Page 74 of Defensive Desire

And I lie there for a long time, staring at the shadows on the cabin ceiling, holding her like she’s the only real thing I’ve ever had.

Because if this is the last quiet night I get before the season, before decisions, before the noise… I’m going to remember exactly what it felt like to choose something more.

Chapter Seventeen

Emma

Sunlight slants through the crooked window, moving slowly over the wooden floorboards and painting soft lines across Logan’s bare shoulder.

His arm is slung over my waist, his breath warm across the back of my neck.

I don’t move at first.

Becausedamn. This is what waking up should feel like. Soft. Quiet. Full of sleepy muscles and the smell of smoke and dewy forest trees.

Eventually, though, the coffee cravings win.

I slowly, carefully wriggle out from under Logan’s arm. It's the approximate weight of a cement beam, but I manage to hoist it up and roll out of bed anyway.

He makes a low, bear-like noise but doesn’t stir. His hair’s a mess, and he looks all rumpled and boyish and unfairly sexy in the morning.

I tug on one of his flannels, which swallows me whole in the best way, and pad barefoot into the cabin kitchen.

There’s no cell reception up here, but I check my phone out of habit anyway.

Still nothing.

Please let Lucy, Ethan, and Grandpa Waltnothave burnt my café to the ground.

I think about the bookmarks I made Logan cut out for the Arena Experience Day. Two hundred tiny rectangles that nearly cost him his last shred of patience.

If they’ve gone up in smoke because Ethan left the panini press on overnight…

I grin to myself. The man would beferal.

The scent of bacon lures me into the kitchen, where Nate is manning an ancient cast-iron skillet like a pro. Cole’s perched on a stool, poking through a bag of supplies with the world’s most dramatic sigh.

“Fuck… There’s not enough coffee,” he announces to no one.

“And good morning to you, too,” I say, rubbing my eyes. “Mind if I jump in?”

Nate eyes me over his mug. “Um. You sure about that? Logan says your cooking is… experimental.”

I gasp in mock offense. “Excuse me. I own acafé. I can make pancakes. No one’s died yet.”

Cole snorts and slides over a carton of eggs. “Well, now I’m excited. And hungry.”

I crack eggs into a bowl and start whipping up batter. Outside, the lake glimmers between the trees, and birdsong fills the air like background music.

“We figured Logan would be the one up first,” Cole says around a mouthful of bacon. “Guy usually beats us to the lake.”

I shrug, flipping the first pancake. “Guess I wore him out last night.”

Both brothers let out matching groans that sound like wounded bears, and I have to bite back a laugh.

God, they're suchdrama queensbefore coffee.

“I walked into that,” Cole mutters.

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