Page 23 of Defensive Desire

The familiar voice makes me freeze.

And sure enough… I turn to see my sister Melanie approaching. She's pushing a stroller while two small children bounce around her feet like one of Mia's puppies that keep running away from her today.

She's wearing a pastel cardigan in a shade of pink that probably has a name like "morning rose" or "blush meadow," paired with mom jeans that actually work on her. Her blonde hair is pulled back in a lazy ponytail, and she has that no-nonsense energy that comes from managing multiple small humans all day every day.

"Hey, Melanie," I say, forcing brightness into my voice and backing away from Logan's way too close body. "Didn't expect to see you here."

"Yeah, well. Mom thought the kids would like the pet parade," she explains, lifting her baby from the stroller. "She said we should come support the community."

Of course she did.

Mom's idea of "supporting the community" usually involves showing up, being seen, and making sure everyone knows she was there.

Nice to know she thought of me, or perhaps even made the effort to come bymystall and support my business.

But I push down the cynical thought and focus on my niece and nephew, who are now eyeing the ring toss game and the assortment of prize plushies on display with undisguised interest.

"Can we play? Please?" Ben, my six-year-old nephew, looks between Melanie and the game with hopeful eyes.

Before Melanie can respond, Logan wordlessly drops another dollar on the counter and hands a ring to Ben.

"Go for it, kid," he says, his voice gentler than I've ever heard it.

Ben's first attempt flies wildly off target. His second bounces off the counter. By the third, his shoulders are slumping with disappointment.

Logan ruffles his hair, that same gentle gesture I've seen him use with younger players at the rink. "You'll get it, kid. Takes practice. Here, have another turn."

I watch, transfixed, as Logan slaps another five dollars onto the counter.

"This time, keep your elbow straight when you throw."

Ben's face lights up like Christmas morning. He takes the ring from Logan's massive hand, his small fingers barely wrapping around it.

"Like this?" Ben asks, mimicking Logan's stance.

"Perfect. Now focus on that blue bottle in the middle."

The ring sails through the air, missing by at least a foot, but Logan reacts like it was a near miss.

"Whoa! So close!" He clutches his chest dramatically. "I thought you had it!"

Ben giggles, delighted by the performance.

I can't tear my eyes away from Logan.

This towering figure who regularly terrifies adult men during hockey games, yet who moments ago seemed ready to press his lips against mine, now crouches beside my nephew, utterly absorbed in this playful fairground challenge.

Ben's second throw curves left, still missing but closer.

"Oh man!" Logan staggers backward, hand over his heart. "That was INCHES away! The wind must have caught it!"

There's no wind outside the brewery, but Ben nods solemnly, buying the excuse completely.

"Last one," Logan says, handing Ben the final ring. "Remember, straight elbow, eyes on the target."

Ben's little face scrunches with concentration. He throws, and this time, the ringactuallycatches the edge of a bottle before bouncing off.

"DID YOU SEE THAT?" Logan roars, lifting Ben onto his shoulders in one swift motion. "You almost had it! That's a winner in my book!"

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