Page 33 of Meet Me in the Valley
He’s here.
“Shit shit shit,” I whisper to no one. I’m peering through the window like a freak, fingers trembling as I pull back the curtain.
My first instinct is to tear open the door, fly down the path and jump straight into Logan’s arms before he’s even gotten off his bike. But that would make me look like a psycho, so I play it cool and take a few deep breaths.
In and out. In and out.
I open the door and step onto the path, and then I’m locking eyes with sin personified. Every deep breath I took before walking out evaporates on the spot.
Logan leans casually against his bike, hands tucked into his pockets like he’s got nowhere to be and all the time in the world. His hair is perfectly disheveled, like he just ran a hand through it and somehow made chaos look intentional.
Effortless. Unbothered. Dangerous in that way that makes your heart skip.
He looks like he walked straight out ofThe Outsiders—all rebel energy and quiet heat. A fitted white T-shirt clings to his chest beneath a black leather jacket, and the silver chain I got him for Christmas two years ago glints beneath the late afternoon sun. Faded jeans hang low on his hips, and his lace-up boots make him look like he could either fix a motorcycle or break your heart without saying a word.
The hard truth is he can absolutely do both. Yet, I’m still drawn to him like a sad little moth to his bright, burning flame.
I’m half-tempted to take my phone out and snap a picture of him, exactly how he is in this moment. When he smiles at me as I approach, I have to remind myself to breathe. Somewhere deep down inside me, I’m aware of all the red flags. It’s a reminder that where my heart is headed is dangerous. It’s shark-infested waters, a no-swim zone.
But one Logan smile makes me forget everything that can go wrong.
“Well, look at you,” he croons, raking his gaze all over me. The need to blush is strong, but I play it off and give him a twirl as he pushes himself off his bike to gather me in his arms.
His cologne hits me first—spiced, warm, and utterly intoxicating. My eyes nearly roll back from howobscenelygood he smells. I have to stop myself from burying my nose into his skin and taking a deep inhale.
Then he hugs me, and it feels far from casual. One hand slides around the small of my back while the other curls at the nape of my neck, holding me there in a possessive cradle that sends a slow, pulsing heat through every inch of me.
Does he know what he’s doing to me? Is this how he greets everyone else?Allthe others?
I’ve seen Logan with women more times than I can count, and yet, I can’t remember for the life of me if he’s ever held themlike this. If his hand settled at the nape oftheirnecks like it belonged there.
Before jealousy has a chance to sink its teeth in, I pull away from his hold and give him a friendly, light pat on the chest. A gesture that says, “I’m totally unaffected.” Except ... my hand doesn’t move.
It lingers. Because apparently, I’ve lost all control and decided to memorize the feel of him beneath my palm.
Firm, warm, andtotally unfair.
Logan glances down at my hand, then up at me with a slow, amused smirk that curls at the corners of his mouth.
Panic flares. I snatch my hand back like I’ve been burned and shift into the familiar safety net of the friend-zone, even if the line between us feels thinner than ever.
No, that’s just you. The line is still there in thick, bold paint.
“I’ve got news for you,” Logan grins.
“What is it?”
“I told you last night I had a favor to cash in,” he says, pulling a folded piece of paper from his back pocket. I eye it curiously, but say nothing.
Then Logan takes both of my hands in his, warm and steady, and places the paper gently into my palms—closing his hands around mine like he’s sealing something important between us.
“Logan, what is this?”
“Open it.”
He lets go of our hands, and out of the corner of my eye, I catch the soft curve of a smile playing on his lips as he watches me. He’s quiet, patient, but fully locked in. I unfold the paper with careful fingers.
It’s there. All the information I need to find Nora. A place of work. A home address.It’s all there.
