His gaze tracks from my lips up to my eyes, and even though I’m sitting in his lap shirtless and still panting, he nods his understanding. “I get it. And I’m sorry too.”

I retrieve my shirt from the floor at our feet and tug it back on. Maybe I should feel self-conscious, but I don’t, not around Logan. While I straighten my shirt, he banks the fire, telling me it should last the night, and then tugs on his boots.

I meet him at the door, and the wistful look in his eyes is almost enough to make me forget my principles and tug him back over to the couch.

He tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear and gives me a warm smile. “Good night, Summer.”

“Night,” I say, my voice sounding surprisingly steady considering the erratic pounding of my heart.

• • •

When I wake in the morning, I wait for a sense of regret to hit me, but it doesn’t come.

Small mercies, I guess.

I dress in warm clothes and leave the cabin for the house, already dreaming of whatever pastry Jillian has decided to make this morning. But I stop short when I see all the firewood in neat stacks outside my door—a large pile of split logs and a huge basket of kindling. Logan’s work, obviously.

How long does he think I’m staying? There’s enough wood here to last me all winter.

Or maybe he just really needed to work off some tension?

I hesitate, but decide to knock on his cabin door. A few footsteps approach from inside, and the door swings open.

“Summer,” he says, sounding somewhat surprised.

“Hey. Good morning.”

Maybe I should feel embarrassed or regretful about the kisses we shared last night, but even in the light of day, any negativity is just absent.

“Thank you for the firewood.” I tip my chin toward the neat stacks.

“Sure. Wanted to make sure you’d be warm. The weather is turning.” He glances at the sky before meeting my gaze again.

“I’m going up to the house. Can I bring you some coffee?”

“I’m good.”

I shift my weight, nerves suddenly setting in. “Are we okay? Last night . . .”

He stops me. “We’re fine. Last night was my fault. It won’t happen again,” he says, his voice sure and steady. “In fact, let’s meet tomorrow for another counseling session.”

“Sure,” I say. “What time?”

He scratches his chin. “How about tomorrow afternoon? I’m helping Graham today, and then I’m going hunting with Matt tomorrow early in the morning. I’ll be back by lunch, though.”

Filled with a renewed sense of purpose, I nod. “Okay, I’ll see you then.”

13

LOGAN

It’s still dark out the next morning when my brother Matt wakes me with three quick knocks on the cabin’s front door followed by one slow one. Our secret knock as kids.