Page 62 of Healing Hearts at the Christmas Inn
Charlie took a few steps away, her heart pounding so hard she was sure Logan could hear it. Her phone was still clutched in her hand, Jack's message still on the screen, but she couldn't focus on it.
Something made her stop.
She didn't know what. Some invisible force pulling at her, refusing to let her keep walking away.
Charlie turned around.
Logan had turned too.
They stood there in the hallway, facing each other across the distance, neither moving, neither speaking.
The afternoon sun through the windows painted them both in gold. The inn was quiet around them. The only sound was the distant murmur of voices from the dining room and the soft crash of waves beyond the walls.
And then, like gravity pulling them together, they moved.
Charlie didn't remember deciding to walk toward him. Logan didn't seem to remember making the decision either. They just moved, closing the distance, meeting in the middle of the hallway.
They fell into each other's arms.
Logan's hands came up to cup her face, warm and solid and sure. Charlie's fingers gripped his shirt, pulling him closer, needing the anchor of him.
"I don't know what's happening between us," Logan murmured, his voice hoarse, his forehead touching hers. "But I can't deny there's something."
"I know," Charlie breathed.
And then his lips crushed hers.
Not accidental this time. Not a fumbling reflex born from nerves and proximity. This was deliberate. Desperate. Real.
The world disappeared. The inn, the foreclosure, the complications, everything faded away until there was only this moment, this connection, this impossible thing neither of them could explain or control.
Logan kissed her like he'd been waiting his whole life to do it. Like she was air and he'd been drowning. Charlie kissed him back with the same desperate intensity, her hands sliding up to tangle in his hair.
It was too much and not enough all at once. Three days. She'd known this man for three days.
This was crazy. Impulsive. Completely unlike her careful, controlled, logical self.
But it felt more right than anything had in years.
They broke apart, breathless, foreheads touching, neither willing to step away yet. Logan's thumb brushed across her cheek, gentle despite the intensity of the moment.
"What are we doing?" Charlie whispered.
Logan's breath was warm against her lips. "I have no idea."
"I've known you for three days."
"I know."
"This is insane."
"I know." His thumb traced her cheekbone again. "But I don't want to stop."
Charlie's heart raced. Every logical part of her brain was screaming that this was too fast, too much, too everything. But her heart, that traitorous organ that had been locked away for so long, was singing a completely different tune.
"Neither do I," she admitted.
And when Logan kissed her again, softer this time, tender instead of desperate, Charlie stopped thinking altogether.
