Page 97 of The Fall Classic

“You guys should try the vanilla Whip Smart,” Logan says to a group of workers who look like they have gym passes. “It’s my daily fuel.”

They all order one.

And they post about it.

A lot of people post about it.

Once we’re at the factory, there are a lot more women gawking at him.

“Who’s the hottie?” one asks, and before I can distract her, she calls out, “Hey, Hot Guy, can I have your number?” and I officially can’t let Logan be seen anymore, because it turns out I have a jealous streak, and I do not like the way it feels.

It feels …

It feels …

It feels like I want to serve this woman cold hot chocolate.

“Thanks for the help,” I tell Logan, grabbing his shoulders and spinning him back to his chair. “We’ve got it. You should sit and watch!”

He sits and lets his eyes rove over me for a second while he smiles knowingly. “But if I’m sitting here, how will I give that poor single woman my number?”

“I could glare at you right now. You know that?”

“I dare you.”

This time, I don’t hesitate. I squint my eyes at him, and it feels at least fifty percent more enjoyable than sticking my tongue out did.

Logan eyes me appreciatively. “Either I’m a bad influence on you or a very good one.”

Olivia looks back from the register at us. “This is the weirdest flirting I’ve ever seen.”

I smile and look down at the milk steamer, wishing I could keep my hair loose so it could fall in front of my face and cover this flaming blush.

By ten, Logan’s grown tired of being decorative again. I’m ringing up a customer when I hear him ask Olivia, “Can I try the wand?”

“No,” Olivia says, but I hear the hiss of the wand anyway, followed by him hissing.

“It’s hot,” he says. I glance quickly back to see him shaking out his hand.

“It’s a steam wand,” Olivia says. “What did you think would happen?”

“I didn’t know the wand part gets hot, okay?”

“The ‘steam’ part didn’t clue you in?”

Logan snorts and I switch places with Olivia, letting her hand a drink to another customer while I turn on the rinse water. I grab Logan’s wrist and guide his hand under the stream.

“Are you okay?” I ask, looking at the red strip across his knuckles where the steam caught him.

“It’s fine,” he says, but I hold it and rinse it longer than necessary. Marlowe would have something to say about the waste of water, I’m sure.

I turn it off and grab a cloth to dry his hand, patting carefully. I’ve never noticed how muscled his fingers are before, and honestly, I didn’t know that was a thing until this moment. I run my finger tenderly over the burn. The skin isn’t puckered or blistered, but I can’t help but feel bad that he got hurt on my watch. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“It’s fine,” he says, his voice low and soft.

We’re so close, if I stood on my tiptoes, my lips could be on his.

The temptation is as sudden as it is intense, and it’s the intensity that scares me.