Logan (Carolina Reapers 4)

He chuckled, surprised delight lighting his eyes. “Cute.” He pursed his lips, taking another drink. “What other things?”

The waitress set my old fashioned in front of me, asking Logan once again if he needed anything. I took the liberty of ordering two appetizers before he could speak, much to the waitress’s dismay, if her pout as she left the table was any indication.

“Things like,” I said, taking a quick sip of the drink. Warm whiskey and citrus slid down my throat, uncoiling the tension in my shoulders from hauling off all those books earlier. “What do you do for a living?”

Logan shifted in his seat, fiddling with the condensation on his glass. “I work at the Reaper arena,” he said, barely looking up at me.

I raised my brows. “That’s fascinating,” I said. “Is that football?” I tilted my head, remembering the arena opening some time ago but totally blanking on the sport.

“Hockey,” he corrected me, his eyes sparking.

I smiled sheepishly. “Sorry,” I said. “I don’t follow sports. Or popular TV shows. I’m the epitome of cliché—a librarian who reads constantly.”

He waved me off. “I don’t mind,” he said. “And I don’t think that is cliché at all. You should spend your time doing what you love, regardless of what other people love to do.”

I grinned, nodding. “So, are you in sales then?”

“I definitely help sell tickets,” he said. “Among other things.”

“Do you like it?”

A light flashed behind his eyes. “I love what I do.”

“That’s wonderful to hear. And rare. I love what I do, too,” I said, taking another fast drink. “I love the seclusion in the library, the possibilities. Sharing in the connections when people find a book they love. It’s infectious. Seriously. I wouldn’t want to do anything else.” I took a breath, slowing down my ramble. “Well, there is one thing I’d like to do, but I haven’t got the funding yet. But I will. Or I’ll hold a fundraiser. Or I’ll just fix it myself with my own meager income and our tiny budget one piece at a time.”

Logan tilted his head, oblivious yet attentive to my rant.

“Sorry,” I said. “I love to talk. I think it’s because I spend all day being quiet? And so when I get going, I have a hard time stopping.” He grinned. “Anyway,” I continued. “I sometimes forget that the person I’m speaking with isn’t privy to the thoughts in my head.”

“I wouldn’t mind it,” he said, the sincerity in his eyes drawing a flush on my cheeks.

“About a year ago, we had that horrible hurricane, do you remember?”

“I hadn’t moved here yet,” he said.

“Oh, lucky. Well, it was awful. And the southern wing of the library was severely damaged.” I sighed. “I’ve been working in my free time to clean it up. But the damage was extensive. And the library doesn’t have the funding to fix it, despite my efforts. For now, it’s just me. But I’m not complaining.” I cringed a bit. “It probably sounds like I’m complaining. I’m don’t mean for it to. I was just trying to say what I would do differently…” I blinked a few times, losing my train of thought. “Never mind,” I said, sipping my drink as I tried to calm my racing thoughts.

“That sucks you can’t get the funding,” he said, not missing a beat. “And I can’t imagine the intensity of the hurricane to total an entire wing.” He sucked his teeth. “That’s awful.”

“It was. It is,” I said. “All those books…gone.”

“Maybe I can help,” Logan offered, but his eyes were wary.

I smiled. “I could definitely use your muscles if you have some free time. There are some rotten shelves I haven’t been able to clear away on my own…” I waved him off. “God, that is horribly rude of me. Jumping on your offer like that. You were probably just trying to be polite.” I rolled my eyes.

“Moving shelves?” he asked, his voice soft. “That’s what you’d want me to do.”

I blushed again. “No! I should’ve never said that. You are busy and don’t need to get mixed up in my mess.”

He ignored my attempts at backtracking. “You wouldn’t want me to do something else?”

I blinked at him. “Like?”

He leaned back in his seat, his eyes a bit sharper. “Like use my Reaper contacts to host a fundraiser for the library—”

“No,” I cut him off, gaping at him. “I would never ask that of you. I felt bad about asking for your muscles!” I laughed awkwardly and plowed right over that blunder. “I’m not very good at asking for help,” I admitted. “But I would never ask someone to use their profession to better my situation.”

His brows rose, a soft smile on his lips.

“What?” I asked, but the waitress set down the appetizers at that moment. I had the urge to raise my hand and assure her that Logan didn’t need anything, but I was too consumed by the look Logan gave me—warm and open and…hopeful?