Kierra couldn't sleep.
Even after Logan's car had disappeared into the distance, leaving nothing but the faint echo of its engine behind, she had stood in the stairwell of her apartment for what felt like hours. The groceries sat forgotten on the counter, the milk warming in its carton, the bread stale by the time she finally remembered to put it away.
Her body moved through the motions—changing into pajamas, brushing her teeth, climbing into bed—but her mind refused to quiet.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him. Logan Hayes. On her cracked sidewalk, dressed like he had stepped out of a different world, telling her she mattered.
The words echoed, dangerous and seductive. She wanted to erase them, dismiss them as meaningless. But they clung to her ribs like a secret tattooed on the inside of her skin.
By dawn, exhaustion pulled her into a shallow sleep, but the moment the alarm blared, reality came crashing back. She had a shift to cover, bills to pay. Life didn't pause just because her heart was tangled in something it had no right to want.
The café was busier than usual that morning, filled with the clatter of cups and the low murmur of conversation. Kierra threw herself into the chaos, grateful for the distraction.
She worked quickly, sliding orders across the counter, wiping spills, forcing herself to smile at customers who barely met her eyes. But every now and then, she'd catch herself glancing at the door, half-expecting to see him stride in.
He didn't.
And somehow, that stung more than she wanted to admit.
"Earth to Kierra," her coworker, Jamie, teased, snapping his fingers in front of her face. He was tall, lanky, with a perpetually messy mop of brown hair and a grin that never seemed to fade. "You've been staring at that door like you're waiting for a ghost."
Kierra flushed. "Just tired."
"Uh-huh." Jamie leaned against the counter, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Or maybe you've got a secret admirer?"
She shot him a look. "Trust me. The only thing I'm admiring right now is a full night's sleep."
Jamie chuckled, shaking his head as he went to refill the pastry case. But Kierra's heart wasn't as easily dismissed.
Across town, Logan sat in the back of his car, the city streaming past the tinted windows. He should have been preparing for his next meeting, reviewing contracts, focusing on numbers. Instead, his thoughts circled the night before, replaying the look in Kierra's eyes when she told him to leave.
Fear. Longing. Defiance.
He admired all of it.
But beneath that admiration pulsed something heavier, something more dangerous. A hunger he hadn't felt in years.
His phone buzzed on the leather seat beside him. Veronica's name lit the screen.
Logan stared at it for a long moment before answering.
"Logan," her voice was smooth, practiced, threaded with steel. "Don't be late tonight. The Whitmores are expecting us at dinner."
"I won't be late," he said, though his tone lacked conviction.
"You've been… distracted." There was no accusation in her words, just cool observation. Veronica never raised her voice. She didn't need to.
"Business," he replied, the single word a shield.
There was silence, then a faint hum of acknowledgment. "Good. Because we can't afford distractions right now."
When the call ended, Logan leaned back against the seat, closing his eyes briefly. Distractions. That's what Kierra was supposed to be. Something fleeting, inconsequential.
But he knew better.
That evening, the city's pulse shifted. Neon signs lit the streets, laughter spilled from bars, and somewhere in the maze of sidewalks, Kierra found herself wandering aimlessly after her shift. She told herself she just needed air, but deep down, she knew she was avoiding the silence of her apartment.
Her phone buzzed. A text from Jamie. Drinks tonight? My treat.
She almost said yes. Jamie was harmless, easy company, the kind of friend who could make her forget for a little while. But as her thumb hovered over the screen, another message appeared—this one from an unknown number.
Kierra.
Her stomach flipped. She didn't need to ask who it was.
Another text followed. I shouldn't be saying this. But I want to see you.
Her breath caught. She stopped walking, heart hammering as the glow of the screen illuminated her face.
Every instinct screamed that she should ignore it, delete it, block the number, bury this whole thing before it buried her. He was married. He was untouchable.
And yet, her fingers trembled as she typed a single word back.
Where?
The reply came instantly. Tell me where you'll feel safe.
Safe. As if such a thing existed between them.
She hesitated, then typed the name of a small park a few blocks away, quiet at night, its fountain broken and forgotten. No one she knew ever went there.
By the time she reached the park, her pulse was a storm in her veins. The broken fountain loomed in the center, waterless and cracked, graffiti curling along its edge. Streetlamps flickered weakly, casting patches of light and shadow.
And then she saw him.
Logan stood near the fountain, hands in his pockets, his dark suit a stark contrast to the rough edges of the park. He didn't look like he belonged here. But when his eyes found hers, she realized he belonged exactly here—with her, in this stolen moment.
"Kierra," he said, her name a low murmur that seemed to quiet the night.
She swallowed hard, her voice catching. "You shouldn't be here."
"Maybe not." He took a slow step closer. "But I couldn't stay away."
Her breath hitched as the distance between them shrank. The air charged, heavy with everything unspoken.
"This is wrong," she whispered, her voice trembling.
"I know." His eyes locked on hers, gray and unyielding. "But tell me you don't feel it too."
Kierra's resolve wavered. Her heart was pounding, her body betraying her with every shaky inhale. She wanted to deny it, to push him away, to protect herself from the fire threatening to consume them both.
But the truth burned too hot to smother.
"I feel it," she admitted, the words breaking free before she could stop them.
Logan's jaw tightened, as though her confession was both victory and torment. He reached out, his hand brushing against hers—just a touch, light and fleeting, yet enough to send a shiver racing through her veins.
The world held its breath.
For one dangerous moment, Kierra let herself imagine what it would be like if the rules didn't exist, if he wasn't married, if she wasn't just a barista struggling to survive. If they could be just a man and a woman standing beneath broken streetlamps, choosing each other without consequence.
But reality snapped back like a cruel whip. She stepped back, breaking the fragile contact.
"We can't do this," she whispered.
Logan's eyes darkened, shadows flickering across his face. "You're right."
But neither of them moved. Neither of them turned away.
The night stretched between them, filled with the sharp ache of desire denied, of temptation balanced on the edge of collapse.
And Kierra knew, with a sinking certainty, that this was only the beginning.