Chapter 11
Josie
Logan steals the last strip of bacon from my plate and doesn’t even pretend to apologize. He drags it through the smear of egg yolk first, then holds it in front of my mouth like he’s testing whether I’ll take it.
I narrow my eyes at him.
He raises a brow.
Asher huffs out a quiet breath beside me, reaching past my shoulder for the coffee pot. His chest brushes my arm as he refills my mug, and I’m struck by the scent of him: clean soap and sawdust, and something darker that lingers at the back of my throat.
“Eat.”
Logan’s low baritone sets off pleasant tingles inside my body. My breasts swell, and my nipples press against the inside of my bra.
I ignore my body’s response and focus on his order. “I’m full.”
Tilting his head, he tips the bacon closer. Caving, I lean forward and take a bite. Salt and grease bloom across my tongue. He watches my mouth like he’s memorizing the way I chew.
Asher’s fingers skim absently along the back of the booth behind me, tracing the seam of the vinyl, then brushing the edge of my shoulder. The contact is casual and does not help to dial back the heat gathering in my lower stomach. When I shift, his knuckles follow, adjusting without thinking.
Logan’s knee rests against mine under the table. The steady heat of him seeps through denim into skin.
Since full-on sex in public is out of the question, I try to distract my wayward mind with my surroundings. The diner smells like coffee and butter and the faint sweetness of something baking. A chair scrapes near the window. Someone laughs, and conversations drift through the air.
I reach for my mug. Asher catches it first, fingers wrapping around the ceramic.
Steam curls between us. He blows once across the surface and hands it back, watching me over the rim like he’s testing something.
“I can handle heat.” The words leave my mouth before I think them through.
Logan’s gaze shifts. It darkens in a way that makes my pulse stutter. “Oh, we know.”
The confidence in his tone slides down my spine and settles somewhere low in my belly. By now, my panties are soaked.
I lift the mug, suddenly very aware of both men watching me.
The coffee hits my lips. It’s too hot. He was right, damn him, but I refuse to flinch. It burns on the way down, but I manage not to choke.
The bell over the door jingles as Doctor Caleb Chambers and Maggie step in from the cold, bringing a gust of early morning air with them.
I'd heard enough town gossip to know their history. The town’s doctor and Maggie were high-school sweethearts, broke up, and just recently came back together.
I sigh a little. As my e-reader can verify, I'm a sucker for second-chance romance. They don’t head for a booth.
They veer toward us. Maggie’s hair is caught up in a messy knot that’s already half-fallen loose.
Caleb’s hand rests flat at the small of her back as he steers her around the diner.
“Morning,” Caleb says as he stops beside our table, one hand braced lightly on the edge of it. His gaze sweeps over Logan and Asher first, assessing, then lands on me.
Maggie leans in against his side, hip to hip, her shoulder brushing his chest. “You smell like syrup,” she tells me with a grin.
“Blame him.” I hook my thumb toward Logan.
Logan doesn’t deny it. He just lifts my plate slightly and slides it back toward me when I start to push it away.
Maggie’s eyes drift past us toward the window. “I drove by the farm yesterday,” she says, tucking her hand into Caleb’s jacket pocket like it belongs there. “The fencing’s up.”
Asher nods once. “Finished the north line late.”
She looks back at me. “It’s coming along beautifully.”
Warmth spreads under my ribs. “It’s getting there.”
“Do you have a date set yet?” she asks. “For opening?”
I blink at her. “Opening?”
“For the sanctuary,” she says, like it’s obvious. “Grand opening. Ribbons. Kids. Chaos.”
I laugh, the sound catching somewhere between nerves and something softer. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”
Logan’s thumb traces a slow line along the side of my knee under the table.
“You should,” Maggie says. “People will come.”
I glance between the three of them, suddenly aware of how close the brothers sit on either side of me, how Caleb’s hand hasn’t left Maggie’s back.
“Maybe,” I say, wrapping both hands around my mug. “Three weeks? A month? I need a little more time.”
“That’s reasonable,” Caleb replies. His tone is calm, measured, but there’s approval in it that lands heavier than it should.
Maggie nods decisively. “Tell us when. We’ll show up.”
Logan shifts, draping his arm fully along the back of the booth behind me, fingers brushing my shoulder as he adjusts. “We’ll make sure it’s ready.”
Asher’s knee presses more firmly into mine for a second before easing back.
Maggie notices. Her smile softens.
“Good,” she says quietly.
Caleb squeezes her hip once. “We’ll let you eat.”
They move on toward the counter, Maggie’s fingers hooked in Caleb’s belt loop now, their heads bent toward each other as they order.
Logan’s hand slides from the back of the booth down to my shoulder and then to the center of my back, a slow, unhurried path.
I look down at my plate, then up at him.
He lifts his chin slightly.
“Three weeks,” he says.
Asher reaches for my fork and nudges it back into my hand. “Finish your breakfast.”
The bell over the door jingles again.
This time, the air that follows is colder. And it has nothing to do with the outside temperature.
The laugh in my throat dies before it finishes forming. Cold air rolls across the floor first, followed by footsteps. I know his cadence. There’s a rhythm to it, the steps always controlled and measured, portraying a confidence that never asks permission.
My fingers tighten around my mug before I look up.
Richard pauses just inside the doorway, brushing raindrops from his coat like he has all the time in the world. He doesn’t scan the room. He knows exactly where I am.
His eyes land on me.
Everything inside my body goes still.
Like prey that realizes it’s already been seen.
Logan’s hand is still at the center of my back. Asher’s knee still touches mine.
The warmth drains from both places at once.
Richard smiles.
It isn’t big. It isn’t obvious.
It’s the kind that lives only in the corner of his mouth. The kind that says, I’m about to enjoy this.
He approaches our table slowly, like he’s deciding whether we’re worth his time.
“Josie.” My name rolls off his tongue smoothly, his tone faintly amused. “Could you have picked a more backward town than this?”
Logan shifts beside me. The booth suddenly feels too tight. The vinyl creaks. Asher’s thigh goes solid against mine.
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.
Richard’s gaze flicks to Logan, then to Asher, first assessing, then dismissing.
“Ah,” he says softly. “The help.”
Logan moves.
Asher’s hand lands on his shoulder.
“Careful,” Richard continues lightly. “I’d hate for you to confuse proximity with permanence.”
My pulse thunders in my ears.
“Richard.” My voice is weak, and I hate hearing the plea in it.
He leans slightly closer, bracing one hand on the edge of the table. Not enough to touch me, but enough to crowd.
“You look tired,” he says, eyes sliding over my face. “Still struggling with the numbers?”
Heat creeps up my neck.
Logan starts to shift from the booth. The loss of his presence hits me immediately, and I feel more exposed.
Richard’s attention sharpens when he notices. “I assume they don’t know.” He glances at the brothers. “About the failed expansion. The overdraft. The little accounting mishap that nearly cost us?—”
“That wasn’t—” I start.
Richard sends me a withering look. And I falter. My throat closes.
His brows lift slightly. “Yes?”
The diner has gone quiet.
Forks pause mid-air.
Coffee cups hover.
I can feel every set of eyes.
Richard tilts his head the same way he used to at the kitchen counter. “Go on, Jo. Explain your fuck-ups to these nice people here.” His voice is soft, but the words land like whip lashes.
My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. I know the numbers. I know the truth. I rebuilt the projections three times. I caught the vendor discrepancy. I corrected the margins. But the way he says it?—
The room shrinks.
I’m back at our old table. Papers spread out. His sigh, heavy and patient. The slow shake of his head. “You don’t understand liquidity,” he used to say. “It’s not just adding columns.”
“I do,” I whisper now.
He smiles wider.
“Sweetheart.”
Logan stands. The movement is sudden enough that the table rattles. “Watch it,” he warns.
Richard doesn’t even look at him. “I’m having a conversation with my wife.”
“She’s not your wife,” Asher says evenly.
Richard finally turns his head. Studies Asher like he’s mildly surprised the furniture spoke. “Legally, you might be right,” he replies calmly, “but I love her, and I want what’s good for her.”
Logan scoffs and takes a step forward. Jeremy appears between them and grabs Logan’s forearm. “Is there a problem here, gentlemen?”
Richard sends him a charming smile. “No problem, sir. Just having a conversation with the little wifey here.” He turns back to me.
“You can play businesswoman all you like, Josie. But not with my money. When this hits court, it won’t be diner gossip.
It’ll be documentation. Under oath.” The word lands like a dropped plate.
Court.
I picture the courtroom. The polished wood. The judge.
Him.
My hands start to shake.
I tuck them under my thighs.
“Tell them,” Richard says softly. “Tell them how you nearly bankrupted us.”
I stare at the edge of the table. The grain blurs. I know that’s not true. But my chest tightens anyway.
Logan pulls forward.
Jeremy grips him harder this time. “Don’t,” he says under his breath.
Logan’s breathing changes. Slower. Deeper. Dangerous.
Jeremy turns his attention to my ex. “You need to step back,” he says calmly. “You’ve had your say. Now go.”
Richard ignores him. “You think they’ll stick around,” he says to me, almost kindly. “When they see the financial records? When they realize you can’t manage your way out of a paper bag?”
I swallow.
Say something.
Defend yourself.
The words crowd my throat and die there.
My vision narrows.
I’m frozen.
“Time to go,” Jeremy says again, less politely.
Caleb steps in from the counter. He doesn’t raise his voice. Doesn’t posture.
He just plants himself between Richard and our table.
Richard exhales sharply through his nose. “This is exactly what I mean.” He gestures vaguely toward me. “She hides behind people.”
That one hits.
Because I am.
Right now, I am.
Jeremy’s hand lands on Richard’s shoulder.
Richard shrugs it off.
Caleb’s hand closes around Richard’s upper arm. “You’re leaving.” There’s something in his tone that even Richard recognizes.
For a second, Richard’s gaze locks with mine.
And there it is.
The certainty.
You can’t do this without me.
He lets Caleb steer him toward the door. Jeremy flanks them.
The bell jingles again.
Cold air rushes in.
Then he’s gone.
The diner stays silent for a long moment.
Logan drops back into the booth beside me, breathing hard.
“Josie,” he says.
I don’t look at him.
I can’t.
Because I look exactly like the woman Richard described.
My chest aches.
Asher’s hand touches my back again. Like I might shatter. That’s when it hits me. They just watched me sit here while my ex dismantled my competence line by line.
What if I drag them into this, and he uses it to ruin them?
Their names tied to mine. Their work. Their reputation.
Because of me.
Because I loved the wrong man once.
And that’s the exact moment I know.
I can’t let them go down with me.
I love them too much to let Richard use them as collateral.
I pull my hands into my lap and stare at the empty space where Richard stood.