folded clothes, completely unbothered by his near nakedness. He snags my keys, tosses me a wink, and takes off toward the car, his bare feet slapping against the dirt path.
By the time he returns, ten minutes later, his body is gooseflesh, shoulders hunched against the cold. He’s shivering noticeably but clutching the blanket in his hands like he’s won Olympic gold.
“Found it,” he announces through chattering teeth, undeniably proud of his chivalrous mission.
“Why didn’t you use it on the way here?”
“I didn’t want to get it wet for you.”
I climb out, wrapping my arms around myself as the cool air blasts my wet skin. He immediately drapes the thin fleece around my shoulders, his fingers brushing against my collarbone in a touch so brief I might have imagined it.
“Thanks for getting it,” I say, pulling the blanket tighter.
“You’re welcome,” he replies, teeth still chattering like tiny castanets.
After drying myself as best I can, I give him the blanket so he can do the same. Then I grab my belongings, and we sprint to the car in silence, and when we finally climb inside, we’re greeted by warm air that feels like absolute heaven against my chilled skin.
I rub my hands in front of the vent and turn the heat up another notch, sighing with relief.
Thank goodness he left the car running.