Ellie
Istood in my hotel room—my own hotel room—getting ready to go out with Logan. I hadn’t thought much about what the sleeping arrangements would be, but now that we were here, I felt a flicker of disappointment. A part of me had hoped we’d be sharing a room.
It wasn’t just about convenience. It was curiosity. This quiet, aching pull toward Logan had only grown stronger lately, and part of me wanted to lean into it. Explore it. We’d always had a connection, but ever since I came back to Faircloud, something about us felt… deeper.
He was there after Buck. He was here now after Miles. Every time I broke, Logan was the one picking up the pieces.
And sometimes I worried he might think I was using him—that I only showed up when I needed saving.
But that wasn’t it. I cared about him. Deeply.
Whether he needed me or not, I’d show up for him just the same.
Because he wasn’t just dependable or safe.
He was everything. The steady presence I hadn’t known I could crave from him.
I slipped on my boots and smoothed the hem of my navy-blue dress, short and soft with a flow that made me feel free. My hair was straightened, hanging down my back. In the mirror, my brown eyes stared back as I dabbed on lip gloss and pressed my lips together.
I seldom had the urge to get dressed up. I was more of a boots and ratty T-shirt kind of girl. I’d dressed up for Miles, and just the thought of him now made my stomach twist. I cringed, remembering that night—his voice, the way his hand had gripped my arm, and how I ran.
He was still in Faircloud.
I’d been trying all day to block him out, to pretend none of it ever happened. But I was starting to learn that ignoring the hurt didn’t make it go away. If anything, it gave it power.
Maybe the trick wasn’t to run from the pain, but to walk with it.
To do things scared. To show up, even when it hurt. That was the only way to teach my body and heart that life didn’t stop just because I was bruised. I couldn’t keep hiding from the memories or the mistakes. I had to carry them forward and keep living anyway.
My eyes dropped to the faint marks on my arm. The ones that might’ve looked like nothing to anyone else. A blush, maybe. But I knew better. I remembered how they got there.
A humorless laugh escaped me as I exhaled, still staring at my reflection.
I thought leaving my small town behind might be the answer that would solve the feeling of uncertainty.
Miles wasn’t Faircloud. He was sleek, unfamiliar yet fresh in the way something far away feels.
But I’d learned the hard way that monsters didn’t only live in hometown bars or wear cowboy boots.
Sometimes they were from the city and sat in limos.
And that made me wonder—was I just bad at seeing people for who they really were? Had I ever known how to spot good character?
Maybe I needed therapy. Or a road map to untangle the knots inside me.
Right now, it was too much. The heartbreak. The self-doubt. The way my trust felt broken in places I hadn’t even known could crack.
But for the next few days? I had Logan.
And that was enough.
Purse slung over my shoulder, I stepped out the door and there he was.
Logan leaned against the railing, waiting. His hair was still damp from a recent shower, already beginning to curl beneath the brim of his cowboy hat. He wore his boots, a pair of light-wash jeans that fit him far too well, and a short-sleeved button-up shirt stretched across his biceps.
“Look at us,” I said, holding my arms out and spinning once. “We clean up pretty nice.”
Logan smiled, easy and slow, and we fell into step side by side.
His breath hitched for the briefest moment. “We do, but you sparkle in every room you enter, Ellie. No matter what you wear.”
My cheeks flushed with heat. Glancing down at the ground, I smiled at the pavement before looking back up to find him still staring at me.
I went down the stairs first, taking one careful step at a time. I felt him behind me, his presence a steady heat at my back. When we reached the bottom, his hand found the small of my back, guiding me gently toward the bar the receptionist had mentioned.
I let him. Fell into the comfort of it. The way we moved together, side by side, chatting all the way—it was something we’d done a hundred times before. Natural. Easy.
The music reached us before the building did, the low beat and twang vibrating through the still evening air. Our boots crunched over loose stone as we crossed the gravel lot. This place screamed small-town charm, tucked in the middle of nowhere with not a single other building in sight.
Logan opened the large wooden door, and I stepped inside, his footsteps close behind.
The bar was something else—walls covered in old metal signs, license plates from every state lining the ceiling. The whole place looked like a cross between an old man’s garage and a honky-tonk haven, and somehow, it worked.
A few people were scattered at the bar, others tucked into booths, but most had found their way to the dance floor. The space was wide open, a hardwood stage at one end where a woman in Daisy Dukes and a crop top stood, a headset mic hooked around her ear.
She was shouting instructions to a group of dancers, full of energy and sass. It was chaotic, loud, and I loved it.
Two open barstools near the floor caught my eye, and I made a beeline for them, slipping onto the one beside a middle-aged man and his maybe-wife, maybe-girlfriend, maybe-something else. I wasn’t one to judge.
“All right everyone!” the woman onstage shouted into the mic. “We’re taking a ten-minute break. I need a tequila shot and a breather. Y’all fuel up and meet me back here!”
She pulled off her mic and started chatting with the band behind her.
“We got here at the perfect time,” I said, leaning close to Logan’s ear to be heard over the chatter.
He gave a quick nod and held up his hand to wave down the bartender.
“I hope you’re ready to dance your heart out,” he said, a mischievous glint in his eye. “I hate to admit it, but I’ve got a little rhythm.”
I laughed, shaking my head. “Can’t wait to see you shake that ass and get all the ladies swooning.”
The bartender finally made his way over, took our orders, and slid our drinks across the bar. Logan paid, and I grabbed my martini, lifting it toward him.
We clinked glasses.
“To spontaneous nights and questionable decisions,” I said with a grin.
“Cheers to that.”
I took a sip, letting the cool burn settle, then turned toward him again. “Have you ever line danced before?”
Logan leaned an elbow on the bar. “I know a move or two, but I’m no professional. Don’t you remember that class from high school?”
Oh, God. I groaned.
One semester of gym had required a unit in line dancing, complete with a performance for parents at the end. The memory alone made me cringe.
“That’s a part of my life I’ve actively chosen to block out,” I said, giving a full-body shudder at the memory.
Logan chuckled, eyes dancing.
“Well,” he said, tilting his glass toward the dance floor, “might be time to redeem yourself.”
I caught the way his gaze slid down my body—slow and unhurried—from my eyes to my chest and back up again.
The heat in his look made my skin prickle, and I suddenly felt shy under the weight of his attention.
Logan brought his glass to his lips, smirking as he took a sip, then set it back down with a casual ease that didn’t help the fluttering in my chest.
“I wonder what time this started,” he said, glancing around the bar for clues. “Can’t imagine we missed much.”
Judging by the sun just beginning to dip behind the horizon, he was probably right. It hadn’t been going long.
We lingered at the bar, perched on our stools as the instructor made her way back to the microphone. Her voice rang out, calling everyone to the floor again.
I glanced at my purse. I didn’t want to carry it while dancing, so I turned toward the older couple sitting beside us.
“Excuse me,” I asked, leaning in slightly. “Would you mind keeping an eye on my bag while we dance?”
The woman smiled wide, her cheeks rosy and eyes bright with the kind of joy that came from a couple drinks and good company.
“Of course, sweetie,” she said.
Then the man chimed in, voice deep and playful. “Don’t worry, darlin’. I know karate. Anyone tries anything, they’ll have to go through me.”
The woman broke into a fit of laughter, leaning forward as her big, teased brown hair bounced and she smacked his shoulder.
“Terry!” she scolded between giggles.
Terry gave me a wink. “Don’t mind her. My wife has no alcohol tolerance, so I’m the designated babysitter tonight. Y’all enjoy yourselves—we’re not going anywhere.”
“Well, at least she’s having a good time,” I said, smiling. “Thank you.”
Logan reached for my hand. His palm was warm and steady as he helped me off the stool and guided us toward the edge of the dance floor.
“What was that about?” he asked, glancing back at the bar.
“I asked if he’d watch my purse. Then he told me about his wife’s drinking habits. Honestly, they’re adorable.”
The instructor took her place again, mic readjusted, voice loud and energized.
“We’re kicking off this next set with a classic!” she shouted over the noise. “If y’all have done any dancing before, you’ll know this one!”
She pointed at the band, and a familiar beat kicked in.
The instructor turned away from us, giving us a view of her back as she counted the steps slowly, walking us through the motions.
I tried to follow, watching her feet, trying to anticipate the turns and pivots—but I kept missing the beat, stumbling half a second too late.
When I looked up at Logan, he was moving effortlessly, like his body already knew the dance.
“What the hell?” I hissed through my teeth.
He grinned. “This is one of the two I actually remember. I got you.”
We practiced a few more rounds as she walked the group through it. Despite the simplicity of the routine, I had no rhythm to speak of and kept tripping over myself.
But Logan, who was true to his word, stayed by my side. Patient. Steady. Every time I got off beat, I watched his feet, let my movements mirror his. Eventually, I started to get the hang of it.
A thrill buzzed through me. This was fun. Messy, silly, adrenaline-filled fun. And yet, by the end of the first song, I was completely breathless.
“All right!” the instructor called out, clapping her hands. “Now we’re moving on to song number two. Grab your partner and get ready!”
“Partner?” I asked, turning to Logan with wide eyes. Panic flickered in my chest. How the hell was I supposed to dance with a partner when I couldn’t even keep up on my own?
Logan didn’t hesitate. He reached out and gently gripped my biceps, his touch grounding me in a way that stole my breath. Heat seeped through his fingers, spreading under my skin like an electric current. I glanced down at the spot where he touched me, then back up into his eyes.
“You’ve got this, Ace,” he said, his voice consistent and sure. “And you’ve got a pretty decent partner too. Just let me lead.”
The way he said that—calm, confident, a little cocky—made the breath catch in my throat. There was something undeniably sexy about a man taking charge in a way that felt endearing and only for me.
I nodded slowly, swallowing hard as the tension in my body loosened, melting under his touch.
The instructor shouted over the music, riling up the crowd with infectious energy. People hollered and clapped around us, and I threw my hands up too, cheering, letting myself get swept away. This place, this moment, tethered me to the present. For the first time in weeks, I felt grounded… alive.
Onstage, the instructor and her partner began to walk us through the movements.
Logan’s hand slipped to the small of my back, unwavering and confident, and he pulled me closer.
The scent of his woodsy cologne wrapped around me, heady and warm, and when he looked down and smiled, it wasn’t just a smile.
It was a slow, knowing, melt-me-from-the-inside-out kind of smile.
Each step, each turn—I followed his lead. And he talked me through it all in a voice that was equal parts encouragement and temptation.
“Just like that.”
“You’ve got it.”
“Hold on tight, Ace.”
That last one caught me off guard before he spun me.
Twist after twist, my laughter spilled out, bright and breathless. He moved with a kind of ease that was addictive. When he finally pulled me back in, my chest collided against his, and I was dizzy from more than just the motion.
“I’m having so much fun,” I gasped between laughs.
“You’re learning fast,” he replied, his hand still on my back, his touch firm and reassuring.
We slipped into a two-step rhythm, I wasn’t sure what that was before tonight, but my body was learning it now—memorizing the way he moved and trusting him to guide me.
Then he spun me one last time and caught me.
Only this time, he dipped me low, my head arched back, hair brushing the air.
My leg lifted instinctively, and Logan’s hand slid beneath my thigh, catching it with a firm grip.
His fingertips grazed my skin as he held me there, breathless, suspended.
His face hovered close to mine, lips barely apart, breath warm against my mouth.
I could feel him—all of him—the solid strength of his arms, the warmth of his chest against mine. His cowboy hat cast a shadow across his face, but I could still see the hunger in his eyes. That flicker of something deeper, darker, more dangerous than friendship.
My heart thundered. My breath caught.
And for a fleeting second… I almost leaned in.
But I didn’t.
This was Logan, my best friend.
I stayed frozen in that breathless, aching space between what we were and what we could be, mesmerized by the storm I saw in his eyes.