Page 5

Chapter Four

Emma

" N o, not that one either."

I toss the third shirt of the morning onto my growing reject pile and dive back into my closet. Professional but casual. Approachable but polished. Sexy but not trying too hard.

Why is this so complicated?

"You know…" Lucy drawls from my reading nook, not looking up from her book. "For someone who claims to be completely uninterested in Logan Kane, you're putting an awful lot of effort into what outfit he's going to see you in today."

I glare at her over my shoulder.

"It's for the promotional video. For the camera . For the Icehawks . And my chance to win that café to help get eyes on my new brand…"

"Mmhmm." She takes a slow sip of her coffee, eyes twinkling over the rim of her mug. "And I'm sure you'd be trying on your fourth outfit if you were partnered with, say, Coach Brody?"

"Shut up," I mutter, finally settling on a soft emerald button-down that brings out the highlights in my hair. I think. Maybe. It's fitted, without being tight, casual enough for a coffee shop owner but nice enough for camera.

Not that I care what Logan thinks about it.

"You're being ridiculous," Lucy says, setting her book down. "You realize that, right? The man built you shelves, Emma. Shelves . With his own two hands."

I look across to the smooth wood of the new shelves, admiring how perfectly level they sit against my wall. The rich mahogany gleams under the shop lights, already looking like they've always been part of Chapter & Grind.

Great.

Now all I can think about is how Logan's forearms flexed as he worked the power drill, how the muscles in his back rippled when he lifted each shelf into place.

"That doesn't mean anything," I argue, though the memory of those big, capable hands measuring wood, muscles flexing... well, it certainly means something to the heat pooling low in my belly.

"Right." Lucy rolls her eyes. "And the way he looks at you like he wants to devour you right alongside your bestselling blend? Just normal customer appreciation, I'm sure."

I throw a pillow at her, which she deftly catches.

"I'm packing coffee samples," I announce, desperate to change the subject. "Want to help?"

"Nope." She settles deeper into the armchair that's unofficially become hers. "I'm going to sit right here and enjoy watching you pretend you're not head over heels for Iron Ridge's most eligible enforcer."

"I hate you sometimes."

"No, you don't." She grins. "You love me because I tell you the truth when you're being an idiot."

I sigh, carefully packing samples of my five signature blends into a wooden display box Logan made last week. It's gorgeous craftsmanship, with the Chapter & Grind logo wood-burned into the lid.

Another item on the growing list of things Logan's fixed, built, or improved around my shop without being asked.

Just as I'm adding the fresh labels I designed yesterday, the bell over the door chimes. My grandfather strolls in, wearing his usual plaid flannel and suspenders, his cap pulled low over his twinkling eyes.

"There's my superstar!" he calls, making a beeline for the counter where I've already poured his usual—dark roast, black, in his special mug shaped like an old typewriter.

"Morning, Grandpa." I slide the coffee to him and accept his kiss on my cheek.

He studies me, those wise eyes taking in my careful outfit choice and nervous fidgeting. "Big day with the camera crew, eh?"

"Oh God. Is it that obvious?"

He chuckles. "Emma-bean, you've got that same look you had before your first spelling bee. Like you're about to face a firing squad instead of doing something you're actually good at."

Lucy snorts from her corner. "Tell her, Walt. Maybe she'll listen to you."

My grandfather winks at me. "You've got this, sweetheart. Just be yourself."

I roll my eyes, but can't help smiling. "That's what Logan said."

"Smart man, that Kane boy." Grandpa sips his coffee. "Always did like him."

Lucy raises her eyebrows. "Oh? Since when?"

"Since he first came to Iron Ridge with the team.

Watched him step between that drunk heckler and one of our high school kids outside Ridgeview after a tough loss.

" Grandpa's eyes grow distant with the memory.

"Never said a word about it either. Just made sure the kid got home safe, then went right back to his business. "

Something warm unfurls in my chest at the image of a younger Logan, a rookie player perhaps, who was already the quiet protector, already carrying that sense of responsibility that seems to hang around his broad shoulders like a cape.

Grandpa gives me a look that tells me he's reading my every thought.

"Some people talk a good game, Emma-bean. Others just play it."

With that cryptic wisdom, he pulls me into a bear hug. I breathe in his familiar scent of ye-olde aftershave, coffee, and the faint hint of pipe tobacco he hasn't smoked in fifteen years but somehow still clings to his clothes.

"Well, I guess I should get going," I say, gathering my samples and tote bag. "The crew's setting up at nine-thirty and I still need to get changed."

Grandpa gives me one last squeeze. "Knock 'em dead, kiddo."

As I walk out the door, I catch a glimpse of Clara through the windows of Summit Café across the street.

I wave, and she returns it with a warm smile and a thumbs-up. I assumed she would be in on this type of opportunity too? Summit Café has been a staple of Iron Ridge since before I opened my shop.

Walking toward the arena, Clara's easy smile plays on my mind.

I can't shake the feeling that I'm always performing, always trying to be the Emma that people expect instead of just... being. Like Clara. being happy in the moment.

Instead, I'm trying to be the perfect daughter my mother wants. The savvy business owner my customers see. The confident entrepreneur that Lucy believes in.

But who am I, really?

And why does the thought of Logan Kane seeing the real me, my flaws and all, make my heart race faster than a triple espresso shot?

***

The media room at Icehawk Arena is a flurry of activity when I arrive. Camera equipment, lights, and microphones are being set up by a crew in matching black polo shirts.

Sophia directs traffic from the center of the room, tablet in hand, while Blake hovers nearby like her personal security detail.

And then, like the calm in amongst all the chaos… there's Logan.

He's leaning against the far wall, arms crossed over his chest, biceps straining against the sleeves of a simple dark green Icehawks polo. His dark jeans are worn in all the right places, hugging powerful legs that could probably bench press me without breaking a sweat.

Not that I've thought about that.

His eyes find mine immediately, tracking my movement as I enter the room. A look of surprise, or perhaps appreciation flashes across his face before he schools his features back into that familiar stoic mask.

The way his gaze drops to my outfit makes my skin tingle. By the time I'd made up my mind and finally changed, I'd settled on a soft cream sweater dress that hugs my curves without being obvious about it, paired with brown knee-high boots.

Professional enough for camera, but still me .

Logan's throat works as he swallows. His eyes trace the line where the dress meets my boots, lingering just a beat too long to be casual. The intensity in that look sends heat crawling up my neck.

He shifts against the wall, those massive arms flexing as he adjusts his stance.

A camera crashes somewhere behind me, breaking the spell. But when I glance back at Logan, the heat in his stare tells me he hasn't missed a thing. The corner of his mouth ticks up - barely there, but enough to make my heart stutter.

For someone who rarely speaks, Logan Kane sure knows how to make a girl feel seen without saying a word.

"Emma!" Sophia waves me over. "Perfect timing. We're just about ready for your turn."

As I make my way across the room, I nearly trip over a cable. Strong hands catch me before I can stumble, steadying me with a firm grip on my elbow.

"Careful," Logan murmurs, his breath warm against my ear.

I hadn't even seen him move from his position against the wall. How does someone so large move so silently?

"Thanks." The word comes out breathier than I intended. "I, um, brought samples."

I hold up my tote bag, which Logan immediately takes from me.

"I got it," he says simply, carrying it to the table where the crew has set up for our shot.

In the corner, Ryder is messing around with one of the microphones on his set, beat-boxing badly into it while technicians wince and adjust the bass and treble accordingly.

His antics stop abruptly when the door opens and a petite brunette walks in—Mia Harper, the veterinary assistant who's apparently his partner for the community program.

"Would you look at that? Never seen the rookie shut up that fast," Logan mutters, unpacking my coffee samples with surprising care.

I giggle and watch as we arrange the display, both sneaking glances at Ryder who's now pretending to be extremely interested in his phone while stealing looks at Mia.

"Alright everyone!" Sophia claps her hands.

"Let's get the partners paired up for their shots.

The crew will begin moving around and you will get your chance to film your commercial that will air on both local TV and radio.

Make it count, you've all got a shot at a prime location for your local business! "

Logan steps closer, his broad chest nearly touching my back. "You nervous about the camera?"

"Me? Never. I'm a natural." I fumble the coffee bag I'm holding, nearly dropping it and spilling beans everywhere.

He catches it before it hits the ground, his arm wrapping around my waist in the process. "Natural disaster, maybe."

"Hey!" I swat his chest, but I'm laughing. "I'll have you know I'm very graceful. When I want to be."

"Sure." His thumb traces a small circle on my hip where his hand still rests. "And I'm a figure skater."