Page 12

Chapter Eight

Emma

I stare at my reflection in the tiny bathroom mirror above Chapter & Grind, trying to give myself a pep talk that sounds more confident than I feel.

"It's just dinner," I tell my reflection. "A simple, casual dinner between business partners."

My reflection gives me a look that says bullshit , because we both know this is so much more than that.

I check my phone for the fourth time.

Still no response from Lucy.

Of course, when I need my best friend to talk me through the most nerve-wracking date of my adult life, she's MIA. Probably busy making googly eyes at Connor somewhere.

"Okay, Emma. You can do this. You've run a business, survived family dinner with your mother, managed inventory during a blizzard that lasted three weeks. You can handle one date with Logan Kane."

One impossibly gorgeous, funny, protective, grumpy-but-sweet Logan Kane.

I rummage through my closet again, rejecting every option for the third time. Too casual. Too try-hard. Too "I'm definitely not thinking about what underwear I'm wearing under this."

Oh God. Underwear.

The thought hits me. What if he sees my underwear? I mean, probably not tonight, but what if he does?!

Focus, Emma.

I settle on a soft burgundy sweater, paired with my favorite dark jeans and brown ankle boots. It's casual enough for Ridgeview but still makes me feel like I could be the heroine in one of those romance novels I can't stop reading.

And as for my underwear... I may have chosen my favorite matching set. The black lace one that makes me feel like I could conquer the world.

You know, just in case.

I give my reflection one last look. Hair flowing in loose waves, makeup subtle but pretty, lips glossed just enough to catch the light.

"You look good, Coffee Witch," I murmur, using Logan's nickname for me. The one that never fails to make me blush.

My phone buzzes.

It's a text from Logan who's probably fallen asleep while he waits downstairs: Ready when you are.

My stomach performs what feels like a full Olympic gymnastics routine.

I make my way down the narrow stairs from my apartment, each step feeling like walking toward something that might change everything.

When I reach the main floor of Chapter & Grind, Logan's standing by the window, hands shoved deep in his pockets. He's changed from his festival clothes into dark jeans and a charcoal wool sweater that stretches across his broad shoulders like it was made just for him.

He turns when he hears my footsteps, and the expression that crosses his face makes my knees wobble.

Logan Kane, the man who regularly stares down opposing teams without blinking, looks completely stunned.

His eyes travel from my boots up to my face, taking in every detail with an intensity that makes my skin tingle. When his gaze finally meets mine, those stunning eyes are darker than I've ever seen them.

"Shit," he breathes, running a hand through his dark hair. "Do I have a concussion? Because you're making my head spin."

Heat floods my cheeks, but I manage a laugh. "That's got to be the cheesiest hockey pickup line I've ever heard. Especially from you."

"Yeah?" He steps closer, that rare smile tugging at his lips. "You collect hockey pickup lines do you?"

I shrug as my cheeks heat. "Maybe. Judging by the look you're giving me right now, I might have to start."

Without warning, Logan reaches for my hand, lifting it gently. His fingers dwarf mine as he brings my knuckles to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the back of my hand.

The touch is old-fashioned, romantic in a way I didn't know still existed in this world. My breath catches as his lips linger for just a moment too long.

"You look..." He shakes his head and blows out a long breath. "Emma, you look incredible."

I'm pretty sure I'm blushing from my toes to my hairline right now.

"Thank you."

Logan offers me his arm like a proper gentleman, and I loop mine through his, feeling the solid strength beneath his sweater.

Who knew chivalry still existed? I feel like I've stepped into one of the romance novels lining the shelves in my shop.

God, if he's this careful and attentive with a simple hand kiss, what would he be like in bed? All that controlled strength finally unleashed?

I can almost picture those massive hands pinning me down, that intensity in his eyes as he takes what he wants, making me forget my own name...

Wait. Focus, Emma. This is dinner. Just dinner.

But the heat pooling low in my belly doesn't care what I call this.

"Ready?" he asks, and I can hear a hint of nervousness beneath his usual confidence.

"As I'll ever be."

We head out, and the evening air is crisp, carrying the scent of snow and woodsmoke from chimneys throughout Iron Ridge.

The first fat snowflakes begin to fall outside, creating a magical backdrop that feels like something from a Christmas movie.

"It's snowing," I observe, tilting my face up to catch a flake on my tongue.

Logan watches me with amusement. "Very observant."

"I'm full of brilliant observations." I playfully bump his shoulder. "Like how you're not wearing a jacket despite how freaking cold it is."

He shrugs, the picture of stubborn masculine pride. "I'm fine. Don't know what you're on about."

Like my body is determined to prove a point, I shiver against the biting breeze that blows across us. Logan immediately notices.

"Here." He slips off his sweater without hesitation, revealing a fitted black t-shirt underneath that does absolutely sinful things to my ability to think clearly.

"Logan, you don't have to—"

"I want to." He drapes the sweater around my shoulders, and I'm immediately enveloped in his scent. It's oh-so masculine that being swarmed by it makes me want to bury my face in the fabric.

The sweater is massive on me, the sleeves hanging past my hands, but it's warm and soft and smells like him. I resist the urge to bring the collar to my nose and inhale deeply.

"Better?" he asks, adjusting the sweater on my shoulders.

"Much."

As we walk, our hands brush once, twice, three times. Each contact sends sparks shooting up my arm. On the fourth brush, Logan catches my fingers in his, intertwining them like it's the most natural thing in the world.

His hand is warm, calloused from years of hockey, and completely dwarfs mine.

But somehow, it fits perfectly.

"Is this okay?" he asks quietly.

I squeeze his hand in answer, smiling up at him. "More than okay."

Ridgeview Tavern glows warmly against the snowy night, its windows casting golden squares of light onto the sidewalk. The moment we step inside, the warmth hits us, along with the scent of hearty food and the sound of laughter.

"Well, well, well." Eli Thompson grins widely from behind the bar, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Look what the snow blew in. Our boy Kane, all cleaned up and looking respectable."

Logan's jaw tightens, but I can see the affection beneath his gruff exterior.

"Table for two, Eli," Logan says, pointedly ignoring the curious looks from several regulars.

"Course, course. Right this way, lovebirds."

I'm pretty sure I hear Logan mutter something unflattering under his breath.

Eli leads us to a cozy booth in the corner, complete with worn leather seats and a small candle flickering on the scratched wooden table. Logan holds out his hand to help me slide in, then takes the seat across from me.

"Now, what can I get you two to start? On the house, naturally."

Logan raises an eyebrow. "Nothing's on the house, Eli. You'd charge your own mother."

"Hey now, that woman raised me right. She deserves to pay full price." Eli winks at me. "But for Iron Ridge's newest power couple? First round's on the old man."

I feel my cheeks heat again. Power couple?

After Logan orders us both beers and Eli saunters away with a satisfied smirk, I fidget with my napkin.

"He seems... enthusiastic about us," I say carefully.

Logan grunts. "Eli's been trying to set me up since I joined the Icehawks. He thinks I need a good woman to 'settle my wild ways.'"

"Do you? Have wild ways?"

Those blue eyes lock onto mine, intense and unreadable. "Not the kind he means."

I open my mouth to ask what kind he does mean, but the words catch in my throat. My mind races with possibilities—images of Logan's large hands gripping my hips, his mouth hot against my neck, those wild ways playing out in a tangle of sheets.

Heat blooms across my chest and creeps up my neck. I reach for my water glass, suddenly parched.

When Eli returns with our beers and takes our food orders, I watch Logan navigate the menu with surprising knowledge.

"I'll have the shepherd's pie," I tell Eli.

Logan looks impressed. "Good choice. Eli makes it with Guinness gravy."

"You know Eli's recipes?"

"I've eaten here enough times." He orders the same thing, then turns back to me. "Most people order the burger. It's safer."

"I don't do safe," I say without thinking, then immediately blush as Logan catches my drift.

His eyes darken. "No. I'm starting to realize that about you."

After we start eating, the conversation flows easier than I expected. Maybe it's the warm atmosphere of the tavern, or the beer loosening our tongues, but Logan seems more relaxed than usual.

"So," I say, cutting into my shepherd's pie. "The community program. Arena café space. We're doing well, right?"

Logan nods. "Good opportunity for you."

"It is. If we win." I take a sip of beer, feeling bold. "Sometimes I wonder if I'm reaching too high, you know? Like maybe I should just be happy with what I have."

"Why?"

The simple question catches me off guard.

"Because... I don't know. Because that's what people expect? My mom certainly thinks Chapter & Grind is just a phase. She didn't even stop by my booth today... can you believe that?"

I hadn't meant to say that last part. It slips out, carrying more hurt than I intended.

Logan sets down his fork, giving me his full attention. "That's her loss, Em."