Page 3 of Burned By My Mate (Twisted Oak Pack: First Responders #3)

THREE

Emerson

The first thing I notice about Logan’s house is that it’stoo clean.

I expected clutter. Maybe an old recliner covered in clothes, dishes left in the sink, or random tools scattered around. But no, the place ispristine.

The open floor plan makes the space feel bigger than it is, with dark wood floors and sleek furniture. A massive stone fireplace dominates the living room, the mantle lined with neatly stacked books and small trinkets. Everything isorganized, like he doesn’t allow chaos in his space.

Unlike my house— was my house —which had been in a constant state of disarray as I worked on fixing it up.

A fresh pang of loss slices through me, but I shove it down.

I’m stillfuriouswith Logan for how he treated me earlier, but I’mtoo exhaustedto argue anymore. Between losing my home, being accused of arson, and almost having to share a motel room with rodents, I don’t have the energy to keep up my walls.

At least for tonight.

“Let me just set this in the kitchen, and I’ll show you around,” he says as he carries my groceries into the kitchen.

“I’m not sure most of that will still be good,” I tell him. “It was in my trunk for a while.”

“We’ll see what we can save, and I’ll replace the rest,” he says easily.

I’m too tired to argue with him so I just nod.

He sets the bags down and then turns to me.

“This way.” Logan nods down the hall, leading me to a guest room.

I follow him over to the room. He pushes open a door, revealing a cozy space with a full-sized bed, a dark blue comforter, and a dresser tucked against the far wall.

“It’s not much, but?—”

“It’s fine,” I say quickly. More than fine, actually. It’sa hell of a lot betterthan my car or that rat-infested motel.

Logan watches me, his hands on his hips like he’s debating saying something. Then he clears his throat. “You hungry?”

I want to say no out of pure spite, but my stomach betrays me with a low growl.

Logan smirks.

Jerk.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he says. “I’m going to take a quick shower and then I’ll start cooking. You may want to do the same. There’s stuff in there,” he says, nodding to the bathroom and I smile.

“Thanks.”

He nods and heads to what I’m assuming is his room right next door. I watch him go and then head into the bathroom and strip. I crank the water as hot as it will get and step under, letting the water wash away the scent of smoke and burnt wood.

The tears start to fall then and I cry as I think about everything that I’ve lost.

What am I going to do now?

I stand under the spray of hot water, contemplating that for way too long. When the water starts to turn cold, I step out and realize that I have a new problem.

I don’t have any clean clothes.

A knock sounds at the door, and then I hear Logan clear his throat.

“I brought some clothes. We’ll have to pick you up some new stuff.”

“Thanks,” I croak, my voice hoarse from crying in the shower.

I open the door a crack and he passes me the clothes and then turns and heads down the hall towards the kitchen.

I close the door and hurry to get dressed.

I should help him with dinner. It’s the least that I can do for him letting me stay here.

There has to be another hotel nearby, one that doesn’t have rats, and I grab my phone as I head towards the kitchen.

“It says that there’s a hotel not too far from here. The Red Fog Inn. I can stay there,” I start, and Logan whips around, a dark look on his face.

My mouth drops open as he approaches me and plucks the phone out of my hand.

“You can’t go.”

“Uh, why not?” I ask him.

“Red Fog isn’t a safe place.”

I frown, but then I remember Mrs. Dorsey saying something similar. I wonder what I missed out on, but decide to trust them and avoid that place.

“Okay, maybe there’s something south of here that I could go to,” I say, trying to get my phone back, but Logan just puts it in his pants pocket and heads back to the stove to finish cooking.

I frown at his back and he ignores me.

“What can I help with?” I ask him, and he shakes his head.

“I’ve got it. It’s almost done, anyway. Just have a seat.”

He nods to one of the stools at the counter, and I climb on and watch him.

Logan moves around the kitchen like he’s done this a thousand times. Within minutes, he’s set two plates on the counter—steak, roasted potatoes, and green beans. I blink at theactual meal in front of me. I was expecting takeout or, at best, a frozen pizza.

“You cook?” I ask. “You can follow me in your car. Let’s go.”.

He shrugs, taking a seat next to me. “Gotta eat.”

I huff a laugh. “Profound.”

He watches me as I take a bite, my taste buds practicallymelting.

Damn it. It’s good.

“So,” Logan says, spearing a potato with his fork. “Why Twisted Oak?”

I pause mid-bite. “What?”

“You could’ve moved anywhere. Why here?”

I chew slowly, considering my answer. I don’t owe him an explanation, but…

I exhale. “I needed a fresh start.”

He waits, silent.

I fiddle with my fork. “My mom passed away when I was sixteen. My dad left before I was born. After Mom died, I stayed with my grandmother, but when she passed two years ago, I was on my own. I bounced around, never really settling anywhere. I wanted a place that felt like…home.”

Logan’s gaze darkens, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.

“I got drunk one night and asked the universe for a sign. The next day, I woke up and saw a listing for that house. I just fell in love. It looked so cute, so perfect. Plus, I had just enough saved to buy it. It was like fate,” I say with a sad smile.

“Fate,” he mutters, and I sigh.

“Twisted Oak felt right,” I add softly. “Small town. Quiet. Safe.”

A muscle in his jaw ticks.

Safe.

The word lingers between us, heavy andsuddenly uncertain.

“You don’t have a family?” he asks, his voice quieter now.

I shake my head. “Not anymore. Just me.”

Something shifts in his expression. He looks at medifferently now.Less like the woman he accused of arson and more like…

I don’t know.

But it makes my stomach flip.

He nods. “You’re not alone anymore.”

I freeze.

The way he says it—it’s not justa statement.It’s a promise, and for some insane reason,I believe him.

We finish eating in silence, but it’s not as tense or awkward as before. I never could hold a grudge so I’m not surprised that I’ve forgiven Logan for how he was when we first met.

“Let me help clean up,” I say once we’re done eating.

“I’ve got it. I know you’re tired. Go get some rest,” he orders, and I nod.

I’m exhausted.

“Good night,” I say softly, and I can feel his eyes on me as I retreat back to my room and close the door behind me.

I should be relieved. I have a safe place to sleep, food in my stomach, and I’mnotsharing space with rats, but I can’t shake the feeling that I’m standing at the edge of somethinghuge—something I don’t understand yet.

Something that smells like smoke,safety, and Logan.

I crawl into bed, curling into myself as exhaustion drags me under.

I dream of flames.

Andblue eyes watching me through the fire.