Chapter 30
Jasmine
Saturday morning, I wake up in Logan's arms in my apartment. The sunlight is coming through the bedroom window in pale stripes across the sheets. He's still asleep, his face relaxed, the lines around his eyes smoothed out.
I ease out of bed, shower, and stand in front of my closet. Today is not a day for armor. Today is a day for looking like exactly who I am — a woman who is confident and not interested in competing with Cat Shaw on any level.
I chose a forest green wrap dress that Mom sold me from the boutique last month. She said the color was made for my skin tone, and she was right.
Logan comes out of the bedroom in a towel and stops when he sees me. “Wow.”
“Too much?”
“You look perfect.”
After a kiss that threatens to lead straight back to bed, I push him towards the shower. While he gets ready, I head to the kitchen, and while the coffee machine is running, I open the group chat.
What would I do without the girls? They’ve encouraged me, held me up when I couldn't see straight, and cheered for me when things were good and showed up with wine when they weren't.
Harper: Thinking of you today. You've got this.
Avery: Give Cat hell.
Natalie: Be gracious. Kill her with class.
Olivia: You are a queen. Don't forget it.
I type back: If I'm not in the group chat by three, send a search party to Long Island.
Logan looks handsome and calm in navy pants and a white button-down. I don't know how he's calm. My hands have been shaking since I woke up.
We drive to Long Island. Logan takes the expressway, and the traffic is light for a Saturday morning. Neither of us talks much. His hand rests on my thigh, and my hand rests on top of his.
Romano's is a family-run Italian restaurant on a tree-lined street in the center of town.
White tablecloths, candles in wine bottles, a brick oven visible through the kitchen door.
Logan reserved a private table in the back room — a space separated from the main dining area by a half wall and a curtain.
We arrive at eleven-forty-five. The restaurant is quiet. A waitress shows us to the back room. The table is set for eight — Logan and me, Mom, George and Cat, Dom and Sarah, and Nolan, who flew in from Florida this morning.
“You mobilized the entire Shaw family,” I say to Logan while I twirl a napkin.
“I mobilized the people who matter.”
My mother arrives at eleven-fifty-five. She walks in wearing a navy dress with tiny gold earrings and her best coat over her arm. She looks beautiful and formidable. I love her so much my chest hurts.
She hugs me first, long and tight, her hand on the back of my head. Then she turns to Logan. They look at each other for a long moment.
“Mrs. Bennett,” Logan says.
“Lorraine,” she corrects him. “If you're going to date my daughter, you're going to call me by my name.”
The corner of Logan’s mouth curves with a smile. “Lorraine.”
She studies his face. “You’ve grown up since I saw you last.”
“In more ways than one,” he assures her.
Mom sits down beside me. She puts her purse on the floor and her hands flat on the table and looks around the room. “Nice restaurant. Good choice.”
“Thanks,” Logan says.
Dom and Sarah arrive next. Dom hugs Mom and introduces Sarah. Mom takes Sarah's hand in both of hers and says, “I've heard wonderful things about you, sweetheart,” and Sarah's face lights up.
I want to cry because my mother just gave Dom's fiancée the warmth that Cat has never given her.
Nolan bursts through the door two minutes later. He hugs everyone, shakes Mom's hand, compliments her dress, and immediately starts examining the menu.
Then George and Cat walk in.
The room shifts. Mom's hand finds mine under the table.
Cat is in a cream coat and a silk scarf, and her hair is perfect. Her expression is the one I've seen a hundred times — pleasant, composed, giving nothing away. George is beside her in a blazer and slacks, his shoulders back, his face unreadable.
Logan walks to them, hugs his mother, and shakes his father's hand. He brings them to the table.
“Mom, Dad, this is Lorraine Bennett, Jasmine's mother.”
The moment hangs in the air. Mom stands up and extends her hand. “Cat, it’s nice to meet you.”
Mom takes it. “It's nice to meet you, Lorraine.”
“Please, sit down,” Logan says.
Everyone sits. Logan is at the head of the table, and I’m right beside him.
The waitress comes. Orders are placed, and wine is poured. The first five minutes are painful — stilted small talk about the restaurant, the weather, and Nolan's flight.
Then Logan speaks.
“I asked everyone here today because I'm tired of pretending. Jasmine and I love each other. We've loved each other since we were teenagers, and we spent ten years apart because the adults in our lives pulled us in different directions.”
He looks at Cat, then at Mom. “Both of you were trying to protect your child. I get that. But the protection turned into walls, and the walls kept Jasmine and me apart for a decade. I'm not blaming anyone. I'm asking for something different going forward.”
He reaches under the table and takes my hand. “I'm not asking you to be best friends. I'm asking you to try. For us.”
The table is quiet.
Cat speaks first. She sets her wine glass down and folds her hands on the table. “I was trying to protect your career, Logan. Everything your father and I did was because we believed hockey was your future.”
“It is my future. Jasmine is also my future. They're not mutually exclusive.”
“I understand that now.” She pauses and turns to me. “Jasmine, I owe you an apology. What I said to you when you were eighteen was wrong. I was thinking about Logan's career, and I didn't consider what my words would do to you. I should have.”
My chest constricts. I never ever expected this from her. “Thank you, Cat, I appreciate that.”
Mom looks at me, and I give her the smallest nod. “I don't need you to like me, but I need you to see my daughter for who she is. This woman is extraordinary, and your son is lucky to have her.”
“I agree,” George says.
Every head at the table turns to George. He's been silent through the entire conversation. “Jasmine is accomplished and intelligent. She's clearly good for Logan. I don't need a five-year plan to see that.” He looks at Logan. “I should have said that sooner.”
Logan's hand tightens around mine under the table.
“Well,” Nolan says into the silence. “Can we order now?”
We all laugh, and the tension eases. The waitress comes back, and the conversation shifts to the menu and whether the chicken parmigiana is as good as the reviews say.
Cat asks Mom about the boutique. Mom tells her about the spring line she's curating and a new vendor she found for silk scarves. Cat says she'd love to visit sometime. Mom says the door is open.
It’s nice to see them talking, even though a lot of it is weighing each other.
Still, they are seeing each other as people, not enemies.
Logan gets Dom and Sarah to talk wedding plans, which clearly Sarah loves. One day, that will be us.
My mother gushes over the photos of venues that Sarah shows her.
“We've narrowed it down to two,” Sarah says, tilting the screen so Mom can see. “This one is a vineyard with an outdoor ceremony space. And this one is a restored barn with floor-to-ceiling windows.”
Mom takes the phone from her hand and zooms in. “The barn. No question.”
“Really? Why?”
“Look at the natural light coming through those windows. Your photos will be stunning. The vineyard is pretty, but you'd be fighting the sun all afternoon.”
“That's exactly what I said,” Sarah says, turning to Dom. “I told you the barn was better.”
“I liked the vineyard,” Dom says with a pout.
“The barn has better light, sweetheart,” Mom says, patting Dom's arm. “Trust us.”
“You've known Lorraine for twenty minutes, and you're already ganging up on me,” Dom says, looking at Sarah.
“Smart women recognize smart women,” Mom says.
Sarah grins and swipes to another photo. “Okay, so for flowers I was thinking peonies and ranunculus, something loose and romantic, nothing too structured.”
“Yes,” Mom says, leaning in. “And mix in some greenery. Eucalyptus. It softens everything.”
They spend the next ten minutes talking about centerpieces and table runners and whether a sit-down dinner or a buffet is better for a small wedding. Dom watches them with his mouth slightly open.
By the end of the conversation, Mom has an invitation to Dom and Sarah’s wedding.
At the other end of the table, George turns to Logan. “Good game last night. You played well.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“The team looked solid. That second goal, the setup was clean. Good puck movement through the neutral zone.”
“Cole's been working on the breakout pattern all week. It's starting to click.”
“I could see that. Your positioning was strong too. Much better than the Philadelphia game.”
“I made some adjustments.”
“It showed.”
They talk about hockey for a few minutes, and it's just a father and his son discussing a game. No notebook. No critique list. No five-year plan. Just George Shaw telling Logan he played well and meaning it.
By the time the main courses arrive, the table is loud and warm. Cat is still careful around Mom, and my mother is still watchful.
George is still George —economical with his emotions. But the ice has cracked. The walls have lowered.
After dessert, we stand outside the restaurant on the sidewalk. The November sun is low and warm. Cat approaches me while Logan is talking to George.
“I meant what I said inside. I'm sorry for what I said to you when you were young. I was wrong.” She adjusts her scarf. “You make my son happy. I can see that. I'm going to try to make peace with it.”
“That's all I'm asking.”
She nods once and turns to George. They say their goodbyes and walk to their car.
Mom is standing beside me. She watches Cat walk away. “She's trying. It's a start.” She puts her arm through mine. “You did good today, baby. Both of you.”
Logan comes over. He shakes Mom's hand. She holds it for a moment and looks him in the eye. “You take care of my daughter.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“And come see me at the boutique. I wasn't kidding about having things to say to you.”
He nods. “I’ll be there.”
Mom hugs me one last time. She gets in her car and drives away. Dom and Sarah leave next, then Nolan, who hugs me and tells me I'm the best thing that's happened to his brother and to call him if Logan ever messes up.
Then it's just us. Logan and I on the sidewalk outside Romano's in the November sun.
“We did it,” I say.
“We did it.”
He takes my hand, and we walk to the car. He opens my door, I get in, and he walks around and slides into the driver's seat.
“Where to?” he asks.
“Home.”
He starts the car. We pull away from Romano's. The Long Island streets are quiet and golden in the afternoon light. I lean my head against the window and close my eyes, and his hand finds my knee.
“Logan.”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you for not giving up on us.”
“Never.”
And together, we drive home, leaving the past behind us where it belongs.