We ate side by side, our conversation easy, laced with familiar silences and the comfort of each other’s presence. As the movie played, I kept sneaking glances to make sure his ankle stayed elevated.
But my eyes lingered far longer than needed to check only his ankle.
I was used to the stillness with Logan, the comfort his presence brought, and yet something about tonight felt different, more charged in a way I couldn’t quite put my finger on.
13
ELLIE
Typically, a date with a new guy would stir up nerves, summon butterflies, and send my pulse skittering. But tonight? I felt calm. No fluttering in my stomach, no sweaty palms—just steady confidence as I stared at my reflection in the mirror.
My blond hair fell in soft curls down my back. My brown eyes were rimmed with liner and smoked out with eyeshadow, giving them just enough drama. Miles had told me to dress up, and since I rarely had a reason to, I’d gone all in.
The emerald dress I’d pulled from the back of my closet clung to every dip and curve like it was tailored for me. The fabric pooled and shimmered when I moved, hugging my waist and flaring just enough to feel feminine and bold. I hadn’t been sold on it at first, probably would’ve donated it if Logan hadn’t been there to adjust the straps and sing his praises.
I paired it with nude heels—nothing too dramatic, just enough to add a touch of polish. As I finished my makeup, I heard the familiar creak of my front door opening and closing.
My apartment was finally coming together. Most of the boxes were unpacked, thanks in large part to Logan. He’d spent move-in day with me, making sure everything was exactly where I wanted it, doing the heavy lifting without ever needing to be asked. Miles had shown up too, despite my saying I didn’t need help, which was sweet, even if unexpected. He’d carried a few boxes, moved my bed frame into the room, and tried to play it cool, but the tension between him and Logan had been palpable.
And while Miles had definitely been on edge about Logan’s presence, I didn’t owe him an explanation. Logan had always been part of my life. Miles would have to accept that if he wanted any part of me.
I peeked into the hallway and caught a glimpse of blond curls and a cowboy hat and knew immediately who was here.
“I’m down here!” I called out, turning back into my room to find a necklace that would finish the look.
Boots echoed down the hall, and Logan appeared in my doorway. When I turned to face him, his jaw locked tight, and his eyes raked over me—slowly, deliberately—from head to toe, then back again.
“How do I look?” I asked, lifting my arms and giving a playful sway.
He hesitated. Like a thousand thoughts were scrambling for first place in his head but not one made it to his lips.
“Absolutely stunning,” he said at last. Logan’s voice was soft, reserved. He swallowed hard, a faint blush creeping over his cheeks.
I held up a delicate gold chain between my fingers. “Could you help me put this on?”
He nodded once, stepping inside.
I turned to face the mirror, and Logan moved behind me, his presence pressing against my back.
“I’m guessing tonight’s date night with Miles,” he said, voice lower than usual, edged with something rougher.
“Yeah,” I replied, watching our reflections. “He’s taking me into the city. He even rented a limo.” I raised my brows teasingly.
Logan scoffed, quiet and unimpressed, as he took the necklace from my hand. He draped it across my collarbone and brought the clasp around the back of my neck. His scent—earthy and masculine—wrapped around me, and before I could stop it, my heart skipped. Just a little.
His calloused fingers brushed against my skin as he fastened the clasp. The roughness sent a shiver rippling across my spine. Goosebumps bloomed along my arms, and I drew in a breath that caught before it could fully settle.
In the mirror, his eyes were on me, his stare intense—unreadable.
“You look…” he started, then cleared his throat, gaze dropping. “Breathtaking.”
Logan pulled back slowly, the necklace now resting lightly at my collarbone. The space between us filled with everything he wasn’t saying.
“Thank you,” I replied softly, still feeling the residual warmth of his hands near my skin. “What are you doing here anyway?”
That sensation in my chest—tight and low, like something soft was unfurling—was unfamiliar with Logan, and I refused to let it root itself because the idea of allowing this temptation to happen could end in disaster. He was my best friend, my only friend for the majority of my life, and keeping that was worth far more than whatever this was I was experiencing.
Logan shifted, placing his hands into his front pockets. “Just dropping off a casserole. Your mom made it for you. I stuck it in your fridge.”
