He reaches down, brushing the hair from my face, a soft, tender gesture that makes my heart flip in my chest.
"You okay?" he asks, voice rough but gentle, like he’s not sure if I’m going to break from the intensity of everything that just happened.
I nod, my fingers still trembling as I touch the edge of my t-shirt.
I feel the heat of him still burning into me, the weight of everything unspoken hanging in the air.
"I’m more than okay," I say, my voice low, heart still hammering.
He smirks, a little cocky, a little self-assured, but the glint in his eyes tells me he’s savoring every second of this moment, too.
Then, as if realizing we’ve both just crossed some kind of line, he takes a deep breath and pulls me gently to my feet.
"Come on," he says, a playful, tender tone slipping into his voice.
"I swear, if you’re not starving after that kiss, I’m doing something wrong. Breakfast’s ready."
His hand is warm around mine as he leads me toward the kitchen.
His thumb brushes over my knuckles, making my skin tingle, the touch so simple but sending a jolt of warmth through me.
I glance up at him as we walk, my heart still racing, my thoughts a tangled mess.
"I don’t think I’ve ever been this hungry in my life," I joke, the words coming out light, but I can’t shake the feeling of his lips lingering on mine.
Of the heat we just shared.
Logan chuckles, the sound low and satisfied, like he knows exactly what I mean.
"We’ll fix that," he murmurs, pulling me close for a brief, quiet kiss on the top of my head.
His lips linger there for a moment, soft and warm, as if holding me there in this quiet, unspoken promise.
Chapter 10
Logan
She looks so damn sexy wearing nothing but a t-shirt it should be illegal.
Mac sits across from me at the little round table in her kitchen—knees tucked up, fork in hand, hair messy from sleep, face still carrying that soft, just-woke-up glow.
I slide her morning meds beside her plate, followed by a fresh glass of orange juice.
She raises an eyebrow at me, lips twitching.
“I called an Uber this morning,” I say, leaning back in my chair with a grin. “Couldn’t have you surviving on nothing but stale cereal and freezer burn.”
She snorts, shaking her head, and I swear I could sit here forever just watching her smile like that. There’s a light in her eyes I didn’t realize I’d been holding my breath for. I think she may have grumbled something about no such thing as bad cereal, but I found her dawn grizzlies adorable.
The kitchen is small, worn in the best way. The cupboards creak. The table wobbles if you lean too hard on one side. There’s a weird little collection of magnets on the fridge and a smudge of flour on the counter from where I spilled it earlier.
I don’t realize she’s stopped eating until the air shifts.
She’s gone still—fork frozen halfway to her mouth, her gaze locked on something over my shoulder. I turn slightly, following her line of sight.
The back door.
Or more specifically, the wicker basket tucked beside it, overflowing with battered plastic Nerf guns. Bright orange and neon green. I’d forgotten they were even there.
