Page 12 of Stitch & Steel
Andespeciallynot for a man I barely knew who smelled like leather, sin, and motor oil.
But there I was, shivering on the porch in a hoodie and jeans, boots laced, hair still damp from a rushed shower, watching mist curl like fingers around the trees as Logan’s truck rolled up with the kind of low growl that sounded more like a warning than an engine.
He stepped out in his usual leather kutte, sleeves rolled up, and a thermos in hand. He didn’t say good morning. Just handed me a steaming travel mug like we’d done this a hundred times before.
“You look half-awake,” he said.
“I am half-awake.”
“You’ll wake up once we get there.”
“Is that a threat?”
His lips twitched. “Depends on how you feel about worms.”
I almost turned around and went back inside.
Almost.
But I didn’t.
Because the thing was, hewasn’tlike other guys I’d dated. He didn’t fill silence with noise. He didn’t brag or ask too many questions or make me feel like I had to earn his attention.
He just… showed up. We reached the lake in fifteen minutes. It was quiet, still, and wrapped in fog so thick it looked like the trees had secrets.
Logan led the way, carrying the gear like it weighed nothing. We waded down the narrow path, branches creaking overhead, until we reached the dock. He handed me a pole and showed me how to cast again—patient, deliberate.
I tried not to notice the way his shirt hugged his back. Or the tattoos crawling down his arms.
We fished in silence for a few minutes before he spoke.
“So,” he said, “what’s your plan?”
I glanced at him. “Plan?”
“How long you staying up here? What comes next?”
I looked out at the water. “Help Gran for the summer. She just started a new medication… supposed to help with memory. And I need to finish planning my lesson units for fall.”
“High school?”
“Middle school. World history.”
He nodded. “That tracks.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You give off ‘don’t test me’ energy.”
I laughed, surprised. “Wow. Compliment or threat?”
“Compliment,” he said, looking at me from the corner of his eye. “I like smart women.”
Something flickered in my chest. I looked down at the rippling water and cleared my throat.
“She’s doing okay right now,” I said. “Gran. But I’m… watching.”
He was quiet again, until: “She’s tough. But if she ever needs more, if you decide to stay… I could pull some strings.”
