Page 132 of The Fall Classic

“LOGAN.”

His head snaps back an inch. “You interrupted me.”

“Sorry.”

“No, I’m glad.”

“Can you stop talking for a second?”

“Yes. Now?”

I glare over my laugh. “It’s not October that scares me. It’s meeting your family.”

He angles his head to the side and nods. “Yeah, that’s fair. They’re a lot.”

“No, not them being too much.” I look down at our hands instead of at him. “Me being a boring barista from a small town whose dreams are even smaller. You’ve arrived at the kinds of dreams even the most ambitious people don’t indulge in. You’re incredible, and I’m⁠—”

“A fool,” he says, gently taking his hat off my head and playing with a strand of my hair that frames my face. The sensation is so sweet, I close my eyes. “You are a fool if you think I’m the one people are going to be impressed by. A boring barista with small dreams? Not even close. A brilliant woman who cares so much, people would come back for her smile alone and stay for her creations. Your dreams aren’t small; they’ve been hidden. Believe me, no one will remember I’m in the room when you smile at them the way you do. Especially my family. The only thing they’ll wonder when they meet you is if you have a head injury to be dating a clown like me.”

I smile, not quite satisfied, but Logan’s so sweet, so blind to my inadequacies, and I don’t particularly want to educate him the rest of the way tonight. Not when his fingers are skimming my face from my temple down to my neck, and his touch is warming me more than any heat lamp here.

“You’re nice,” I say, goose bumps rising all over my skin at his touch.

“I’m not trying to be nice. I’m trying to warn you that my family is going to be crazy about you,” he says.

I smile, and his eyes drop to my mouth, which makes my breathing speed up and my pulse race until all I can do is pull his face to mine and kiss him feverishly hard. I’ve never felt an emotion this all-consuming. My hands are all over his hair, his face, his neck, his back. I’m pulling him close, kissing him like he’s my oxygen. Like if I let him go, he’ll disappear.

Logan doesn’t match my pace or my energy, though. He takes the hat gently off my head and puts his hand on the back of my neck, each movement calm and confident. His mouth is warm and his touch, his caress, is so reassuring, I start to slow. I keep my hands around his back and deepen my kisses until the fire is turned down to a low, steady heat.

“This is a family event, you know,” a woman drawls as she stomps by, and Logan and I both break apart, laughing.

I rest my cheek against his chest, and he runs his hands through my hair so softly, I whimper.

“My momma always played with my hair,” I say. “It’s one of my favorite feelings.”

“Is this you giving me permission to play with your hair?”

“Permission granted,” I say, smiling. Then I push off his chest enough to peer up at him. “I don’t know how to do this without being scared. Us.”

“Then be scared,” he says. “And do it anyway, if you want to.”

“I want to. More than I can say.”

Logan’s face splits apart with a grin bigger than I’ve ever seen. “Okay then.”

I laugh. “That’s it?”

“What else can I say? That’s all I wanted to hear, and I heard it.”

“Wow. You are … something.”

“Is it a brat? It’s a brat. You can say it.”

“I’m not calling you a brat,” I say.

“But you’re thinking it, right?”

“Oh, I’m thinking it.”