Chapter 15 Elizabeth
ELIZABETH
Apparently, after the swamp tour debacle, Sophie had decided her next date needed to happen on solid ground.
Enter: a curated stroll through the Bywater Art District, designed to showcase the happy couple’s cultured side.
And it was a good idea.
For one reason: Because there was no way, on this well-lit, crowded art walk, that Logan and I would get caught alone together like we had on the swamp tour.
Which was for the best. It was becoming increasingly difficult to deny the little crush I had on him.
I trailed a few steps behind them, watching Logan—the world’s most reluctant modern art enthusiast—attempt to appreciate modern expressionism.
“Oh wow,” he deadpanned, staring at an abstract canvas streaked with jagged slashes of red. “This one speaks to me.”
Sophie lit up. “Right? It’s so bold! So emotional!”
Logan sighed like he was shouldering a great burden. “But, you know, it’s also… moving. Makes you think.”
Sophie gasped. “I knew you were an art lover, Lo!”
I snorted.
And yet, Sophie was all in. Bless her theatrical little heart.
She pulled Logan to pose in front of every mural, turning the afternoon into a full-fledged photoshoot.
A massive, neon-pink alligator? Sophie clung to Logan’s arm like they were starring in an indie rom-com.
A wall of oversized pop-art lips? She made Logan blow her a kiss for the camera, then demanded a retake because he “wasn’t selling it. ”
To his credit, Logan played along. Kind of.
I stood off to the side, quietly enjoying the spectacle.
Then Sophie’s phone chimed. She gasped, clutching Logan’s arm like she’d just received a royal decree. “Oh no! I have to take this. It’s about the Paris Film Festival. Huge opportunity.”
Logan perked up instantly. “You should take it.”
Sophie flashed the cameras one last dazzling smile, then skittered off to find a quieter spot, leaving Logan standing beside a trombone made of old car parts, looking mildly relieved.
And then he was walking toward me. His gaze locked on me, eyes narrowing in that way that felt like he was mapping me out, half-smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. It was a deliberate flirtation that made my pulse thud in my throat.
I stiffened. No. Not here. This was Sophie’s date, not mine.
“You need to talk to Sophie,” I said before he could even open his mouth. “She’s your date.”
Logan let out a low sigh, rubbing a hand down his face. “Elizabeth—”
“No.” I held up a finger, trying to reclaim the ground he’d stolen. “Go back to her.”
“I’d rather talk to you.”
My stomach dipped. I hated that reaction. Hated that his low, gravelly voice sent heat curling low in my stomach.
I crossed my arms. “Logan, be careful. There are photographers everywhere. You need to act like this is a magical, romantic date.”
He tilted his head slightly, gaze flickering over my face. “And how do I do that, oh wise PR guru?”
I sighed, stepping closer and lowering my voice so only he could hear, but trying to make it look as professional as possible.
“You should talk loudly enough that the press can hear,” I directed.
“Tell her that dating her has been the most fun you’ve had in a long time.
Say you admire how spontaneous she is, how you never know what she’s going to do next, but that’s what makes being with her exciting.
Then, if you want extra credit, tell her she makes you feel happy. ”
Logan’s mouth ticked up at the corner, his eyes flashing with something unreadable. “Man, Elizabeth. Have you ever considered using your powers for evil?”
I rolled my eyes, noticing that Sophie was off the phone. “Go.”
He sighed, but he went.
And I watched, arms crossed, as Logan did exactly what I told him to do.
And worse? It worked.
Sophie melted, laughing as Logan twirled her under his arm, all smiles and glittering eyes, as she clung to his jacket as if he were the most fascinating person in the world. The cameras loved it.
I should have been thrilled. This was precisely what I’d wanted. I wanted everyone to think that Logan and Sophie were truly in love. So, even though I knew it was fake, as I watched them looking all lovey-dovey, I should have been happy.
Instead, a stupid, nagging thought wedged itself in my brain: I was making him too good of a fake boyfriend.
I pushed that out of my head fast and focused on trailing behind, making sure everything stayed on track.
Sophie kept enthusiastically leading Logan toward various art installations, and I let myself drift, checking that the press was getting all the right shots.
And then, almost without realizing it, I stopped in front of a painting.
It was a landscape of the swamp, done in broad, textured strokes.
In the picture, deep blues, hazy greens, and golden light spilled through moss-draped trees.
The artwork felt alive, as if you stepped too close, you might hear the hum of cicadas or catch the scent of damp earth.
For some reason, I couldn’t look away.
“See something you like?”
My breath caught. It was Logan, and he was too close. Again.
I turned, finding him beside me, hands in his pockets, a casual stance that didn’t match the way he was watching me.
“It’s fine,” he said before I could say anything. “She’s on the phone.”
I blinked. “What?”
“Sophie.” He nodded toward where she stood a few feet away, gesturing dramatically as she talked. “She’s busy. So, you know…” His smirk was lazy, effortless. “I’m allowed to talk to my publicist. I’m allowed to talk to you.”
Something about the way he said it sent a jolt through my chest, like I’d been caught doing something I wasn’t supposed to. Which was ridiculous. I wasn’t doing anything. I shook my head as if I were shaking away cobwebs. “I’m appreciating the art.”
“I didn’t know you were the type.”
“What do you mean?”
“The type to slow down long enough to appreciate something just because it’s beautiful.”
The words hit somewhere they shouldn’t.
Logan tilted his head, finally flicking his eyes back to the canvas. “That looks like where we were in the swamp.”
“Yeah, it reminds me of my dad.” My voice caught, but I powered through. “The artist is Max Landreau. Isn’t it gorgeous? I wish I could afford it. Maybe someday.”
Logan was quiet for a beat, long enough that I could feel the weight of whatever thought he was turning over in his head. “You liked it out there on the swamp tour, didn’t you?” His voice was softer now, like he already knew the answer.
I swallowed. “Yeah. I did.”
For a second, I almost said more. Nearly told him how the swamp felt like home in a way I couldn’t explain, how the smell of cypress and the hum of tree frogs reminded me of being a kid, trailing behind my dad as he pointed out the way the water shifted with the wind.
But I didn’t.
Instead, I shrugged, keeping it light. “Even with the whole ‘gator incident.’”
Logan huffed out a laugh. “See? That’s why I don’t trust nature. Too many teeth.”
I smirked, but something about his expression made my stomach twist. He was still watching me, not in a flirtatious way, but like he was seeing something I didn’t mean to show.
I turned back to the painting, pretending to study the brushstrokes, hoping he’d let it go.
He didn’t. “You know,” he said, voice low, “just because you can’t afford it doesn’t mean you can’t have it.”
I snorted. “What, are you going to steal it for me?”
Logan smirked. “Nah, I prefer not to be arrested on first dates.”
I shifted my weight, but my heart did something stupid in my chest. First date. He was joking, obviously. But still.
I opened my mouth to change the subject, to pull us out of whatever this was, but Sophie’s voice sliced through the moment.
“Lo! Come on, let’s take a picture in front of this one!”
Logan held my gaze for a second longer, then he turned and went back to her.
I exhaled slowly, forcing myself to focus as I watched them pose for the cameras.
Sophie laughed, looping her arms around his neck, smiling so effortlessly, like this was all real.
And I felt something I wasn’t supposed to feel.
Longing.