Page 4 of Defensive Desire

"My shoulder's fine," Logan cuts him off, rotating it as if to prove his point.

Lucy jumps in, clearly sensing the testosterone rising. "Emma, what's this one called?" She points to the darkest blend.

"I think I'm calling it 'Penalty Box'," I say, grateful for the distraction. "It's got notes of dark chocolate and a kick of chili at the end."

"Fitting," my grandfather chuckles. "It'll wake you up like a cold bench after a bad call."

The conversation shifts to coffee and hockey, the two languages that unite most of Iron Ridge, no matter the season.

As my closest friends chat in my bookshop, I find myself watching Logan as he leans against the counter, listening more than talking. He catches me looking and holds my gaze a beat too long, then winks at me before turning back to Connor.

I try to hide the smile on my lips as Logan's phone buzzes, breaking the moment. He glances at the screen, his expression shifting.

"Hey, dipshit. Blake needs us at The Nest," he tells Connor. "Players Lounge meeting with Coach."

Connor groans dramatically. "Fucking great. Brody's probably going to lecture us about media protocols again. Blake's proposal stunt traumatized him forever, I swear."

"You just hate meetings because you can't stay awake," Logan says dryly. "Get your shit. We're going."

"Fair point," Connor concedes, standing and stretching. "But I'm bringing this coffee with me." He grabs his cup and leans over to kiss Lucy. "See you later, Lucy Lou. Emma, thanks for the samples."

"Don't be late for dinner," Lucy calls after him. "Ethan's making that pasta you like."

Connor gives her a thumbs up as he heads for the door. Logan follows, pausing beside me, forcing the citrusy smell of his cologne deep into my lungs.

"I'll come by tomorrow," he says quietly. "Install those shelves for you."

"You don't have to—" I start.

"I know I don't."

And with that, he's gone, the bell chiming softly behind him.

As the door closes, Lucy turns to me with a gleam in her eye that means trouble.

"So," she says, drawing out the word. "You and Logan, huh?"

"No. Just no."

My gaze catches her brows climbing upward, but thankfully my grandfather has found something to occupy himself with, absorbed in browsing through the new release true crime titles I display near the entrance.

"There is no me and Logan," I protest, perhaps a bit too quickly.

"Mmhmm," she hums, clearly unconvinced. "He just happens to remember everything you say and shows up with custom shelving because...?"

"Because he's weirdly observant and these professional hockey players apparently have too much time on their hands?"

"Keep telling yourself that," Lucy says, winking at me in a way that makes me want to crawl under the counter and hide.

My grandfather slides back behind the counter and chuckles into his coffee cup. "The Kane boy reminds me of myself at his age. Terrible with words, but always showing up when it counts."

"Grandpa, please… Not you too," I groan.

"All I'm saying is that a man who builds shelves for a woman is a man worth keeping around," he says, his eyes twinkling with mischief and something that looks suspiciously like hope.

I busy myself with cleaning up the sample cups, trying to ignore the knowing looks being exchanged across my counter.

There's absolutely nothing going on between me and Logan Kane.

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