Page 125 of Defensive Desire

And as we exit the ice, from the nosebleeds, a voice yells:

“GET A ROOM, KANE!”

I twist to the voice, and sure enough Grandpa Walt, perched between Eli Thompson, my fatherandmy mother, is beaming in our direction.

Grandpa winks at me, Mom and Dad both blow a kiss, and I smile back as Logan whisks me down the tunnel and through the back corridors of the arena.

***

I barely get two feet out of The Nest before Logan’s grabbing my hand like we’ve got somewhere to be.

“Hey,” I laugh, breathless from the crowd, fromhim, from everything tonight. “Where are we going? You just declared your eternal love for me in front of like, a thousand screaming hockey fans.”

“Exactly why we’re escaping,” he says, tugging me along. “Ethan and Lucy are handling the café tonight.”

“Oh God.” I laugh as he pulls me toward the parking lot. “So we’re hiding?”

“Partially.” His grin goes full heartthrob. “But mostly? I’ve got one more surprise.”

“Oh no.” I narrow my eyes. “You already gave me a dream café and a kiss that sent the crowd into cardiac arrest. I think you’ve peaked, Logan Kane.”

He just squeezes my hand tighter.

By the time we reach Chapter & Grind, the shop is dark. The closed sign is still flipped from when I left for the arena earlier.

Except… when Logan unlocks the door and pushes it open, I realize it’s not the same as I left it.

Not even close.

I step inside and stop cold.

“Logan…”

The lights are low, replaced with dozens,hundredsmaybe, of tiny fairy lights strung from the beams and shelves, glowing like starlight caught in mason jars.

Soft snowflakes swirl silently across the far wall, some kind of video projection that's been set up to look like a little Finnish village Logan's described before.

The café smells like cinnamon and cardamom. Like somethingholy.

And on the table by the front windows, there's a leather folder sitting open beside a pair of steaming lattes and a plate of chocolate croissants.

“Those are from a bakery in Helsinki,” Logan says quietly. “I had them flown in this morning. Fresh as anything. The real deal, just for you.”

I gape at him. “Youimported pastries?”

“I listen when you talk,” he shrugs. “Even when you think I’m just ogling your ass.”

I choke on a laugh. But then I see the rest.

Two plane tickets. My name. His name. Return flights to Finland alongside a printed itinerary.

My throat closes up.

I turn back to Logan—and find him down on one knee.

Right there.

In the same narrow aisle where he once fixed a loose floorboard with a pocket wrench and a smirk that nearly undid me.

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