Chapter 2 #7
“This cabin might be crappy,” he murmured to himself, a wry smile ghosting across his lips as he sank into the mattress, “but the bed is good.”
As he turned on his phone, a wave of noise erupted from the screen—predictable text messages, missed calls, and urgent emails flooding his notifications.
Since he had packed his bag and left home, he had deliberately kept the device silent, avoiding the preachy voices of his parents and the anxious concern of his friends, all of whom believed he was making a grave mistake.
He had taken a cab to the airport and boarded the first available flight, surrendering himself to the whims of fate, trusting it would lead him somewhere new, somewhere different.
But as he stared at the screen, a dark thought flickered through his mind: Fate wants me dead.
.. The idea was unsettling, a shadow lurking at the edges of his consciousness.
He sighed deeply, feeling the weight of the world pressing down on him.
With each predictable message that pinged incessantly, he resisted the urge to read or respond.
Instead, he silenced the phone and set it gently on the nightstand, where it sat like a dormant bomb waiting to go off.
Then, without ceremony, he fell into a deep sleep, the exhaustion of the day washing over him like a gentle tide.
Logan jolted awake, heart racing, and peered outside to find night’s embrace already settled in.
Damn it! Adrian! He snatched his phone, inhaling sharply as he noted it was only seven-thirty. Relief washed over him, and he sank back into the pillows, a smile breaking through the anxiety; how humiliating it would be to stand up to the very man who had saved his life.
Finally, he rose and stepped into a quick shower, the warm water chasing away the remnants of sleep. After brushing his teeth, he grabbed his bag from the floor, tossing it onto the bed with a sense of purpose.
He hadn’t packed anything fancy—just a handful of basics: fitted tees, lightweight shorts, boardshorts, linen-blend pants, a pair of jeans, a hoodie, and one button-down, tucked into his suitcase more out of habit than need.
Tonight, he reached for a slate-blue T-shirt, soft and snug at the shoulders, paired with tailored sand-colored chino shorts that hit just above the knee.
He slipped on his clean white low-tops, worn just enough to suggest he lived in them but still kept them looking sharp.
But as he glanced at himself in the mirror, running a hand through his hair, he caught the question lingering beneath the surface—why do I care how I look?
At the last moment, he darted into the shower, spraying a hint of cologne on himself, an instinct he couldn’t quite explain. His heart raced wildly, an unexpected thrill coursing through him, and he reasoned it was merely the aftermath of a long, stressful day.
Exiting his cabin, he made his way to the bar, fervently hoping he was heading to the right place, aware of other establishments nearby. He found a table for two and informed the pleasant waitress that he was awaiting another guest.
It was eight-fifteen.
He rested his hands on the table, leaning back in his chair as his gaze drifted to the black bracelet encircling his wrist. The small, round lifesaver charm caught his attention, its metal slightly worn and weathered, a soft gleam hinting at age.
The thin black leather cords had frayed just enough to suggest they’d been through time’s gentle wear.
His fingers traced them, feeling an unexpected fondness for the charm’s quiet resilience.
“You’re early,” Adrian’s voice cut through his thoughts.
Logan looked up, meeting Adrian’s gaze and instinctively pushing himself to stand before he could fully process it.
In a rush of awkwardness, he nearly sent the chair sprawling but managed to steady it just in time.
A flush illuminated his cheeks as he returned his focus to Adrian, who regarded him with a spark of mischief in his kind eyes.
“So are you,” Logan replied, a subtle smile gracing his lips alongside the delicate blush that now adorned his face.
He half-extended his hand for a handshake but faltered, a nervous chuckle escaping him before he offered it anyway.
Adrian blinked in surprise, then accepted his hand, smiling at Logan with awe, and was that a blush there? Logan wondered.
There was an awkward pause—just long enough for both of them to feel it.
“Hey,” Logan said awkwardly, retracting his hand after a handshake that had lingered a bit too long. His palm began to sweat, and he felt uncomfortably aware of his heart racing in his chest, with Adrian’s gaze fixed on him.
“Hey,” Adrian responded, a soft chuckle dancing on his full lips as he settled into the chair across from him. “Have you waited long?”
“Not really, maybe ten minutes.” Logan returned to his seat, observing Adrian do the same.
Just then, the smiling waitress approached to take their orders, but Logan’s eyes kept returning to the man across from him.
Adrian’s long, elegantly flowing hair, a blend of straight and wavy strands, fell gracefully over one shoulder, secured with a thin rubber band.
Sun-kissed and bleached blonde, it revealed an undertone of faint brown roots that whispered of its darker origins, transitioning from deep hues at the base to shimmering highlights under the sun’s loving embrace.
His skin radiated a warm, sun-kissed glow, bronzed by the sun’s rays.
Dark stubble adorned his cheeks and chin, contributing to his distinctive allure and enhancing his charm.
A small smile began to unfurl on Logan’s lips as he observed the man before him.
“Something funny?” Adrian asked softly, his voice as gentle as the ocean at dusk, as the waitress slipped away with their order, and Logan knew that he just mumbled faintly, “a beer” and went back to glance at Adrian as he talked to the waitress.
“No, sorry,” Logan said, quickly averting his gaze. “This place is… really nice.”
And it was. A small, inviting space, cozy with music loud enough to muffle the surrounding chatter but quiet enough to allow conversation.
“I know, right?” Adrian said, settling in, his hands resting casually on the table. His sleeves were rolled up just past the elbow, the soft fabric of his button-down framing forearms shaped by quiet strength. The collar was open just enough to reveal the suggestion of muscle beneath.
Logan tried not to notice. But he did.
Something flickered—uninvited, visceral.
A split-second memory from earlier that day surfaced: Adrian standing next to him on the edge of the water in nothing but board shorts, water gliding down his torso, every line of his chest and abs catching the light like a sculpture breathed into life.
The easy way his biceps flexed as he carried his board, the way his skin held the sun.
Logan blinked, hard, shaking the thought from his mind as if it hadn’t happened.
It meant nothing. Just a flicker. Just heat. It wasn’t anything.
“Have you been here long?” Adrian asked, unaware—or pretending to be—of Logan’s gaze on him.
Logan shifted, his eyes dropping to the table as he cleared his throat. “No, not really. I actually got in this morning.”
Adrian’s eyes widened, brows arched. “No way!” he exclaimed, his accent roaring as he pronounced the words.
“First day here and you’re already making a scene in the ocean?
” The line could’ve landed sharp, but it didn’t.
There was warmth beneath it, humor tempered by something gentler, like concern wrapped in sunlight.
“Yup…” Logan replied, laughing nervously. “What can I say? I like to make an entrance.”
Just then, the waitress returned with their drinks and a plate of nachos, a perfectly timed rescue.
“So, I’ve got to ask,” Logan ventured after a sip of his beer, setting the glass down with a soft clink. “And don’t take this the wrong way…”
“Go ahead,” Adrian leaned back slightly, lifting his drink. “I can take it.”
Logan hesitated, then smiled, half-embarrassed, half-curious. “I can’t quite place your accent,” he said, realizing a beat too late how blunt it sounded. “I mean, sorry, I meant, where are you from?”
“An accent, really? Do I have an accent?” Adrian’s eyes widened, and he feigned a look of deep offense, raising a hand to his heart. “How could you suggest that?” he added, thickening his accent deliberately, his smirk breaking into a low laugh. “It’s fine! I’m from Israel.”
Logan raised his brows, pausing with a nacho halfway to his mouth. “No way.”
Adrian tilted his head, a slow smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Why not?”
Logan hesitated, trying to find words that felt true. “I mean… I’ve just never met anyone from Israel. You hear about it on the news, but…”
Adrian’s expression shifted, the humor still in his eyes, but something steadier settled in behind it.
“They love to spin stories, stir up fears. At that point, it’s more antisemitism than actual news.
The truth is, it’s a beautiful country.” He paused, eyes glinting with curiosity.
“But you, no mistake where you’re from. American, right? ”
Logan tried to feign surprise, a grin playing at the corners of his mouth. “What gave me away?” he teased. “Seattle, Washington.”
“Seattle? Never been there. Always wanted to see a big city like that,” he said, leaning in just a little, as if drawn closer by Logan’s words.
“It’s not all skyscrapers and glamour,” Logan replied, sipping his beer thoughtfully, “but I could show you around. We have beaches, too, ones you wouldn’t expect.”
A subtle pause hung between them, stretching like the tide pulling back before the next wave.