Page 79 of Never Sleep with the Enemy

“Well, I was going tomakeyou breakfast. But one glance in your fridge and cupboard told me that wasn’t happening. Not unless you wanted a half-drunk bottle of water and an expired bottle of hot mustard.”

I wince. “I haven’t done a grocery run since the tour ended.” I glance around as he stacks to-go containers on the counter. “Have you been up long?”

“Not too long. Well, actually…” Logan sets down a round container—pancakes, my stomach rumbles—before shifting his focus back to me. “There’s something else I need to apologize for.”

His playfulness dims slightly.

“Okay,” I say, setting my fork down. “What?”

“Promise you’ll forgive me first.”

“Why? What’d you do?”

Logan steps closer, his hand outstretched, palm open. “Come with me,” he says.

Something in his expression gives me pause. Quiet and solemn. I want to ask questions, but I don’t.

I take his hand.

He leads me out of the kitchen, through the living room, and into my music room.

Logan releases my hand and approaches Freddie the piano. “I know I shouldn’t have,” he murmurs. “But I couldn’t get it out of my head all night. And... well, just listen.”

He sits, stretching his hands before placing them on the keys. A flex, a slow press, a deliberate touch.

Then, he plays.

The song from last night. My song.Oursong.

But when it reaches the end, he doesn’t stop. He keeps going, fingers coaxing the melody forward as if it always belonged there, as if the song itselfwantshim to complete it.

It’s different, but also...

It’s exactly what it was meant to become.

His hands move with knowing ease, teasing out something richer, something deeper, and my body reacts before I can stop it. Heat curls low in my stomach, blooming outward in slow, rhythmic waves, each note resonating in places he hasn’t even touched yet.

When he finally lifts his fingers from the keys, the last notes linger in the air, trembling, waiting—just like me.

“You can disregard all that, obviously,” Logan says. “I just thought it sounded, well... pretty.”

I nod, throat tight. “It does.”

“I should have asked you first.” Logan holds my gaze. “Do you forgive me?”

I pretend to consider it, bending until we’re almost nose to nose.

“That depends,” I murmur. “Did you get bacon?”

His mouth twitches. “I did. Sausage, too. Wasn’t sure which you preferred.”

“Bacon, usually.”

His gaze drops to my lips. “Now I know.”

I kiss him, warmth spreading from my chest outward. “I forgive you, Logan.”

“Yeah?”

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