The Love We Found (Love After All #2)

Chapter 1

Dani

I’ve seen some things in my life: twelve-hour depositions, L.A. traffic in the rain, and my dad’s face when I told him I was going into public defense instead of corporate law.

But none of that compares to watching a six-foot-something, Marine Corps Veteran, lose a battle with a sparkly pink hairbrush.

Logan Carter stood in the middle of my best friend’s wedding reception, bracing himself like he expected incoming fire.

The sleeves of his dress shirt were rolled up, tie hanging loose, jaw set as he tried and failed to coax his daughter’s loose blonde waves into something that might pass for a bun.

“Stop pulling!” the little girl barked, hands on her hips.

“I ain’t pullin’,” he said through gritted teeth, his southern drawl slow and unbothered even as the hairbrush caught again. “I’m trying to untie it.”

“You tied my hair?”

He froze mid-motion. “Apparently.”

Then the brush jerked, she yelped, and I swear half of the wedding guests flinched.

I shouldn’t have laughed.

But I did, loudly.

Logan’s head snapped up, his green eyes narrowing beneath dark brows. His hand, still holding the brush, hovered in the air a moment before he dropped it.

There was a hint of irritation, but in the quick dart of his eyes and the subtle shift of his stance, I caught a flicker of embarrassment.

The little girl turned to me with a huff. “See? He doesn’t know girl hair.”

“That much is obvious,” I said, stepping closer. “May I?”

Logan was a good looking man, even though it was clear he had no intention on trying to garner attention.

His eyes were a mossy green and his dark brown hair was just long enough to curl slightly at the ends.

He had a ruggedness about him; from his tall stature and broad shoulders down to his forearms that were muscular and marked by old scars.

“You good with hair?” he asked, that low Southern rumble catching on the edge of his words as his assessed me.

“Depends,” I said, setting down my champagne flute before turning to the little girl standing at his side. “You want ballerina chic or dance floor princess?”

The girl gasped. “Dance floor princess! Daddy, that one!”

Logan sighed, clearly defeated.

“Well, let’s do it!” I said, crouching down beside her.

Her hair was soft and springy beneath my fingers, still a little sticky with frosting from the wedding cake. I worked through the tangles slowly, careful not to pull, and she let out a tiny sigh of relief.

“I’m Harper,” she announced. “I’m six. Daddy can’t braid. Or dance. But he makes good hamburgers and kills spiders.”

“Well, that’s a solid resume,” I said. “And you, Harper, are about to have the best braid this wedding’s ever seen.”

Logan’s voice scraped dry as sandpaper above me. “She doesn’t need encouragement.”

“She doesn’t need it,” I said sweetly. “She commands it.”

Harper grinned at that.

Now up close, I noticed the faint gray at his temples, the tired shadows beneath his eyes, and something quieter in him.

There was a story behind those eyes, something unspoken and heavy.

His jaw kept tightening every time someone walked behind him, like he was bracing for impact.

I caught a faint scar ran just below his right eye, and a glimpse of a tattoo on his arm before he tugged his sleeve lower.

Although I knew very little about him, I had known that he’d served overseas with my best friend’s husband in the Marine Corps.

We’d also both just so happened to be attending this wedding.

“There,” I said, brushing off my knees. “One beautiful ballerina braid with extra sparkle.”

Harper gasped. “Daddy! Look! It’s perfect!”

“Harper,” he said softly, “say thank you.”

“Thanks,” she muttered, already checking herself in the mirror as I clipped the last piece of hair into place with a sparkly clip.

Logan looked at her as if she were the axis the world tilted on. When she smiled at him, his shoulders eased just a fraction, a silent breath escaping him, as if the world he held so tightly had temporarily lifted.

“Thank you,” he said, voice low.

“Lawyer by day,” I replied lightly, stepping back. “Hair whisperer by night.”

That earned me an airy, low and rich laugh.

Not long after, Harper was off chasing Cami’s son Zeke across the dance floor, leaving the grumpy Marine and me at a table near the cake. As the music played softly in the background, a lull settled between us.

“So,” he said, glancing at me, “you’re a lawyer.”

“Public defense,” I said, taking a sip of champagne. “Which means long hours, low pay, and constantly being told I ‘could’ve done better’ by everyone in my family.”

He nodded once, thoughtfully. “Sounds like a hell of a job.”

“It is,” I said. “But I like it. Even if it doesn’t make sense to anyone else.”

I loved my job. There’s something incredibly rewarding about fighting for people who don’t have a voice, who can’t afford to be heard.

Every case was a chance to make a real difference, to challenge the system.

Maybe it’s naive, but I believe in that kind of justice.

It gives me a purpose, even when things seem impossible.

Even when the doubts tried to crowd out the hope, I held onto the belief that what I did meant something, if not for the world, then at least for the people who needed it most.

He leaned back, that steady calmness never breaking. “Let me guess, you were supposed to end up in one of those fancy corporate firms, with glass offices and skyline views.”

“Bingo. Instead, I chose to argue with judges before breakfast.”

I’m known as ‘scrappy’ in the office. As a first-generation college student, raised by parents who immigrated to the States from Mexico, I’ve learned to fight for every opportunity, and I never quite gave that up.

His lips twitched. “Sounds fun.”

“Oh, it’s a blast,” I said dryly. “You?”

“Security.”

“Like bodyguard-for-hire security or mall-cop security?”

He shot me a look. “The kind where people actually have to trust me.”

I smiled into my drink. “So… bodyguard.”

He shrugged off the question. “Not quite.”

He leaned back, nursing the drink he’d held in his large, calloused hand. Before I could come up with a reply, Cami appeared out of nowhere, radiant and barefoot, carrying that familiar energy that meant she was about to meddle.

Her curls were pinned up loosely, with soft tendrils framing her face.

Her natural makeup highlighted her warm eyes and the happiness on her features.

The dress hugged her curves in a simple, elegant, design and the sweetheart neckline of the bodice displayed the small necklace I had bought her as an early wedding gift.

She looked exactly the way she always did when she was happiest. Comfortable, glowing, and entirely unaware of how easily she stole the attention of everyone in the room.

“There you two are! I’ve been looking for you.” she sang, eyes bright with purpose.

I raised my champagne. “Why? We’re exactly where civilized people belong. Near the bar.” I said.

She ignored me, and instead turned her gaze between Logan and I assessing, calculating, meddling. “Dance floor’s looking a little empty. You two should fix that.”

Logan’s reply was flat, cold as stone. “I don’t dance.” He left it there, a wall dropped between us and the music.

Cami crossed her arms. “Neither does Hunter. Yet somehow, he’s out there proving me wrong.”

Without a response from Logan, Cami tilted her head, appraising him only a moment, then smiled. “Fine. Suit yourself.”

She winked at me as she backed away toward Hunter, who was already halfway to her.

Logan took another sip of his drink, relaxed and clearly unaffected. I told myself I was, too.

I shifted my weight, the stem of the glass cool against my fingers as I adjusted my grip, trying to appear just as unbothered. “C’mon, let’s dance. Can’t make the bride upset on her wedding day,” I said.

His eyes narrowed slightly. “I’m sure there are plenty of guys who would want to dance with you. I’m not one of them.”

“Fair enough,” I said, taking a sip of champagne, pretending his response didn’t sting.

Just as I was about to walk away, a voice behind me interrupted, “Dani?”

I turned to where Ray, Cami’s cousin, stood behind me. He was taller and broader than I remembered, trading in his college boy softness for something more solid. His light grey suit fit well, contrasting with his warm brown skin and dark hair; his grin was easy and familiar.

“You look incredible,” he said, leaning in to hug me. “I was hoping you’d be here.”

“Hey, Ray,” I laughed, smoothing my dress. “You made it!”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” His eyes flicked toward the dance floor. “You dancing?”

Before I could stop myself, I glanced at Logan.

His eyes flicked to mine for a split second before dropping, lashes lowering just enough to block me out.

The rim of his glass turned slowly beneath his thumb as he stared through the golden liquid, his jaw taut, lips pressed in a line that was almost casual except for the faint pulse beating at his temple.

“Actually, I was just about to,” I said.

Ray held out his hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Great, come on.”

The music was loud and upbeat, bass thumping gently beneath the glow of twinkle lights and laughter. Ray pulled me into a spin, playful but not overbearing. He’d always been like this—attentive. Interested.

Leaning closer he said, “You look incredible tonight.”

“Thank you.”

“You seeing anyone?”

I laughed lightly. “Not currently.”

I spun again, dress brushing my legs, laughter spilling easily as champagne buzzed in my veins.

But somewhere at the edge of the dance floor stood a man who didn’t dance.

A man who looked like control was his religion, and softness was reserved for exactly one small girl with glitter and frosting in her hair.

And for reasons I absolutely did not have time to unpack, something about Logan drew me in.

Maybe it was how protective he was with Harper, or the way his guard seemed to slip for just a moment when he thought no one was looking.

There was strength in his posture, but I caught glimpses of vulnerability beneath it, as if he was holding together more than anyone realized.

He had said earlier that he did not dance, yet something in me wanted to see what it would take to make him break that rule.

“So,” Ray said, leaning closer so I could hear him, “still living in the OC? Still breaking hearts?”

I laughed, shaking my head. “I’ve never broken anyone’s heart.”

“You sure broke my heart a time or two,” he replied playfully.

He asked about work. About my apartment. About whether I’d finally started dating someone worth my time. And I answered each question carefully, sharing just enough of myself to carry the conversation.

Across the dance floor, I caught a glimpse of Logan near the bar. Still standing where I’d left him. Still unreadable.

Ray spun me again, his hand warm at my waist.

I smiled when I was supposed to. Nodded. Played my part.

But my thoughts weren’t here, they were at the edge of the dance floor. Wondering if Logan noticed. Wondering if he cared. Wondering why I cared whether he cared.

Ray lips pulled into a boyish grin like we were teenagers again at some backyard graduation party instead of standing under a canopy at my best friend’s wedding. Although his interest was clear, his hand stayed respectfully light as the music shifted into something upbeat and nostalgic.

“You still do that thing,” he said, laughing as I spun out of his reach and back in again.

“What thing?”

“Pretend you’re not the most stubborn person in the room.”

I laughed, genuinely this time. “I am not stubborn.”

He just raised an eyebrow.

Ray had always shown interest in a gentle, uncomplicated way. When we were younger, he’d linger a little too long during holidays, texted a little too often when I was home from college. Asked about my life, as if he were collecting pieces he hoped would eventually fit into his.

And I’d never let them.

Not because he wasn’t a nice guy. He was kind, thoughtful, and respectful. The kind of man my aunts used to nudge me about with knowing smiles.

But it had always felt like he liked the outline of me. The idea of me. The composed, capable version that showed up at family functions with polite laughter and a reassuring future and just enough mystery to be interesting.

He didn’t know the messy parts. The hidden anxieties, the sharp edges I tried to sand down, the way I sometimes felt as though I was holding myself together with an invisible thread.

He liked the highlight reel, most men did.

The truth was, I hadn’t dated much. I’d told myself it was because I was busy, focused, content, and some of that was true.

But a larger part of me had grown tired of explaining who I actually was beneath the polished surface.

The constant translating of myself left a heaviness between my shoulder blades, an ache that deepened every time I had to smile through disappointment.

I had decided after my last relationship that I was done pretending I was someone else.

That was a year ago. Jason hadn’t been a bad guy.

We went to law school together and had good moments.

But when I accepted the job in the public defender’s office and refused to join his parents’ big corporate firm, that was the end of that.

His family wanted a perfect picture, cared more about status, and their pockets.

My own parents weren’t too happy either, and their displeasure, the weight of every sacrifice they’d ever made for me, clung like a shadow.

Just as I got deeper into my thoughts, Ray spun me again, and this time I let myself laugh without measuring it. The music was loud, the lights warm against my skin, the hem of my dress brushing my legs as I moved.

Ray leaned in. “I’ve missed you, you know.”

“I know,” I said softly, and I did. “It’s been a while.”

But tonight, I didn’t dissect it. Didn’t over-analyze the tone of his voice or the weight of his hand at my waist. Instead, I let the music carry me, let the bass thrum through my ribs.

Let the moment exist without trying to decide what it meant.

Under the glow of lights, I danced.

And for once, forced myself not to think about anything more than that.