Lynn's POVI gesture Logan inside my apartment, watching as my father tracks every movement with detective precision. His shoulders are squared, chin slightly raised—the posture of a man assessing potential threats.
"Make yourself comfortable," I say, moving toward the kitchen. "I'll get the tea started."
Logan settles onto the couch, his spine straight, hands resting carefully on his thighs. My father takes the armchair opposite, and I watch them size each other up—two alpha males circling territory.
I bring out cups and saucers, the familiar ritual steadying my hands. When I sit beside Logan—close enough that our thighs touch—I catch the subtle shift in his expression. His eyebrows rise fractionally, lips parting slightly before curving into something warm.
'I'm not hiding this. Not f
