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“I didn’t cheat,” Logan says for what has to be the fifth time.

Mallory doesn’t even look at him. “You moved the ball with your hand.”

“Strategically.”

“That is literally cheating.”

I bite back a laugh as I slide a beer across to him. “I’ve known you for approximately eight days, and even I’m siding with her.”

Logan presses a hand to his chest. “Blair, I thought we had something.”

I laugh as I wipe down the bar in front of them. They’re so comfortable with each other that the question slips out before I can think better of it.

“How long have you guys been together?”

They both stare at me.

Mallory’s nose scrunches like I’ve asked the most offensive question imaginable, while Logan looks mildly horrified.

Then they burst out laughing.

“Oh, honey, no,” Mallory says between breaths. “We’re just friends. We’ve known each other since high school.”

“Best friends,” Logan corrects her, resting an elbow on the bar. “She’d be lost without me.”

“I’d know significantly more peace without you.”

“Oh.” I laugh, heat creeping into my cheeks. “My mistake. Let me know if you need anything else.”

“Gonna hold you to that, Blair Bear,” Logan calls after me.

I stop and turn back. “Blair Bear?”

“Yep.” He points at me with a cheesy grin. “You’ve got a nickname now. Practically a local.”

I roll my eyes, but I can’t stop myself from smiling as I move toward the other end of the bar.

He’s teasing. I know that.

Still, the word local settles somewhere deeper than it should.

I’ve never belonged anywhere. Not really. But for the first time, I’m beginning to wonder if Hartwell could become somewhere I do.

The front door opens, and I look up to find Knox walking in beside a woman with long, sun-streaked blonde hair. Dean trails behind them, and my attention immediately lands on how close the woman is standing to him.

Fuck. Does he have a girlfriend?

“Deano, Aurora, and the sad little puppy they dragged in behind them,” Mallory calls from her stool.

“Knock it off, Mal. I’m sensitive today,” Knox replies, giving her his best wounded expression.

The woman reaches over and pats his cheek. “He’s had a difficult afternoon.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Knox says solemnly as they reach the bar. “Beer, please, Blair. Make it cold enough to numb emotional pain.”

“I’m not sure that’s included in my training, but I’ll see what I can do.” I grab a bottle from the fridge and slide it across to him.

“You’re an angel.” Knox catches it against his palm.