Chapter 32
Dani
The pool party had been fun.
Things always were whenever Cami and I got together.
She had this way of turning any gathering into something you didn’t want to leave.
The music was just loud enough, snacks somehow appeared exactly when you needed them, and waves of laughter that made you forget you’d been holding tension in your shoulders all week.
Logan had been there the whole time, drifting in and out of conversation.
He was a man who preferred to skate around the edges.
He’d played with Harper, let her climb all over him, and tossed her in the water once just to hear her squeal.
Then he pretended to be annoyed when she hugged him, soaking wet.
It had been a good day.
I’d called it an early night, following Logan and Harper home so that I would be there for Harper when Logan returned to Florida the next morning. It made sense on paper. It was practical. Responsible. Exactly the kind of choice I’d built my life on.
But on the drive back, with soft music and Logan’s headlights haunting my rearview, a deeper ache pressed inside me.
Now back at the house, I sat on the back patio.
A warm mug of tea and honey was cradled in my hand.
The air still carried the warmth of the day—salt and sunscreen lingered, and the faint smell of chlorine clung to my skin.
I tipped my head back, staring up at the stars just starting to peek through the darkening sky, and let myself replay every look and every moment I’d pretended not to notice.
Logan hadn’t been staring; he wasn’t that obvious.
Instead, he had a way of tracking with his eyes, as if he were watching the world through a narrow lens, and I kept moving into frame.
The way his gaze would linger when I laughed too hard, or when his attention tightened when I bent to help Harper with her floaties.
And the way his hand would clench around the neck of his beer bottle, knuckles whitening, as if he was holding himself still by force.
He’d carried a faint crease between his brows, like he was annoyed with himself for noticing at all. That grumpy restraint he wore like armor, jaw tight, shoulders squared, had been there, but something kept slipping through it. Me.
And I knew exactly what I was doing when I got ready that morning.
Cami held up a bikini in the mirror that morning, head tilted, a grin already forming, as if she could see the future and found it entertaining.
“You’re wearing this one,” she’d said, shoving it into my hands.
“I’m absolutely not,” I’d argued, already feeling the heat crawl up my neck.
She’d just smiled. “You are. Trust me. You’ll drive Logan crazy. Payback for him being a brute.”
“I’m not trying to drive Logan anything,” I’d said, because I was still pretending I didn’t know what I was doing.
Cami’s eyes had sparkled with wicked sisterly delight. “Sure.”
And she’d been right.
It was simple: soft baby blue fabric tied at the back of my neck.
The cut was modest, but intentionally fitted.
The material clung gently, not unlike the water, as I climbed from the pool.
I threw on cut-off jean shorts, a little shorter than practical but not scandalous.
Effortless, Cami called it, although dangerous was probably more accurate.
Sean had noticed too, because Sean noticed everyone.
He was the kind of man who flirted harmlessly with anyone who would allow it.
He flashed his smile and tossed out a line that would have worked on someone else, but meant nothing to me.
I teased him back lightly because it was safe.
It didn’t touch my ribs or make my pulse jump.
But when Logan looked over, everything shifted.
His jaw clenched slightly, a muscle jumping once like he was holding his temper in his teeth.
Sean, mid-flirt, faltered as Logan’s shadow fell across us, conversation stuttering.
His eyes went dark and unreadable; something sharpened there, cutting through the banter like a cold wind.
Sean, who had never been afraid of anything a day in his life, shifted subtly before mumbling something about needing another drink.
And I felt it, that rush of unexpected thrill.
It was ridiculous: me, a grown woman with a career and a carefully managed life, getting a flutter from a man’s jealousy.
But it wasn’t just jealousy; it was possession without ownership, his restraint losing ground.
He pretended to be annoyed but kept drifting closer, pulled in by my orbit despite himself.
And I couldn’t deny how his attention sent a live-wire shiver through me, crackling along the edge of my composure. Logan’s jealousy didn’t feel like control. It felt like vulnerability. Like he was losing a fight he never meant to enter, and in that reflection, I saw myself too.
Because Logan’s presence was like gravity.
I took a sip of tea, honey-sweet and warm, and let myself breathe. The mug pressed into my palm like an anchor. Something to hold so my hands didn’t go wandering back through memory.
Days like this were rare for me. I didn’t let myself have too many because fun had a way of loosening your grip and making you forget all the reasons you were careful. All the reasons you stayed busy. All the reasons you chose your future over your feelings.
As I sat there listening to waves crash on the shore, I heard the slider creak softly behind me.
By now, I recognized Logan’s footsteps—heavy and measured, each step deliberate.
He always seemed to glance down, checking the ground each time before transferring his weight from one foot to the other.
Even walking, for him, came with caution.
“She’s out. Only took two stories,” he said quietly.
I glanced over my shoulder to where Logan stood barefoot in the doorway. He’d changed out of his T-shirt. Now he wore a flannel shirt, sleeves pushed up, and jeans loose at his hips. His hair was damp, like he’d just washed up. Something about him in the evening made my chest tighten.
In daylight, he looked like a man built for responsibility. And at night, he looked like a man built for trouble.
I smiled, letting it be easy. “She’s got you wrapped around her finger.”
He huffed. “She’s not the only one.”
The words landed like a pebble dropped into still water, small, but the ripples spread fast.
As Logan stepped outside and shut the screen door softly behind him, the patio light painted the sharp lines of his face with gold. He didn’t come all the way over. He stopped near the doorway, hands shoved into his pockets like he needed something to do with them.
We stood there for a moment, allowing the silence to stretch between us. The kind of silence that held a conversation in it, one neither of us had started yet.
“You looked good today,” he said finally, voice low.
Heat surged through me, my body aching for this recognition all day.
His eyes pinned me—crackling, charging the night with a raw, dizzying electricity that left me rattled.
I teetered, torn between plunging straight into the current between us or fleeing before it scorched everything.
My heart hammered wild and unrestrained, thrumming with want, trembling at the dangerous cost.
I forced my mouth to work. “Just today?”
A corner of his mouth twitched. “You know what I mean.”
I leaned against the railing, trying for casual and landing somewhere near reckless. “Careful, cowboy. That might’ve just been the beer talking.”
Logan stepped forward, just close enough that I had to tilt my head back to look at him.
“It wasn’t,” he said quietly.
The air shifted, thick with anticipation. The rush of waves blended into the night, a constant soundtrack. The breeze turned cooler, brushing my skin and raising goosebumps on my arms.
And then time slowed, not dramatically, just enough to make every second feel deliberate.
“I’ve been fighting myself,” he said, his voice taking on a rough edge. “I’m tired of pretending I don’t want you every bit of you.”
My breath caught so hard it almost hurt.
“Logan…” I whispered, and my voice sounded like a warning.
Or a surrender.
He reached out, gently took my mug from my hand, and set it on the table beside us.
“I want you,” he said again without hesitation.
My pulse was pounding so loud I was sure he could hear it. “You’re very direct for a man who spent the last week pretending I was invisible.”
He gave a low, rough laugh. “Yeah.” His gaze dipped to my mouth. “I’m bad at this.”
I smiled despite myself. “Eh, you’re doing okay.”
His hand lifted slowly, fingers pausing just in front of my jaw and lingering as if seeking silent permission. He waited, leaving me space to pull back.
Instead, I closed the gap and pressed my lips to his, abandoning caution. The kiss was urgent, driven by weeks of tension that had finally torn free.
His mouth was warm and firm, his hand sliding into my hair like he’d been wanting to do that since the first time he saw me. Like he’d been holding back for so long, his body didn’t know how to be gentle.
I melted into him, my hands gripping his shirt, my body reacting before my brain could catch up. He tasted like beer and salt and something undeniably him. That constant, grounded presence made the world feel smaller and more intense at once.
“Dani,” he murmured against my mouth, like saying my name anchored him. That soft Southern drawl slipping out around the edges, stretching my name just enough that it felt like he was tasting it.
My pulse skidded. “Yeah?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he just kissed me again, deeper this time, like he was finally done holding himself back.