Home. The word wraps around me like a blanket, and I realize just how fitting it is. Lost Haven really has become home. A home I was trying to run away from. But I guess one more night can’t hurt.

Logan reaches into the bed of the truck and pulls my duffel bag out with one strong arm, and I grab my laptop bag from the passenger seat. He offers me the other arm to lean on as we make the trek back to the cabin. I didn’t make it very far, turns out, so the walk isn’t too bad, especially with Logan’s giant footsteps paving the way. We don’t talk, but I can feel a very important conversation brewing between us.

Logan leads me back into my cabin and gets to work building a fire. Once it’s roaring, I stand just inches away from the woodstove, letting its radiant heat begin to defrost me.

“Here, take this,” Logan says, and I turn around to see him holding out a thick wool sweater. “Your clothes are soaked.”

“Thanks.”

I fumble with the zipper of my coat, my fingers frozen and barely functional. After a few moments of watching me struggle, Logan intervenes.

“Can I help?”

“Yes,” I say softly, and he pulls down the zipper of my jacket inch by inch. The whole time, I stare into his eyes, trying to read the dark expression on his face.

“What are you thinking?” I ask him, tilting my head to the side.

He meets my eyes for a second before peeling the coat off of my shoulders and kneeling in front of me to unlace my boots. “Come on, let’s get you out of these clothes. Then you can tell me why you were trying to steal my grandfather’s truck.”

Unexpectedly, I laugh. “I wasn’t trying to steal it. I guess I thought I’d call from the airport, and someone could come pick it up once I was in the air.”

“You really didn’t want to see me before you left, huh? Didn’t want to say good-bye?”

My heart squeezes painfully in my chest. I open my mouth to answer, but say nothing. What can I possibly say?

“Let’s just get you changed into something warmer. Then we can talk,” he says gruffly before standing and walking to the opposite side of the cabin to pour himself a drink. He keeps his back turned, either to give me some privacy or because he can’t even look at me. Probably both.

I look down at my wet pants and socks and slowly peel them off, then pull the wool sweater on over my head. It’s so big that it brushes against my bare knees. Even better, it smells just like him.