Page 15 of Meet Me in the Valley (Oakwood Valley #2)

Chapter Nine

TIA

After texting Audrey a million different selfies in what felt like thirty different outfits, I settled on the first outfit I tried on—the one I second-guessed in the first place. Of course.

Audrey

You’re panicking. Tell me why you’re panicking.

Tia

I’m not! It’s just one of those days where nothing looks good on me.

Audrey

Okay, first of all, everything looks good on you. Have you seen you lately? And are you sure you aren’t freaking out because of your secret feelings for you know who? ;)

My mouth drops open, and my cheeks heat instantly. Seriously? Am I that fucking obvious?

I don’t respond right away—I just stare at my phone, stunned. I thought I had my poker face locked down. Apparently not.

I must’ve made a complete ass of myself that night we went skinny dipping. If Audrey noticed, others probably did, too. And this is the first time she’s actually said something. She’s definitely going to use tonight to poke at it, dig deeper—and I’m not about to let that happen.

I’m not giving her that. There’s too much happening. Too much spinning in my head.

And Logan? He’s a whole different kind of problem. One I can’t name without my chest tightening and my heart acting like it doesn’t know how to beat right.

I don’t even know what this is , or when it started. All I know is that it’s messing with me. And if I can’t explain it to myself, I sure as hell won’t be explaining it to Audrey. Not tonight.

Not when just hearing his name makes my defenses shoot up.

Tia

You know, I don’t have to come to this thing. I can just fly back to Austin without saying goodbye.

I bite back a grin.

Audrey

You wouldn’t dare.

Tia

Try me.

Audrey

If you do that, we’re breaking up.

Tia

Says the one with the fat rock on her left hand! I was going to ask you to marry me, but D beat me to it.

Audrey

Should I leave him, then?

Tia

Is that even a question?

Audrey

He’ll be devastated.

Tia

He’ll live.

Audrey

Lol I love you.

Tia

Love you more, Auds. See you soon! 3

I steal one last glance in the hallway mirror by the front door of my parents’ house.

Audrey’s right—not that I’d ever say that out loud. I tore through my entire suitcase, clothes scattered across my bed like a fashion crime scene and still hated everything I tried on.

The truth? I wanted to look good tonight. Stupidly good.

The kind of good that makes Logan do a double take and forget how to form words.

It’s ridiculous. It feels like I’m prepping for a first date—except it’s just a casual backyard barbecue with my closest friends. And I don’t even have a date.

Just this spiraling, slow-burning, possibly-falling-in-love feeling for a boy I have absolutely no business falling for.

So, yeah. Totally fine. No big deal. Everything’s under control.

Stepping back from the mirror, I assess myself and sway gently from side to side, watching the way my loose waves settle against my back. Soft, effortless—exactly how I wanted them.

The white cropped tee clings just right, showing a sliver of skin above my worn-in vintage jeans, the ones I scored in Austin that hug in all the right places.

I don’t work hard on this ass for nothing.

I lace up my platform sneakers and spritz a touch of perfume at the base of my neck, just enough to leave a trace.

One last glance. One slow inhale. I’m not overthinking it.

Then I hear it—that low, unmistakable rumble of an engine rolling up outside. The air shifts. My stomach tightens, my pulse kicks.

He’s here.

“Shit shit shit,” I whisper to no one. I’m peering through the window like a freak, fingers trembling as I pull back the curtain.

My first instinct is to tear open the door, fly down the path and jump straight into Logan’s arms before he’s even gotten off his bike. But that would make me look like a psycho, so I play it cool and take a few deep breaths.

In and out. In and out.

I open the door and step onto the path, and then I’m locking eyes with sin personified. Every deep breath I took before walking out evaporates on the spot.

Logan leans casually against his bike, hands tucked into his pockets like he’s got nowhere to be and all the time in the world. His hair is perfectly disheveled, like he just ran a hand through it and somehow made chaos look intentional.

Effortless. Unbothered. Dangerous in that way that makes your heart skip.

He looks like he walked straight out of The Outsiders —all rebel energy and quiet heat.

A fitted white T-shirt clings to his chest beneath a black leather jacket, and the silver chain I got him for Christmas two years ago glints beneath the late afternoon sun.

Faded jeans hang low on his hips, and his lace-up boots make him look like he could either fix a motorcycle or break your heart without saying a word.

The hard truth is he can absolutely do both. Yet, I’m still drawn to him like a sad little moth to his bright, burning flame.

I’m half-tempted to take my phone out and snap a picture of him, exactly how he is in this moment.

When he smiles at me as I approach, I have to remind myself to breathe.

Somewhere deep down inside me, I’m aware of all the red flags.

It’s a reminder that where my heart is headed is dangerous.

It’s shark-infested waters, a no-swim zone.

But one Logan smile makes me forget everything that can go wrong.

“Well, look at you,” he croons, raking his gaze all over me. The need to blush is strong, but I play it off and give him a twirl as he pushes himself off his bike to gather me in his arms.

His cologne hits me first—spiced, warm, and utterly intoxicating. My eyes nearly roll back from how obscenely good he smells. I have to stop myself from burying my nose into his skin and taking a deep inhale.

Then he hugs me, and it feels far from casual. One hand slides around the small of my back while the other curls at the nape of my neck, holding me there in a possessive cradle that sends a slow, pulsing heat through every inch of me.

Does he know what he’s doing to me? Is this how he greets everyone else? All the others?

I’ve seen Logan with women more times than I can count, and yet, I can’t remember for the life of me if he’s ever held them like this. If his hand settled at the nape of their necks like it belonged there.

Before jealousy has a chance to sink its teeth in, I pull away from his hold and give him a friendly, light pat on the chest. A gesture that says, “I’m totally unaffected.” Except ... my hand doesn’t move.

It lingers. Because apparently, I’ve lost all control and decided to memorize the feel of him beneath my palm.

Firm, warm, and totally unfair.

Logan glances down at my hand, then up at me with a slow, amused smirk that curls at the corners of his mouth.

Panic flares. I snatch my hand back like I’ve been burned and shift into the familiar safety net of the friend-zone, even if the line between us feels thinner than ever.

No, that’s just you. The line is still there in thick, bold paint.

“I’ve got news for you,” Logan grins.

“What is it?”

“I told you last night I had a favor to cash in,” he says, pulling a folded piece of paper from his back pocket. I eye it curiously, but say nothing.

Then Logan takes both of my hands in his, warm and steady, and places the paper gently into my palms—closing his hands around mine like he’s sealing something important between us.

“Logan, what is this?”

“Open it.”

He lets go of our hands, and out of the corner of my eye, I catch the soft curve of a smile playing on his lips as he watches me. He’s quiet, patient, but fully locked in. I unfold the paper with careful fingers.

It’s there. All the information I need to find Nora. A place of work. A home address. It’s all there.

A small gasp slips out before I can stop it, my eyes sweeping over Logan’s scratchy handwriting again and again, like rereading it might somehow make it more real. Like I need to be sure I’m not imagining what it says.

“H-how? How did you do this?”

“I told you I’d take care of it. I booked you a flight, T. You leave at the end of the week.”

I tear my eyes away from the paper and look at him in shock. “W-what? You … y—” I stutter. “You booked me a flight? Logan … No. It’s too much. I, I?—”

“Tia. Listen to me.” He gently holds my face between his strong hands. “You said you’re ready. It’s time. You’re doing this.”

My chin trembles, my eyes burn, and my throat swells. It’s fear mixed with complete adoration for this man.

I’m done for.

“But what about work? We’re flying back tomorrow. We have the Mueller project? We?—”

Logan shakes his head. “I took care of it. Roy said the project isn’t starting for another couple of weeks. I told him you have a personal family matter to attend to— which you do —and that you’ll be in contact with him on your return.”

Unlimited PTO truly helps in this situation, but I still stand there in utter shock. Logan took care of all of this for me? He says he doesn’t do relationships. He says he’s not capable. But everything he does says the opposite.

And that’s got me reeling off the deep end.

“You’ll just have to take care of the PTO stuff in your portal, since I don’t have your information for that. If I had it, I would’ve done it for you. But other than that, everything is booked. I even got you in a nice suite at the hotel there,” he says, pointing at the paper.

Vermillion Sands Hotel.

“Logan,” I whisper, still staring at the note. “I don’t even know what to say.”

“You could start by telling me I’m the best,” he says with that perfectly crooked grin. The look of my undoing.

I laugh softly. “You’re the best. Seriously … thank you.”

Then I lean in and press a kiss to his cheek, lingering just long enough to feel the warmth rise beneath his skin. When I pull back, he’s blushing—and it’s my new favorite thing.

Clearing his throat, he picks up a spare helmet hanging on his handlebars. “I thought we could go for a ride before we head over? You know, take the long way.”

My entire face smiles. “I’d love that more than anything.” I pocket the note into my little crossbody bag for safekeeping.

“May I?” Logan asks with a lift of the helmet. I nod enthusiastically, causing him to chuckle under his breath.

“I love how much you love to ride. It’s one of my favorite things about you.” He fits the not-so-flattering helmet on my head, gently fastening the buckle under my chin as I watch his mouth and appreciate his full, pink lips.

“There,” he breathes. “These helmets aren’t as cool as the ones I have back in Austin. We can’t talk to each other through them, but it’ll do the job.”

“How do I look?” I ask, hands on my hips, throwing him a coy glance as I turn my head from side to side.

Logan doesn’t answer right away. He just stares—eyes locked on mine long enough to make my breath hitch. Then he looks away, a barely there shake of his head and the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips. Still silent, he straddles his bike.

I fall in step behind him, sliding on like a muscle memory, pressed against his back like it’s my favorite place to be.

The engine growls to life beneath us, and the familiar rush hits—blood pumping faster, excitement rising in my chest like it always does when I’m with him like this.

My arms wrap around his waist, and without even thinking, I rest my chin on his shoulder like I’ve done a hundred times before.

I catch the faintest mumble from him, and another small shake of his head, but the engine drowns out whatever he’s saying. I tap my fingers lightly against his stomach as we start to move.

“Did you say something?” I call over the wind, raising my voice as the speed picks up.

He glances back at me, and instead of answering, his free hand slides back—fingers wrapping gently around the back of my calf, holding me there like he doesn’t want me going anywhere.

It’s not loud. It’s not obvious. But it says everything.

The further we ride through the grape-laden valleys, every sense of mine turns up a hundred degrees.

It’s the connection holding us together when my chest presses into his back.

It’s the way his hand moves slowly up and down my calf like I’m his to claim.

Or how my heart is beating harder than it should for something that isn’t even supposed to mean anything.

We’re just two friends on a bike, heading to a barbecue.

So why does his touch feel like a promise?

I grip him a little tighter, just to ground myself—but deep down, I know I’m already falling.