Page 8 of Burned By My Mate

My mouth drops open as he approaches me and plucks the phone out of my hand.

“You can’t go.”

“Uh, why not?” I ask him.

“Red Fog isn’t a safe place.”

I frown, but then I remember Mrs. Dorsey saying something similar. I wonder what I missed out on, but decide to trust them and avoid that place.

“Okay, maybe there’s something south of here that I could go to,” I say, trying to get my phone back, but Logan just puts it in his pants pocket and heads back to the stove to finish cooking.

I frown at his back and he ignores me.

“What can I help with?” I ask him, and he shakes his head.

“I’ve got it. It’s almost done, anyway. Just have a seat.”

He nods to one of the stools at the counter, and I climb on and watch him.

Logan moves around the kitchen like he’s done this a thousand times. Within minutes, he’s set two plates on the counter—steak, roasted potatoes, and green beans. I blink at theactual meal in front of me. I was expecting takeout or, at best, a frozen pizza.

“You cook?” I ask. “You can follow me in your car. Let’s go.”.

He shrugs, taking a seat next to me. “Gotta eat.”

I huff a laugh. “Profound.”

He watches me as I take a bite, my taste buds practicallymelting.

Damn it. It’s good.

“So,” Logan says, spearing a potato with his fork. “Why Twisted Oak?”

I pause mid-bite. “What?”

“You could’ve moved anywhere. Why here?”

I chew slowly, considering my answer. I don’t owe him an explanation, but…

I exhale. “I needed a fresh start.”

He waits, silent.

I fiddle with my fork. “My mom passed away when I was sixteen. My dad left before I was born. After Mom died, I stayed with my grandmother, but when she passed two years ago, I was on my own. I bounced around, never really settling anywhere. I wanted a place that felt like…home.”

Logan’s gaze darkens, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.

“I got drunk one night and asked the universe for a sign. The next day, I woke up and saw a listing for that house. I just fell inlove. It looked so cute, so perfect. Plus, I had just enough saved to buy it. It was like fate,” I say with a sad smile.

“Fate,” he mutters, and I sigh.

“Twisted Oak felt right,” I add softly. “Small town. Quiet. Safe.”

A muscle in his jaw ticks.

Safe.

The word lingers between us, heavy andsuddenly uncertain.

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