The bar was busier than usual, filled with a mix of regulars and new faces. I’d just finished serving a group at the far end when I turned around and froze. Logan was standing by the door, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets, scanning the room. When his eyes landed on me, they widened in surprise.
For a second, neither of us moved. Then he walked toward me, weaving through the crowd with that confident stride I knew too well.
“Emma,” he said, his voice low but clear over the noise. “What are you doing here?”
I gestured at my apron. “Working. What does it look like?”
He blinked, clearly trying to process it. “I didn’t know...”
“Why would you?” I said, a touch defensive. “It’s not like we’ve been talking.”
His expression softened. “Fair enough. Can you take a break?”
I hesitated, glancing toward the bar where Marie was restocking glasses. She caught my eye and waved me off with a knowing look. “Ten minutes,” I told Logan, leading him to a quieter corner near the jukebox.
We sat in silence for a moment, the tension between us almost suffocating. Finally, Logan spoke. “How long have you been working here?”
“A few weeks,” I said, keeping my tone casual. “I needed the money.”
He nodded, his jaw tightening. “And Caleb...?”
“Not in the picture,” I said quickly, not wanting to get into it.
Logan leaned back, studying me with those piercing eyes that always seemed to see too much. “You okay?”
The question caught me off guard, and before I could stop myself, I let out a bitter laugh. “Define okay.”
He frowned. “Emma—”
“Don’t,” I said, cutting him off. “Don’t act like you care when you’ve been spending all your time with Vanessa.”
His expression darkened. “I’m not with her, Emma. I’m helping her. She’s... she’s a mess.”
“And I’m not?” I shot back, the words slipping out before I could stop them.
Logan’s gaze didn’t waver. “You’re stronger than she is.”
I looked away, the weight of his words settling over me. “That doesn’t mean I don’t need help.”
His silence spoke volumes. When I finally looked back at him, his face was filled with something raw and unguarded. “It’s torture,” he said quietly, leaning closer. “Seeing you and pretending like I don’t feel anything.”
My breath hitched, and for a moment, I thought he might kiss me. But then he pulled back, running a hand through his hair. “I can’t do this,” he muttered, standing abruptly.
“Logan—” I started, but he shook his head.
“I’ll just make things worse,” he said, his voice tight. “Take care of yourself, Emma.”