Chapter 12
POV: Logan
I wasn’t the type to get nervous.
Not during surgery. Not when speaking at conferences. Not when facing irate athletes or overbearing parents.
But standing in front of Suzy Connor’s apartment building, knowing she’d walk out looking the way she looked—soft, stunning, real—I felt like my ribcage had shrunk two sizes.
It was ridiculous.
And predictable.
Because I’d known this was coming. The moment I first saw her—just days ago now—she’d stepped into my world like she didn’t know it was dark in here. Like she belonged.
She wasn’t supposed to catch my eye that day.
I was focused on the competition, entering to watch Izzy vault from the bleachers. Until I saw her.
Blonde hair in a messy ponytail. Blue eyes alight with pride. A bright T-shirt that said Team Lily in glitter paint. She was talking on the phone and stopped when our eyes met…
I felt my world stop, and my mind twist. I never believed in love at first sight, but my heart did.
I could say I had no idea why she popped out so much for me that day, but I knew.
Because I was so much in the dark that my life knew I needed her shine.
She was my sunshine. In my gray world.
It was like someone lit a match in the middle of all that dull silence and made it impossible to look away.
And something about her hit too hard, too fast. A woman like that doesn’t belong in the background. She glows. Her energy filled the gym, cut through the clinical noise in my head. I found myself wanting to know her more.
Izzy had told me her best friend’s aunt would be the one coming with her for this championship, not her parents, who were usually in the room next to ours.
Izzy said Lily told her the aunt was “so cool” and “a little crazy, but the good kind,” and I realized Suzy Connor wasn’t just some random spectator.
She was in my orbit now.
When I officially met her—when she stood in front of me with that nervous little smile and tried to hide it behind a joke—I wanted to kiss her right there in the hallway.
It wasn’t just attraction. It was the way she looked at people. The way she talked to Lily. The way Izzy already trusted her, laughed with her, leaned into her like she was some kind of anchor.
And the way she talked to Izzy, like they knew each other from other lives. I knew I lost myself there.
I wasn’t built for people like her.
Not after what I went through with Izzy’s mom.
That was love once, too. Or at least what I thought love looked like in your twenties—messy, fast, beautiful, and full of promises neither of us could keep.
When it all crashed under the weight of her pain and addiction, I learned to turn parts of myself off.
You have to, when you’re raising a child on your own and running a surgical department at the same time.
People tried to set me up. Colleagues. Neighbors. Even Agnes, who practically raised me and Izzy both.
But every woman I met was a paper-thin version of what I needed. Smiles without depth. Politeness without soul. None of them could be someone Izzy could look up to. And none of them reached into me the way Suzy did.
Because Suzy… wasn’t trying.
She didn’t push. She didn’t chase.
She just was.
And every damn second I spent with her, she chipped away at something I thought was permanent. This icy, careful wall I’d built? She cracked it without effort. Inch by inch. Bit by bit. With every laugh, every teasing comment, every moment she let me see that her sunshine wasn’t for show.
It was in her heart.
She was warm. Honest. Disarmingly real. And it made me want to be real too.
The way she looked at me when I held her ankle. When she fell asleep next to me. When she smiled at my daughter like she’d known her forever.
I was already falling before I realized I had started.
And tonight—this date? It wasn’t just dinner. It was me giving in to something I’d already surrendered to. It was me admitting that I wanted her. Really wanted her. And maybe… always had.
She was a mystery and a miracle.
And I couldn’t stop myself from wanting to solve her. Hold her. Keep her.
Tonight, I planned to start.
I stood by the car, checking my watch like it would help.
I’d told her I was almost there. And I was.
Too early, probably. But I couldn’t sit still at home. Not when I knew I’d be seeing her like this. Alone. Just us.
I adjusted my collar, rolled my shoulders back. I’d gone with a black button-up shirt, sleeves rolled to my forearms, and a dark blazer over it. Simple. Sharp. The kind of thing that didn’t scream first date, but whispered you matter.
I heard the door before I saw her.
This wasn’t a casual night. Not for me. Not even close.
She stepped out of her apartment like a vision designed to undo me.
The air left my lungs.
Red.
She was in a red dress that hugged her body like it was made just for her.
Tight enough to drive me insane, soft enough to make her look like a walking daydream.
My gaze tracked the delicate shimmer of fabric over her hips, the bare line of her collarbone.
Her blonde hair fell in loose waves down her shoulders, and her lips—painted the same damn shade of red as the dress—were curved in a nervous little smile.
Jesus Christ.
And then she looked up at me with those bright blue eyes and smiled like I was the only man on Earth.
God help me.
I didn’t move.
Couldn’t.
“Hey,” she said, her voice soft and unsure, like she didn’t realize she’d just taken a sledgehammer to my defenses.
“Hey,” I managed, my throat dry. “You… look…”
Hot? Beautiful? Like the answer to a thousand questions I didn’t know I’d been asking?
“Stunning” I said instead. And even that didn’t feel like enough.
Her cheeks flushed a little. She looked down, brushing a curl from her shoulder. “Thank you. You’re not looking too bad yourself, Dr. Kaiser.”
Dr. Kaiser. God, she knew what that did to me.
I stepped in, letting my hands slide to her waist—slowly, deliberately—feeling the heat of her skin through the fabric. I leaned in, close enough to breathe her in. She smelled like vanilla and something floral, soft and warm and dangerous.
“Tell me this isn’t a dream,” I murmured, my voice low against her temple.
She looked up at me, lips parted, eyes shining. “If it is, I don’t want to wake up.”
For a moment, neither of us moved. The air pulsed around us. My hands stayed at her waist, not pulling her closer, not pushing her away—just feeling her. Every breath she took. Every tremble under my palms. The tension between us had a pulse of its own now—steady, throbbing, impossible to ignore.
Then I stepped back half an inch, just enough to offer her my arm like some old-school gentleman—though there wasn’t a single thing I was feeling that was gentlemanly.
“I’ve got reservations,” I said, keeping my tone even, but my heart was hammering. “You ready?”
“Born ready.” She slipped her arm through mine, fitting there like she was meant to be.
And just like that, I led her down the hallway, out into the night.
Her heels clicked softly beside me. Her perfume drifted in the cool air. I could feel the heat of her against my side, even without touching her skin.
She was elegance and fire, temptation wrapped in satin.
And she was mine—at least for tonight.
God help me, I hoped it was longer.
I walked around the car, opened the door for her, and she slid in with a laugh that was so soft, so warm, I felt it echo in my ribs.
I got behind the wheel, still glancing at her as she smoothed her dress, adjusted her heels. My hands tightened on the steering wheel.
I pulled onto the road, forcing my eyes back on the drive. But my mind stayed wrapped around the curve of her smile and the scent of whatever perfume she was wearing—floral and light and completely her.
The restaurant I picked wasn’t the flashiest in town, but it was high-end, intimate. Candlelight, wine, soft music. The kind of place people didn’t go just to eat—they went to remember.
And I was already sure I’d remember this night forever.