Page 118 of Defensive Desire

She narrows her eyes at me but continues on that chit-chat that hasn't stopped since the radio interview.

I turn back toward the café space—mycafé space—trying to summon the magic I felt the first time I walked in here. Back when Logan was lugging in crates and grumbling about my hotchocolate vision for the kids, and I was high on the idea that somethingrealmight finally happen for me.

The room is beautiful. And now it's mine, it's even better than it was on Arena Experience Day. Open counters. Giant glass windows that look out onto the rink, gleaming with fresh ice.

There’splumbing,for god’s sake. I don’t even have to fight anyone for water pressure like I do downtown.

This is it. The dream.

So why do I feel like my stomach’s wrapped in barbed wire?

Sophia doesn’t notice right away. She’s in full logistics mode, walking the perimeter with her tablet tucked under one arm, high heels clicking against the polished floor.

"We can install shelving along this wall for your book displays," Sophia gestures to the blank wall. "The foot traffic during games is incredible. You'll have fans lined up three-deep for your signature blends."

I nod, forcing a smile. "That sounds perfect."

"And over here," she continues, moving quickly around the room. "I was thinking we'll have a small seating area. Nothing that takes up too much space, but enough for people to linger with their purchases."

My eyes drift upward to the second floor where team offices line the corridor. Where Logan might be right now, signing papers that will send him to Seattle. Away from Iron Ridge. Away from me.

“This spot here is gold for game-day walkups,” she says. “You’ll want to angle your promo board toward the main gate. And weekends will be packed. Youth tournaments, family days, some charity events we’re hosting are also busy. Delivery schedules will hit Wednesdays. Oh! And just a heads-up, the health inspector loves to drop by when it’s least convenient.”

I try to nod at all the right moments, but my eyes keep flicking up.

Past the hanging lights. Past the championship banners in the corridors.

"Emma?" Sophia's voice cuts through my thoughts.

"Sorry, yes. Seating area. Great idea."

She frowns slightly. "I was talking about delivery schedules."

"Right." I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. "Deliveries. Of course."

Sophia continues her tour, pointing out electrical outlets and explaining health code requirements.

I make appropriate noises, but my mind keeps wandering to Logan's face this morning. His jaw clenched hard enough to crack walnuts, the worry in his eyes before he kissed me goodbye.

What if he's already gone? What if I never got to tell him that distance doesn't matter, that we can make it work?

My gaze drifts back to the second floor.

"The health department requires a three-compartment sink, but we can have that installed by next week," Sophia says, tapping her tablet. "And the countertop finishes… we have three options..."

I nod mechanically, but my heart isn't in it.

Sophia stops mid-sentence and studies me, her professional demeanor softening.

"You don't care about countertop finishes right now, do you?"

I give her a shaky smile. "I'm sorry. I should be more excited."

"This space isn't going anywhere." She tilts her head, a knowing look in her eyes. "But I'm guessing there's somewhere else you need to be."

My throat tightens. "It's just... Logan had a meeting with Big Mike today. About the trade to Seattle."

"And instead of being with him, you're here looking at sink installations with me." Sophia shakes her head and her cheekspuff out behind a deep sigh. "Listen. Dreams can wait ten minutes. Men like Logan Kane? They don't wait."

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