Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
CASSIE
I should be into this.
I mean—objectively?
I am. My mind, at least. He fits the bill.
Eric is tall. Clean-cut. Easy smile. The kind of guy who looks like he has his life completely figured out. Probably makes his bed every morning, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he even owns a headboard he picked out.
“And yeah,” he’s saying, shifting his drink to his other hand, “I teach marketing at Riverbend U. Mostly upper-level stuff. Branding, strategy, that kind of thing.”
“Oh,” I say. “That’s cool.”
“Yeah,” he nods. “It’s a good setup. Flexible hours, and I still consult on the side. Keeps things interesting. I went to Wharton Business School, so I definitely have the credentials for it.”
“Oh, okay,” I nod politely.
“I even did a summer thing at Harvard, so I went there for a bit.”
“Mmm. Right.”
Okay. He’s definitely name dropping to impress me. And don’t get me wrong—he’s impressive. On paper.
The thing about Eric is…he doesn’t really pause, though.
He just keeps going.
“I’ve worked with a few regional businesses—helped one double their revenue in about six months. It’s all about positioning, really. People underestimate that.”
“Wow,” I say. “Yeah.”
And I mean it.
That is impressive.
“I always tell my students,” he continues, “you can have the best product in the world, but if you don’t know how to sell it…”
I nod along, smiling in the right places, and react when I’m supposed to.
Normal.
This is normal.
This is the kind of conversation I should be having. You know, because I’m single, and my brother just introduced me to one of the town’s most eligible bachelors. Since dating apps don’t exactly exist in this town.
So why do I keep glancing past him, spacing out on what he has to say?
Logan’s at the edge of the yard, surrounded by a handful of kids, setting up what looks like a very serious game of whiffle ball.
“No, no, no,” he’s saying, crouched down, drawing something in the dirt, talking to some kid who looks to be about ten. “You get three feet on either side of the basepath. Buddy, you ran six feet out of the way to avoid the tag. No arguments. That’s an out.”
“That’s not fair!” one of the kids protests.
“It’s absolutely fair,” Logan says. “I’m the commissioner.”
The kids groan, and he grins.
And I swear—he’s enjoying this way too much.
His T-shirt’s slightly damp from the heat, clinging just enough to be annoyingly hot.
He runs a hand through his hair, laughing at something one of the kids says, and then pats the little kid’s mop of hair and sends him up to bat, winds up and throws him a pitch.
He’s completely unbothered, and very much in his element.
And for some reason that does something to me.
A lot more of a something than name dropping Wharton Business School, and a…summer? At Harvard. I’m still confused on what he actually did at Harvard. Like, was it a weekend visit?
I blink, snapping back to the conversation.
“—and that’s when we realized the entire campaign needed to pivot,” Eric is saying. “They were spending all of their time on the wrong targets! Like, duh! So wild. I was like, I’ve been to Harvard, I can help with this.”
“Yeah, right. Totally. Harvard. Wow.”
“You…okay, Cassandra?”
I clear my throat. Cassandra? I haven’t been called that since substitute teachers were reading off the attendance sheet in high school.
“Sorry,” I say quickly. “I zoned out for a second.”
He smiles. “All good. I can get a little carried away with this stuff.”
A little?
“Anyway,” he says, shifting slightly closer, “what you did with that video? There’s real potential there. You could build something.”
“Yeah,” I say. “I’ve been thinking about that.”
And I have. He’s not wrong.
My mind flits to dating, and what I want in a man. This is what I said I wanted: something stable.
With my ex, I felt like I had to beg him to move the relationship forward.
And I vowed afterward I’d find something that makes sense, not something that seemed shiny.
“Honestly,” he continues, “with the right strategy, you could turn that into a full brand. I’d be happy to help you map it out sometime.”
“That’d be great,” I say.
“So, what are you looking for? In a relationship, I mean?”
I pause, for a moment, and he fills the space.
“Personally, I’m a long-term guy. Looking for something to go the distance, you know?”
“Yeah. Absolutely. Uh, me too,” I reply, although I don’t believe it when the words come out of my mouth.
I mean, it should be.
And this is exactly the kind of guy I should be talking to.
“Actually,” he adds, a little more direct now, “could I get your number? I mean, if anything we could just chat marketing or whatever.”
I open my mouth to give him my number.
Then I glance back toward the yard.
Logan’s mid-argument with the same ten-year-old now.
“Hey,” he says, pointing, “you went out of the baseline again. That’s game.”
“I did not!”
“You absolutely did.”
“You’re cheating!”
“I’m not cheating, I’m enforcing the rules. You’re projecting, buddy.”
“What’s projecting?”
“It’s when you go out of the baseline and then tell someone else they’re cheating. Three feet on either side is legal. Look it up.”
The kid crosses his arms. “You’re the worst.”
Logan grins. “And yet—you’re still playing.”
The kid tries not to smile, and fails. Something in my chest tightens.
I look back at Eric and his expectant expression, waiting for my number to “talk marketing” or whatever.
This should be easy, but it’s not.
“Um—yeah,” I say finally. “Sure. Marketing.”
I give him my number, because that’s what you do.
And when I glance back one more time, Logan looks up like he feels it.
Our eyes meet.
I swallow down a knot in my throat. And just like that, nothing about this feels simple anymore.
I see Ivy on the patio, and she waves and comes over to me.
“So. How’s, ah, Professor Eric?”
“He’s, ah, nice.”
“Is he?”
I shrug. “I think so.”
“You…think so?”
“He talks about Harvard a lot. Did he go there?”
Ivy rolls her eyes. “He literally did a weekend workshop there. And he always talks about it. He obscures the language so it seems like he actually went there.”
“Oh. That’s a little weird. I mean, he seems…nice. Really nice. I’m glad to meet him.”
She tilts her head a little. “Doesn’t sound like a ‘hell yes’ to me.”
“I’m flattered but just getting over my ex still, you know? Not sure I’m ready for all that.”
She sighs. “You never think you’re ready. I never did. And then suddenly…boom. One day it just happens.”
Logan interrupts us, and Jackson comes over too.
“Hey, Ivy,” Logan says.
“Nice playing with those kids,” Ivy says. “I’ve never seen such an organized game at one of our barbecues. Usually they turn into little terrors and start whining.”
“Eh, they’re good kids. Just need a little rough-and-tumble, and someone who’s not afraid to give ‘em some structure, that’s all.”
I catch myself staring at all six-foot-whatever of the man. I flash back to him as the handsome cowboy.
Us making out in the rain without a care.
And that does something to me I can’t explain.
I catch Ivy whispering something to Jackson, and he nods thoughtfully.
“So how is, uh…Mr. Professor?”
“Oh, yeah…we’re networking about some marketing stuff.”
“Gotcha,” Logan grins.
“So, Logan,” Jackson says. “This is random but have you ever posted baseball stuff on your social media?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t even use it.”
“Don’t believe in it?”
“I’m a digital minimalist. Haven’t logged into Facebook in ages.”
“Interesting.”
“Uh…why? I’m just too busy hitting a bat with a stick and running around some bases. Me hit, me run.” He mimes hitting a ball and running. “Ooga booga!”
I crack up silently. “Very caveman of you.”
“Hey, I think the cavemen and cavewomen had it right. Go on a little hunt, chill by the fire, hang out. That’s what life’s really about, anyway.” He glances at me. “Not to diminish what you do, Cass. I get that social media is important. Just not my thing, personally.”
I find myself blushing again. Logan really just pretended he was a caveman and then used the word “diminish” properly in the same breath. I honestly don’t know what to make of this man.
“Anyway, Jackson, why do you ask?”
He shrugs. “No reason. Just curious, really.”
We chat for a while, and the party starts to wind down, finally. It’s been a good day but a tiring day. I find myself yawning.
“You ready to make like a tree and split?” Logan winks. “You look tired.”
“Me? No,” I yawn again. “Wait. Make like a tree and…split?”
“Yeah, you know. If I had an ax.”
And now I’m picturing Logan with an ax like some kind of Greek God. I really have a problem.
“Well, that’s a shame you’re yawning,” he says. “Because I packed a secret bottle of wine for a little post-party side quest. But if you’re tired…”
“A…side quest?” I question.
“Yeah, you know. Come on.”
The air’s cooler now, the sky just starting to fade into that deep blue that comes right before night.
He leads me over to the truck, reaching into the back seat and pulling out a bottle of red, and holds it up like proof.
“You know what,” he says, casual, “on second thought, if you’re tired, maybe we should just—”
“I’m not tired,” I cut in.
And I’m not. Not anymore.
“That was just…a post-party yawn.”
He studies me for a second, like he’s deciding something.
“So you’re down for a little adventure?”
I cross my arms lightly. “That depends.”
“On?”
“Where you’re taking me.”
A beat passes, and he smiles.
I pause, staring out beyond the windshield.
“Do you trust me?”
“Do I…” I echo, glancing back at him.
He smirks, but it’s softer this time.
“No,” he says. “Do you trust me, Cass?”
I tilt my head, meeting his eyes.
He continues. “You can say no. I won’t get offended.”
“I do,” I say. “Actually…yeah. I do.”
Something shifts in his expression.
“Alright then.”
He turns the key in the ignition, the engine hums to life, and he pulls something out from his pocket.
It’s the blindfold I used on the first night with him.