Page 27
Chapter Seventeen
Emma
S unlight slants through the crooked window, moving slowly over the wooden floorboards and painting soft lines across Logan’s bare shoulder.
His arm is slung over my waist, his breath warm across the back of my neck.
I don’t move at first.
Because damn . This is what waking up should feel like. Soft. Quiet. Full of sleepy muscles and the smell of smoke and dewy forest trees.
Eventually, though, the coffee cravings win.
I slowly, carefully wriggle out from under Logan’s arm. It's the approximate weight of a cement beam, but I manage to hoist it up and roll out of bed anyway.
He makes a low, bear-like noise but doesn’t stir. His hair’s a mess, and he looks all rumpled and boyish and unfairly sexy in the morning.
I tug on one of his flannels, which swallows me whole in the best way, and pad barefoot into the cabin kitchen.
There’s no cell reception up here, but I check my phone out of habit anyway.
Still nothing.
Please let Lucy, Ethan, and Grandpa Walt not have burnt my café to the ground.
I think about the bookmarks I made Logan cut out for the Arena Experience Day. Two hundred tiny rectangles that nearly cost him his last shred of patience.
If they’ve gone up in smoke because Ethan left the panini press on overnight…
I grin to myself. The man would be feral .
The scent of bacon lures me into the kitchen, where Nate is manning an ancient cast-iron skillet like a pro. Cole’s perched on a stool, poking through a bag of supplies with the world’s most dramatic sigh.
“ Fuck … There’s not enough coffee,” he announces to no one.
“And good morning to you, too,” I say, rubbing my eyes. “Mind if I jump in?”
Nate eyes me over his mug. “Um. You sure about that? Logan says your cooking is… experimental.”
I gasp in mock offense. “Excuse me. I own a café . I can make pancakes. No one’s died yet.”
Cole snorts and slides over a carton of eggs. “Well, now I’m excited. And hungry.”
I crack eggs into a bowl and start whipping up batter. Outside, the lake glimmers between the trees, and birdsong fills the air like background music.
“We figured Logan would be the one up first,” Cole says around a mouthful of bacon. “Guy usually beats us to the lake.”
I shrug, flipping the first pancake. “Guess I wore him out last night.”
Both brothers let out matching groans that sound like wounded bears, and I have to bite back a laugh.
God, they're such drama queens before coffee.
“I walked into that,” Cole mutters.
“No. You skated right into it,” I grin. "Like Blake Maddox in Game Four of the playoffs last season."
Nate chuckles, but his eyes go soft. “He’s been… lighter, you know? You’ve made him happy.”
I try to focus on the pan, instead of the way Logan's brothers are both staring at me right now.
“I hope so,” I say. “I didn’t think I’d fit into all this.”
I gesture around the rustic cabin, the beautiful landscape that I enjoyed exploring yesterday.
“The trees. The fishing. The… very enthusiastic opinions about bacon.”
“It’s more than that,” Nate says, leaning against the counter, swirling the tongs around on one finger. “You ground him. That’s not easy to do. Especially not with Logan.”
“I'll say. Guy was wound tighter than a goalie’s jock strap last season,” Cole adds helpfully. "We could see that even through the shield of a TV screen."
“Charming,” I reply, flipping a pancake.
A low rumble echoes from down the hall. Logan's snoring like a bear who lost a bet with a chainsaw.
Nate glances toward the bedroom. “Seriously. Didn’t think he’d be the one sleeping in.”
Cole grins. “You sure you didn’t break him?”
“He’s fine,” I say, unable to hide my smile. “Probably just exhausted from all the fresh air.”
“Right. Fresh air." Nate quips, sipping his coffee with a knowing look.
My heart does that annoying fluttering thing. The one I try to ignore but never can.
I plate up the pancakes just as my phone buzzes across the counter. Shit. Signal has returned! Albeit briefly.
I snatch my phone and read quickly, seeing the message is from Lucy. There's also a photo Ethan behind the espresso machine, wearing a pink apron and looking mildly alarmed.
“All good here! Ethan hasn’t broken anything yet. Grandpa Walt is supervising like it’s the moon landing.”
I laugh and type back a quick thumbs-up emoji, but the buzz in my chest dulls a little.
Reality feels like it’s sneaking back in. Running Chapter and Grind. Trying to win the café. The Arena Experience Day. That crazy life I’m supposed to return to in—what, two days?
I’m staring at the photo, still smiling, when Nate speaks again.
“Ah well. We just hope Logan’s not stressing too much about the trade rumors. I know it’s eating at him.”
I blink and turn on my heel, my spine straightening.
“What rumors?”
Nate pauses mid-sip, eyes flicking up to mine. “You didn’t know?”
My stomach twists. “Know what , Nate?”
Nate's face falls as he registers my expression. "Shit, Em. Logan hasn't told you?"
I set down the spatula, my heart suddenly pounding in my ears. "Tell me what, exactly?"
Cole and Nate exchange a look that makes my stomach drop even further.
"It's probably nothing," Cole says, his voice deliberately casual. "Just some talk going around the league. Happens before every new season."
"What kind of talk?" My voice comes out steadier than I feel right now.
Nate sighs, running a hand through his hair. "There's been some chatter about Big Mike looking to move a defenseman. Logan's name came up in a few hockey shows on ESPN."
The kitchen suddenly feels too warm, too small.
Cole shrugs like we're discussing the weather. "But honestly, Emma, these rumors pop up all the time. Most of them are bullshit."
I grip the edge of the counter. "But not all of them."
"No," Nate admits, his eyes softening. "Not all of them."
The pancake on the griddle starts to smoke. I flip it mechanically, watching the charred side reveal itself.
I think about Logan's mood swings lately. How tense he'd been after practice every day. The way he'd check his phone with that crease between his eyebrows, or the things he's been telling me about being happy now I'm in his life.
Shit.
What about all those moments when he seemed to be on the verge of telling me something important, only to pull me into his arms instead.
"How long have these rumors been going around?" I ask.
"Couple weeks," Cole says. "But seriously, Emma, don't freak out. Logan's probably just trying to protect you from worrying about something that might not happen."
"Right," I say, forcing a smile that feels like plastic on my face. "Of course. I'm sure it's nothing."
But the weight in my chest tells a different story.
Because suddenly I’m standing in this charming cabin kitchen, holding a spatula, pretending everything's fine while the one person I trust most might be keeping something huge from me.
Something that could change everything .
And I didn’t even see it coming.
The door creaks open behind me and I hear steady footsteps up the hallway.
Logan walks into the kitchen, hair messy, shirt half-buttoned, cheeks flushed from sleep. He looks unfairly good for a man who snores like a freight train and steals the blankets all night long.
“Morning,” he murmurs, stepping behind me to press a kiss to my cheek.
I freeze on the spot, unable to return the simple greeting. It’s just for a second, but it's enough for him to notice.
Of course he notices.
His lips hover near mine for a beat before he pulls back.
“You okay?” he asks, eyeing Cole and Nate beside me. "These assholes giving you grief?"
I reach for the spatula. My fingers feel stiff, like they’ve forgotten how to move naturally.
“No, no. I'm fine,” I say, too bright. “Just… didn’t sleep great.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Nate shooting a glance toward Cole.
They both know.
They don’t know … but they know.
There’s a weight in the room now. A shift in the air that wasn’t there five minutes ago.
I pour another circle of batter into the pan, but it sizzles too quickly. The heat’s too high because I'm not watching properly.
Logan lingers behind me. His hand comes to rest gently on my shoulder, thumb stroking the curve like he always does when we’re alone, when we’re us.
But we’re not us right now. Not really.
I move, just enough to pretend I’m adjusting the pan, and his hand slips off.
His brows furrow. “Em… are you sure—”
“I’m fine,” I say, scraping at the pancake’s edges. It’s already starting to burn, but I can’t seem to care. “Just thinking about all the café stuff. The Arena Experience. The grant. You know.”
It’s only half a lie.
“Yeah,” Logan says slowly. “Alright. That makes sense.”
But it doesn’t. I can hear it in his voice. He’s trying to connect the dots, and I’m not handing him the pencil.
We fall into a strange, silent rhythm. I flip pancakes, Logan pours coffee, and the brothers awkwardly pretend like they aren’t watching this entire thing go down in real time.
I feel the heat of Logan’s cautious gaze like hot sun through glass.
But what am I supposed to do? What should I say?
Hey babe, while you were snoring like a caveman, your brother told me you might be traded out of state and you apparently didn’t think it was important to mention it.
Yeah. That would go well over breakfast.
I crack another egg and dump it into the bow.
My brain won’t stop spinning.
Has he really been carrying this all alone? While we’ve been playing house up here in the woods—laughing, fishing, kissing like the world isn’t lurking just outside the treeline—he’s been dealing with this ?
And he didn’t tell me?
The voice in my head sounds disturbingly like my mother’s: You’re always so self-absorbed, Emma. So quick to fall in love with your dreams. You never see what’s real.
Maybe she was right all along.
Maybe I’ve been so busy convincing myself that this is real, that I missed the cracks in the foundation.
Or did he just not trust me enough to tell me the truth?
The pancake on the griddle starts to smoke again. I flip it too late.
“Babe,” Logan says gently. “You sure everything’s okay?”
I plaster on a smile and turn, holding out a plate like it’s a shield. “Yup. One slightly overcooked pancake, coming right up. Here. Take it.”
He takes it, but his eyes don’t leave mine. And for the first time, I can’t meet his gaze. Not without cracking.
We all settle down at the small table, our shoulders touching as the scrape of knives on old plates screeches inside my head.
Nate makes a joke about the bacon being perfectly crisped for once. Cole says something about needing five more cups of coffee before he can even look at another beer.
Logan chuckles along with it all, but there’s an edge to it. Like he’s performing.
Like we both are.
I chew my pancake slowly, the char on the edges scraping against the roof of my mouth. Everything tastes like burnt sugar and bad timing.
Logan’s hand slides under the table, fingers brushing against mine. A silent offering, and usually, I’d squeeze back.
This time… I pull my hand away, pretending to reach for the syrup instead despite my pancakes already swimming in it.
I feel his confusion in the air between us, but he doesn’t ask again.
I think he knows not to.
I finish my pancakes quickly and rise from the table. “I’m gonna go take a shower.”
I don’t look at him when I say it. I can’t.
“Okay,” he says, voice low and a little rough.
I walk down the short hallway, the wooden floor cool beneath my bare feet. The bathroom door shuts behind me, but it doesn’t mute the thud of my heartbeat or the ache that’s started blooming in my chest.
I grip the sink with both hands.
My reflection in the mirror looks like someone else. I don’t know what scares me more. That Logan might be traded…
Or that he didn’t tell me.
That I was laying in his arms all night, kissing him like a woman who finally felt safe …
And he didn’t say a word.
I close my eyes.
How can I trust him to stay… When I didn’t even know he might be leaving?
Table of Contents
- Page 1
- Page 2
- Page 3
- Page 4
- Page 5
- Page 6
- Page 7
- Page 8
- Page 9
- Page 10
- Page 11
- Page 12
- Page 13
- Page 14
- Page 15
- Page 16
- Page 17
- Page 18
- Page 19
- Page 20
- Page 21
- Page 22
- Page 23
- Page 24
- Page 25
- Page 26
- Page 27 (Reading here)
- Page 28
- Page 29
- Page 30
- Page 31
- Page 32
- Page 33
- Page 34
- Page 35
- Page 36
- Page 37
- Page 38
- Page 39
- Page 40
- Page 41
- Page 42
- Page 43
- Page 44