Here’s hoping the wind will blow the blush right off my cheeks.
I admit it—I’m more than a little smitten with Logan. The trick is going to be learning how to hide it.
Twenty minutes later, our roles are reversed, and Logan is the one letting himself into my cabin. He’s layered up a bit more than I would have expected, though, and it’s quickly obvious why.
“I was thinking we could go for a bit of a road trip instead of sticking around here.”
I fold my arms tight over my chest. “I thought we were going to have a counseling session.”
“We are. I just think we should have it off property.”
“Neutral territory?”
He shakes his head. “Just someplace I thought you might like to see. Maybe even a bit of excitement.”
I nod. “A change of scenery could be nice.”
I have to bite my tongue to keep from arguing the point that Lost Haven has very quickly become one of the most exciting places I’ve ever been. Bonfires, stick shifts, and surprise CBD tea? It’s a lot more excitement than I’ve experienced in a long time. Tack on the steamy forbidden make-out session we had last night, and I can confidently say that this tiny little mountain town easily beats out Boston in terms of excitement.
But I don’t say any of that. Instead, I shrug and say, “I’m down for whatever.”
“Cool.” A sly grin tugs at his full mouth. “Follow me. You’re driving.”
Well. That’s the worst news I’ve heard all day.
Reluctantly, I follow him out to the driveway, eyeing public enemy number one—that manual rust bucket of a truck.
“Can’t you drive?” I plead, but Logan shakes his head.
“You can do this, I promise. I’m going to teach you.”
When I slide into the driver’s seat, baffled as ever by the numbers on the stick shift, my shotgun passenger wastes no time launching into his lesson.
“First, you’ve got to ground the clutch,” he says, as if that should mean something to me.
When I stare at him with wide, clueless eyes, he laughs and rephrases his instructions.
“Use your left foot to press all the way down on that pedal, and put the gear shift in neutral.”
For as hotheaded as he is on the ice, Logan is a surprisingly patient teacher. I follow each and every one of his steps to a tee, stalling only a handful of times, and barely resist the urge to bang my head against the steering wheel until the car horn sounds.
Here I am, supposedly the calm, cool, and collected counselor, and Logan is the one guiding me along the learning curve.
It’s hardly what I was expecting out of today, but by the time we hit the highway, I’m a few steps short of a master of the manual transmission. All it took was some encouraging words and a few gentle squeezes of my thigh from the handsomest driving teacher this side of the Rocky Mountains.
With all my intense focus on being in the right gear at the right time, I’ve hardly paid attention to where Logan’s directions are actually taking us. When he has me pull over on the side of a wooded back road, I’m sure we must have taken a wrong turn somewhere.
“Where are we?”
“The hot springs,” he says as casually as though we’ve just pulled up to a grocery store.
I squint out my window, looking for . . . well, I don’t really know what I’m looking for. I’ve never been to a hot spring before, but from my understanding, they’re usually surrounded by fancy hotels and spas. Outside my window, all I see is miles and miles of mountains and rocky paths through the woods.
“Don’t hot springs usually have, like, resorts built around them?”
“Those are the hot springs that the tourists know about.” He gives me a coy smile and a wink, then throws open the passenger door. “The best ones are kept a secret unless you’re local.”
My heart does a little kick in my chest. If I wasn’t feeling like a Lost Havenite earlier, I sure am now.
I follow Logan along one of the rocky trails, ducking beneath branches and occasionally veering from the trail markers. He’s right about one thing—this is definitely the kind of place that only a local would know about. No one from out of town would ever think to go off trail like this.
After a short but tiring hike, the thick rows of pine trees give way to a clearing of rocks and determined wildflowers peeking through the mud and snow. Right in the middle, the hot spring is clouded by its own steam, giving off an air of mystery.
“This is gorgeous,” I whisper, taking in our surroundings.
I’ve never been anywhere even marginally similar to this. A faint smell of sulfur hangs in the air, and I realize it must be from the trace minerals. Even the rocks surrounding the water are slightly calcified.
“Are we getting in?” I ask.
“I sure am. You’ll like it, come on.”
Logan toes off his boots, then peels out of his jacket and sweatshirt until he’s down to nothing but his faded gray boxers.
Try as I may to keep from staring, my gaze momentarily dips to his deliciously chiseled abs and the tempting bulge beneath his waistband. He may be a rookie, but this man has the body of an all-star. The show doesn’t last long, though, because soon he’s climbing over the rocks and sinking into the hot spring, shuddering at the drastic change in temperature.
“C’mon.” He beckons me in with a coy smile. “The water’s fine.”
Yeah, and so is the man in it.
To my surprise, it feels almost too normal to be stripping down in front of him. I untie my boots, then hang my coat over a tree branch, followed by my sweater and my jeans. Thank God I didn’t wear a thong today, or worse yet, granny panties. In a sensible black bra and matching cotton underwear, I can almost pretend I’m in a bikini.
As I’m sizing up the rocks around the hot spring, looking for the safest point of entry that will get me out of the cold the fastest, I can feel Logan’s heated gaze on my body. It feels nice, almost safe, since none of his family is around to tease him for staring. When I catch his gaze lingering on my breasts, he looks down and coughs into his hand, acting innocent and distracted. I can’t help but laugh. He’s a much better hockey player than an actor.
I climb over the rocks, trying not to slip, and when I sink into the water next to him, I’m careful to leave more than an arm’s distance between us. Because, you know. Reasons.
“So, I’m sure it’s been a lot of stress to be back here,” I say, sinking my toes into the clay at the base of the spring. “A lot of old emotions to face with your family.”
His gaze narrows, one dark eyebrow arching. “Are you going therapy mode on me?”
“You did say that we could still have a counseling session,” I remind him.
“Right, right.” He stretches out his arms, settling back against the rocks.
I can’t help but notice how his pecs flex, the rounded caps of his shoulders carved out by the shadows of the trees. It takes my full attention to keep my eyes locked on his instead of ogling his physique for this whole session.
“Things are . . . tough,” he grumbles, scratching at the stubble along his jaw. “I don’t even know anymore. Most of the time I feel like I’m just going through the motions with my dad gone.”