Chapter 2 – Savannah
The moment Logan's fingers fold around mine, my entire body goes on high alert. His palm is warm and dry against mine, calloused in places that catch against my skin.
Cold air hits us as we step outside, snowflakes immediately dusting my hair and shoulders. Logan’s grip adjusts slightly, fingers threading through mine with casual intimacy that makes my stomach drop like I've missed a step on a staircase.
This is not real, I remind myself firmly.
"We should probably head down Main," Logan says, voice low near my ear. His breath forms a small cloud between us. "That's where she was heading."
I nod mutely, not trusting my voice. Logan stands nearly a foot taller than me, his broad shoulders creating a shelter from the light snowfall.
We step onto Emberstone Avenue, and I'm immediately conscious of how we must look together.
Lieutenant Logan Price, Whitetail Falls' most eligible bachelor, walking hand-in-hand with.
.. me. The quiet baker who people recognize but don't really see, whose name they never quite remember, whose presence registers about as strongly as the cafe's background music.
"So," I finally manage, desperate to fill the silence, "do we need a backstory? How long have we been dating? How did we meet?"
Logan glances down, snowflakes melting instantly on his dark eyelashes. "Let's keep it simple. We met at the cafe. I asked you out after one of your bakery deliveries to the station. We've been seeing each other for...a few weeks?"
"Right. Simple. Believable." I try to sound casual, though my heart is performing gymnastics inside my chest.
We pass Harriet's Boutique, and I notice Mrs. Parker inside, arranging scarves. She looks up, spots us, and her eyebrows shoot toward her hairline. I watch understanding register on her face, followed immediately by the gleeful expression of someone who's just acquired prime gossip currency.
"People are staring," I murmur, resisting the urge to pull my hand away.
"Let them," Logan says easily, thumb brushing across my knuckles in a way that sends a completely unnecessary shiver down my spine. "That's kind of the point, right?"
Right. The point is to be seen together. To create a convincing picture for his ex. For everyone. This is strategic, not personal.
We turn onto Main Street, the full holiday splendor of Whitetail Falls on display. Storefronts glitter with white lights, fresh greenery drapes across doorways, and the enormous pine tree in Town Square sparkles with ornaments and ribbon. In any other circumstance, it would be magical.
Right now, it feels like walking through a movie set where I've accidentally wandered into someone else's scene.
"Lieutenant Price!" calls Eddie from the hardware store, pushing a cart of salt bags onto the sidewalk. "Morning!" His gaze drops to our joined hands, and a knowing grin spreads across his weathered face. "Morning to you too, Miss Bailey."
He remembered my name. That's new.
"Morning, Eddie," Logan responds easily, lifting our joined hands slightly in a casual greeting that makes my face heat despite the cold. "Got those smoke detector batteries I ordered?"
"Coming in Wednesday," Eddie says, still grinning. "You two look... cozy."
I manage a smile that probably looks more like a grimace. Logan's hand settles at my lower back as we move past, guiding me around a patch of ice I hadn't noticed. The warmth of his palm bleeds through my coat, and I have to resist the urge to lean into his touch like a cat seeking heat.
We continue down the street, and I feel ripples of attention follow us. It's surreal being the object of so much attention, or rather, being adjacent to the object of attention.
"You okay?" Logan asks, ducking his head slightly to catch my eye. "You got quiet."
"Fine," I say too quickly. "Just... not used to being the center of attention."
His eyes crinkle slightly at the corners. "If it helps, they're mostly looking at me, not you."
"That doesn't help at all," I mutter, and he laughs.
"At least you're honest," he says, and there's something in his tone I can't quite place. Something almost... appreciative?
We approach Town Square, where the holiday market stalls are being set up. The air smells like pine, wood smoke, and cinnamon-sugar pretzels.
That's when I feel a prickle of awareness at the back of my neck. I don't turn around, but something shifts in Logan's posture. His shoulders straighten almost imperceptibly, and his grip on my hand tightens just a fraction.
"She's over by the gazebo," he murmurs, voice deliberately neutral. "With the couple from earlier."
I keep my eyes forward, refusing to look, though curiosity nips at me. "What do you want to do?"
Before he can answer, his arm slides around my waist, drawing me against his side in a gesture that feels protective, possessive, and utterly natural. My breath catches, my body fitting against his like it belongs there.
"Just keep walking," he says, his voice lower, closer to my ear. "You're doing great."
I'm not doing anything except trying not to spontaneously combust. His arm around me is solid and warm, my shoulder tucked perfectly under his, my hip pressed to his thigh. It's the closest I've been to anyone in... longer than I care to admit.
"I'm sorry," I blurt, immediately regretting it. "I mean, I'm probably not very convincing. I don't exactly have a ton of relationship experience to draw from."
Logan looks down at me, surprise flickering across his face. "Could've fooled me," he says, and there's no teasing in his tone. "You seem... natural."
I almost laugh. If he could hear the chaos inside my head right now, "natural" would be the last word he'd use.
Colored lights cast shifting patterns across Logan's features as he steps in front of me, still holding my hand but now facing me directly.
"So," he says, a hint of hesitation in his voice that wasn't there before. "We should probably be prepared in case we need to... you know."
I blink at him. "In case we need to...?"
"Kiss." The word hangs between us, crystallizing in the cold air. "If we're supposed to be dating, we should look comfortable with each other. Not like strangers faking it."
My heart slams against my ribs with such force I'm amazed he can't see it through my coat. "Oh. Right. That… that makes sense."
"We could practice," he suggests, and is it my imagination, or does his voice sound slightly rougher? "Just so it doesn't look awkward if the moment comes up."
Practice kissing. With Logan Price. Right now.
"Sure," I hear myself say, as if this is the most reasonable suggestion in the world and not something that's short-circuiting my entire nervous system. "That's... pragmatic."
A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "Pragmatic. Exactly."
He glances around, then guides me a few steps to the side, into the shadowed space between the massive Christmas tree and the brick wall of the coffee shop. Not completely hidden, but sheltered from direct view.
Logan steps closer, and suddenly the air feels too thick to breathe properly. He's so tall that I have to tilt my head back to look at him, and when I do, I find his eyes focused on mine with an intensity that makes my stomach flip.
Where do I put my hands? What if my lips are chapped? What if I'm terrible at this and he can tell it's been years since I've kissed anyone? What if—
"Savannah," he says softly, interrupting my spiral. "We don't have to if you're uncomfortable."
"No! I mean—" I take a breath, steadying myself. "It's fine. I'm fine. Just... overthinking."
His smile softens. "Overthinking what?"
"Everything," I admit. "Where to put my hands. Whether my breath is okay. If I remember how to do this properly."
I expect him to laugh, but he doesn't. Instead, his expression turns thoughtful, almost tender. "Put your hands wherever feels natural," he says, voice dropping to a near-whisper. "Your breath is fine. And I'm pretty sure kissing is like riding a bike, you don't forget."
Before I can respond, he lifts one hand to my face. His palm cups my cheek, fingers sliding into my hair, thumb gently brushing my cheekbone. It's such a careful touch, so unexpectedly gentle from someone so physically strong, that I nearly forget to breathe.
"Okay?" he asks, and I nod, unable to form words.
Logan leans down, and I close my eyes instinctively. The first touch of his lips against mine is soft, just a whisper of contact, warm breath mingling in the cold air between us.
And then something shifts.
The kiss deepens, his mouth pressing more firmly against mine, no longer hesitant but purposeful.
My hands find his coat lapels, clutching the fabric as I rise slightly on my toes to meet him.
Logan makes a sound low in his throat, and his other arm wraps around my waist, drawing me closer until I'm flush against him.
I forget we're in public. I forget this is supposed to be practice. I forget everything except the taste of him.
When we finally break apart, we're both breathing harder than before. Logan's pupils are dilated, his expression stunned, as if he's been hit by something unexpected.
"That..." he says, voice rough, "didn't feel fake."
Reality crashes back with humiliating speed. Didn't feel fake because I got carried away. Because I treated a simple practice kiss like it was something real.
"Sorry," I murmur, stepping back slightly, mortified heat flooding my cheeks. "I got a little... I mean, it's been a while, and I—"
"No," Logan interrupts, still looking slightly dazed. "Don't apologize. That was..." He trails off, running a hand through his hair. "That was good. Convincing."
Convincing. Right. Because that's what this is about, convincing other people. Not the fact that my knees feel like they might give out, or that I can still taste him on my lips, or that for one brief, delusional moment, I forgot this wasn't real.
We start walking again. There's a tension in his shoulders that wasn't there before. I've made him uncomfortable. I've crossed a line. I've revealed too much.
I keep my eyes on the snowy sidewalk ahead, mentally cataloging all the ways I've just embarrassed myself.
When we reach the corner of Pine and Main, Logan finally breaks the silence. "We should go on a date tonight."
I look up at him, startled. "What?"
"A date," he repeats, clearing his throat. "To make our story more believable. If we're going to convince people we're together, we should be seen... you know, together. Properly."
"Oh. Right." I nod, trying to ignore the ridiculous flutter of disappointment. Of course that's all he means. "That makes sense."
"I'll pick you up at seven? After your shift?" There's something different in his tone, a hint of hesitation that doesn't match the confident lieutenant everyone knows.
"Seven works," I agree, mentally calculating how much time that gives me to panic and change outfits approximately twelve times.
"Great." Logan smiles, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. He seems distracted, almost unsettled. "I should get back to the station. Paul will send out a search party if his coffee doesn't show up soon."
"And I should get back to work before Marco burns something," I say, attempting lightness. "He's not allowed to touch the ovens unsupervised."
Logan nods, releasing my hand slowly, almost reluctantly. "I'll see you tonight, then."
"Tonight," I echo, already missing the warmth of his touch despite my best efforts not to.
I watch him walk away, his broad shoulders disappearing around the corner toward the fire station. Only when he's completely out of sight do I let out the breath I've been holding, reaching up to touch my lips with trembling fingers.