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I happen to glance over and notice a familiar face in the back corner—one I didn’t expect to see. Forgetting for a moment my Logan-overwhelm, I lean across the table. “Hey,” I whisper.
He leans forward too, amusement shining in his eyes. “Yeah?” he whispers back.
“Don’t look behind you—I said don’t look!—but the Fud is over there. And she’s on a date!”
“Who?”
“Our high school principal!” I hiss.
Even now, as an adult, it’s weird to see teachers and principals outside of school. I think this is the first time I’ve seen her in anything other than red and white—Harvest High’s school colors. The man she’s with looks to be my dad’s age and is handsome with a little gray at his temples. He definitely seems enamored with her.You go, Principal Fud!
Logan feigns a yawn and stretches, taking a quick peek over his shoulder. While I’m busy peeking at the way his biceps strain against his shirt. “I’d forgotten about the Fud.”
“Surprising—given how much time you spent in her office,” I say.
Logan chuckles, then gives me a heated look I feel all the way down to my toes. “Does this mean I can’t misbehave?”
Our waitress appears, saving me from having to answerthatquestion. “Welcome,” she says. “Could I start you off with some water? Or perhaps the wine list?”
Logan cuts in before I can answer. “She’ll have root beer,” he says, lifting a brow at me. “Right?”
“Yes.” I glance at the waitress. “If you have it. I know most places—”
“They have it. I checked when I made the reservation,” Logan says. “And I’ll take a water. Thank you.”
When the waitress is gone, I lean across the table, white knuckling the sides of my menu. “What are you doing?” I whisper-hiss.
Logan eyes my hair and pulls the candle more toward his side of the table, clearly saving me from becoming a human torch. “What do you mean, what am I doing?”
“This is supposed to be fake. You don’t need to do”—I wave a hand dramatically—“all this.”
“All what?”
“The things! All the things! Logan—this is pretend. You don’t need to make reservations at a place like this. Or call to see if they have my favorite drink. Or buy me chairs that cost as much as cars!”
His lips quirk. “Where do you buy your cars?”
“I’m making a point, Logan!”
“Which is?”
Thepointis that if Logan keeps doing all this, I’m going to end up even more in love with him than I was at the start of all this.
And then? He’ll leave me. Again.
Leaning forward, Logan gently pries my hands off the menu, one finger at a time. Without breaking eye contact, he kisses the tips of my fingers. One by one by one.
It’s a very effective method of shutting me up.
“Hey, Pete,” he says when he’s done with my fingers. “At the risk of sounding like a douchey mansplainer and having you kick me in the shins under the table, do you think you could calm down and just enjoy?”
He gives my hand a squeeze. I swear, I feel that squeeze right in the center of my chest.
I definitely should have kept us both in my office if I wanted any semblance of hanging onto the illusion of fakery.
Get. A. Grip. Parker.
“I can give it the old college try,” I say, hoping I sound like I’m being playful. Not like a woman not just falling butplummetingheadlong in love.
