Page 64 of Defensive Desire

She’s not wrong.

“Just… make sure Grandpa Walt doesn’t roast the beans again. And don’t let Mrs. Jenkins con Ethan into donating free biscotti to her book club. She’s sneaky like that.”

“We’ve got this,” Lucy says, softening her tone. “You need to let yourself have fun. For once.”

I roll my eyes.

Fun feels like a foreign concept when your brain runs entirely on coffee and anxiety. But just before I can rattle off one more instruction about the pastry rotation schedule, the front door swings open.

Logan walks in wearing a flannel jacket and jeans, carrying that calm, quiet confidence that makes every nerve in my bodyflicker to attention. His hair’s tousled from the wind, his cheeks a little pink from the cold.

“Mornin'. Truck’s ready,” he says, his deep voice making my skin tingle with excitement.

I nod, suddenly tongue-tied as he crosses to the counter and scoops up my duffel bag like it weighs nothing.

“Go,” Lucy says under her breath, stepping around the counter to hug me. “Enjoy it. You’ve earned this.”

I blink hard and hug her back, then give Ethan a small smile and even manage to squeeze Grandpa Walt’s elbow.

As Logan leads me to the door, Lucy calls after us, “If you’re not pregnant when you get back, I’m gonna be disappointed!”

I nearly trip over the mat.

“Lucy!” I hiss.

Grandpa Walt just winks at me.Winksat me.

Logan watches me as my cheeks go bright red, like a damn beet. He chuckles low in his throat, opens the truck door like a gentleman who heard nothing, and casually says, “Better not disappoint her, eh?”

I groan, bury my face in my scarf, and climb in.

But the second the door shuts, muting the sounds of the café behind us, I feel it.

Freedom. The open road. And Logan.

It’s a dangerous mix.

He climbs in beside me, starts the engine, and glances over.

“You good?” he asks, his hand finding mine across the console.

I look down at our fingers, laced together. And… smile.

“Yeah,” I say softly. “I think I am.”

Soon, we're out of town and the road is coiling through the pines like a ribbon of gray silk, each curve tugging us deeper into the wilderness.

Outside, the world is postcard-pretty. Frost-laced evergreens, glints of morning sun off the snow-capped ridgelines, theoccasional blur of a deer bounding through the trees after a morning feed on dewy grass.

Inside the truck?

Well, I don’t know what I expected when Logan said “truck,” but this isn’t it.

It’s rugged, sure. With black leather seats, matte dashboard, oversized tires that growl every time he takes a bend too sharp.

But it’s also… luxurious.

Heated seats that are so warm I could fall asleep. Built-in navigation that keeps beeping loudly every few seconds, the noise making Logan growl and smack the buttons on the screen a little too hard.

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