Chapter 39
Dani
With my stomach and heart now full, we made our way back to Logan’s truck.
I had no idea what awaited me when we returned to the house, but I knew I didn’t want the night to end.
Not only because I was enjoying the chance to get to know this side of Logan, free and unbound, but also because I wasn’t sure what came next.
I wondered how the night would keep unfolding and whether whatever spark had started between us would linger into something real. At the same time, fear tugged at my ribs, whispering all the ways I could mess it up, or how I might give too much of myself away.
Part of me longed for more, for a closeness I’d barely admitted to wanting. Another part was afraid to want it at all.
I sat in the passenger side, taking in the faint smell of diesel from Logan’s truck mingling with the crisp, night air that filtered through the open windows. In the background, the soft strum of a familiar, old song played on the radio.
The road stretched ahead of us, washed in amber streetlights and the last traces of sunset bleeding out behind the hills.
My hands were folded in my lap, fingers twisting together without my permission.
Dinner replayed in fragments: the way he watched me while I talked, filing details away. The way his mouth curved when I laughed. The gentle moment after he said I was good for Harper, when I felt seen in a way that made my chest ache.
I was still floating in it when he spoke.
“Hey,” he said, casual, like he hadn’t just shifted the ground under my feet. “Can I see your place?”
I blinked, my head snapping toward him. “My… place?”
“Yeah.” He kept his eyes on the road, one hand relaxed on the wheel. “You’ve been livin’ in mine. Feels only fair I see yours.”
Only fair.
My heart did a strange little stutter.
“Oh,” I said, far more intelligently than I meant to. “I mean—yeah. Sure.”
Too quick. Too eager.
I stared out the window, my fingers absently smoothing the worn sleeve of my jacket, back and forth. Each pass reminded me of what I hadn’t prepared for.
“You don’t have to,” I added, trying to sound breezy. “It’s not—”
“I want to,” he said simply.
That shut me up.
A few seconds passed, and then his hand moved and rested on my thigh.
My breath caught before I could stop it.
He didn’t squeeze or slide his hand higher; he just let his palm settle, thumb brushing once, like he wasn’t even thinking about it.
I absolutely was.
My pulse skittered. My skin felt too tight. Every nerve ending suddenly woke up and started paying attention.
“You’re gonna have to tell me where to turn,” he said, voice easy, like he hadn’t just undone me with one simple touch.
“R-right,” I said, clearing my throat. “Next light. Then left.”
I gave directions a little too fast, my words tumbling over each other as my brain scrambled to keep up with my body.
Was my apartment clean enough? I had vacuumed, technically, but had I wiped the counters? What would he notice first—laundry piled somewhere? The smell of last week’s takeout lingering? I half-wished I could turn invisible, to keep him from seeing the everyday mess that felt so oddly vulnerable.
“You okay?” he asked, glancing over at me.
“Fine,” I said immediately. “Great. Just… giving directions.”
He hummed, unconvinced, his hand still cemented where it was on my thigh.
The closer we got, the more my nerves buzzed. This felt intimate in a way dinner hadn’t. Seeing my place wasn’t just a stop; it was an invitation. A window into the parts of my life I didn’t polish for anyone else.
We turned onto my street, the familiar row of buildings coming into view. My chest tightened with something like anticipation.
“Here,” I said, pointing. “Second building on the right.”
He pulled into a spot and cut the engine. The sudden silence felt loud.
For a second, neither of us moved.
The streetlight cast soft shadows through the windshield, painting his face in warm gold and dark contrast. He looked over at me, his expression unreadable but intent, like he was bracing himself for something he couldn’t quite name.
“You nervous?” he asked quietly.
I swallowed. “A little.”
“Why?”
I shrugged, trying for honesty. “Feels like you’re… stepping into my world.”
A corner of his mouth lifted. Then he squeezed my thigh once before pulling his hand away and opening his door. The loss of warmth made me miss it immediately.
He came around to open my door, my heart still racing, and watched as he took in the building, the small balcony above my unit, the glow of light spilling through my window.
For the first time, I wondered what he saw when he looked at me.
Not the lawyer. Not Cami’s best friend. Not Harper’s something.
Just me.
And as I unlocked the door, letting him step inside, I realized this wasn’t just about showing him where I lived.
It was about letting him see who I was when no one else was watching.
That thought scared me.
He stepped inside and didn’t say anything at first.
Just… looked.
His gaze moved slowly, deliberately, as if taking inventory.
He lingered on my couch, with the throw blanket folded just-so on one arm, the small dining table by the window, framed prints lining the wall.
A half-burned candle on the coffee table.
A stack of mail I’d meant to sort. Evidence of a life lived alone, but thoughtfully.
“It seems Harper left her mark here, too,” he said finally, low and contemplative, taking in a pile of papers and crayons with her drawings on them.
I smiled, suddenly self-conscious. “Of course she did.”
He nodded like that made sense, then he turned to me.
And suddenly, we were standing too close without having planned it.
Close enough that I could see the faint crease between his brows, the way his jaw tightened when he was thinking too hard.
Close enough that the air between us felt charged, electric.
“You sure you’re okay?” he asked, softer than before.
I nodded. “Yeah.”
He held my gaze for a beat longer before his hand came up slowly, thumb brushing my jaw. When he kissed me, it wasn’t rushed. It was patient, intentional.
There was a surprising softness to the roughness of his stubble, a gentle contradiction that caught me off guard.
My back met the cool wood of the door with a soft thud as he followed through, his body bracketing mine without crowding, one hand sliding around my waist and landing on the small of my back. He tasted like dinner and something unmistakably him; clean, grounded, familiar already.
I exhaled into his mouth, my hands finding his jacket, gripping without thinking.
He broke the kiss just long enough to rest his forehead against mine. “I’ve been waiting all week to…do that.”
“Took you long enough,” I whispered.
“You always look real proud of yourself when you talk back,” he said, stepping closer. “It’s distracting.”
“Guess I’ll have to work on that.”
“Don’t you ever,” his voice softened, but there was heat in it now
Then his lips returned to mine.
I pushed his chest gently before lacing my fingers through his and pulling him down the short hall to my bedroom. He stopped me once along the way, as if he couldn’t bear to keep his hands or lips off me. When we made it to my bedroom door, I fumbled to open it without taking my lips off his.
My bedroom was my sanctuary. A dusty pink bedspread pulled smoothly across the mattress with a few pillows neatly organized on top.
Curtains drawn, allowing the city light to bleed in.
Books lined neatly on the shelf against the wall—dog-eared paperbacks and law texts living side by side like they’d made peace with each other.
I had a few candles scattered on my dressers, and although I hadn’t spent much time here in the past few weeks, my room still smelled faintly of the cozy cashmere candle I’d always lit.
He took it in the same way he had the living room.
“You,” he murmured. “This fits you.”
Wanting to take advantage of the moment before it was gone, I threw my arms around his neck and kissed him.
And he kissed me back, deeper this time, hands sliding into my hair as he guided me back toward the bed.
I felt the edge of the mattress against my knees, the world narrowing down to heat and breath and the steady presence of him.
I slid my hands beneath the hem of his shirt, palms flattening against the solid warmth of his chest. My hands tremble slightly, a ripple of anticipation running through them.
I wonder if he can feel the fluttering, as my own emotions try to regulate themselves.
It’s more than just the heat radiating off his skin; there’s a comfort in the connection, a quiet understanding that speaks volumes as my hands settle, reassured.
Logan’s fingers slid up my back, reverent, like he was learning the shape of me by heart. When he kissed my collarbone, my throat, the space just beneath my ear, my body responded instinctively.
Heat bloomed low in my body, a slow, spreading ache that made everything else fade.
Logan hovered over me like he was afraid the moment might shatter if he moved too fast, his weight carefully braced, his hands warm but restrained where they rested on my sides. His green eyes searched my face, not for permission—he already had that—but for reassurance.
“You sure you’re okay?” he asked, his voice low and rough, his Tennessee drawl softening the edges. “I don’t wanna hurt you.”
I lifted my chin just enough to meet his eyes. “You don’t have to be careful,” I said, despite the way my heart was racing. “I’m okay. You’re not going to break me.” I whispered, sliding my hands up his arms, feeling the strength he held there.
I knew I’d pay for it later, when the cramping returned, but right here in this moment, after the night we had, all rational thoughts went out the window.
“Are you sure?” he whispered, his eyes revealing the depth of his concern.