Page 157 of Keeping Kasey
Logan gestures to the kitchenette. “I was just about to bring your food over. I had pizza delivered.”
“I don’t want pizza. I want to get burgers.”
“I’ll order some. Should be here in—”
“I want togoget burgers.”
“Not tonight,” he says, exhaustion seeping into his tone.
I spot his keys on the table and grab them. “Fine. I’ll go by myself. How hard could driving be?”
That gets him to stand.
“Absolutely not,” he says, holding out his hand. “Hand them over.”
I gesture to where his jacket lies on the bed.
“Get your coat. I’m on the verge of hangry, and then you’re really not gonna like me.”
Logan’s lips part like he’s about to argue, but he doesn’t.
I don’t change anything in my blank expression, but the truth must be in my eyes because when his shoulders ease and his chin dips, I know he sees my tantrum for what it is.
An olive branch.
With a step forward, he scoops up his coat and holds his hand out.
I drop the keys into his palm, and for the first time since setting foot in this city, I smile.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Kasey
Logan takes me to a 24/7 burger joint that he’s ridiculously overdressed for—not that it seems to bother him. It’s a vivid reminder of our first meeting at McDonald’s.
There are only a handful of customers here, and none of them spare us a glance.
A waitress with way too much hairspray in her updo waves for us to seat ourselves, and I follow Logan to a table in the back of the restaurant.
“You realize we just passed a dozen empty tables, right?” I remark as we sit down.
“This is the only one that gives me a view of the entire restaurant.” He jerks his head to the kitchen. “And a secondary exit nearby.”
“Do you always plan for disaster to strike?”
“It’s my entire job—especially when we’re here without security.”
I imagine James wouldn’t be happy to know that.
“What would you have done if this table was taken?” I ask.
He points to a table on the far side of the restaurant that’s blocked in by a partition separating it from another table. “I’d still be able to survey the room from there, and the partitionwould grant enough cover until I could make a break for the exit.”
Wow. He puts that much thought into where he sits at a restaurant.
Once upon a time, I would’ve teased him about that and proceeded to ask tons of hypothetical questions about how he’d handle being put in various situations. What if he were trapped on a rooftop bar? A yacht in the middle of the ocean? An elevator stuck on the top floor?
Instead, silence falls, and we avoid making eye contact.
