Switched Bride, True Luna - Chapter 66: Chapter 66

Emily
I wasn’t sure what I expected when Logan told me we had somewhere to be this afternoon. A meeting, a press appearance, another forced smile to serve a Pack headline, maybe.
But when the car pulled into the cobbled edge of the arts district and I spotted watercolor banners, and the faint smell of roasted almonds and beeswax, I blinked at him.
“You’re bringing me to a craft festival?” I asked, one brow lifted.
Logan cut the engine, unbothered. “It’s a historic artisan fair. Local vendors, Pack history demonstrations. Cultural investment.”
“That’s a very official way of saying ‘craft festival.’”
“I thought you might like it,” he said simply, opening his door before I could say more.
I sat there for a beat longer, unsure what made me pause more: that he’d planned something casual, or that part of me did like it.
The sun was warm but forgiving as we stepped into the plaza. Music drifted from a trio of violinists playing near a fountain.
People wandered among pottery stalls, handmade soaps, preserves, and pressed flower art. Children darted past with sticky fingers and face paint, and someone handed Logan a sample of herbal tea, mistaking him for just another visitor.
He looked ridiculous trying to sip politely while scanning for vendors. I bit back a smile.
We wandered slowly and when I paused to admire a wall of hand-painted ceramics, he just stood nearby with his hands in his pockets like some casual, overly large bodyguard.
I turned a bowl over in my hands, surprised. It was the work of a local artist I’d once mentioned in an offhand comment during a debate about artisan subsidies. The same artist had been struggling to keep her studio open.
“How did you—” I started.
Logan shrugged. “You brought her up before. I read her last interview. She talked about spiritual design in nature. Seemed like something you'd appreciate.”
I did. I was surprised he remembered.
We moved on, my pace slower now. He bought us roasted almonds from a vendor who called me “Alpha’s girl” with a wink. Logan didn’t correct her. I didn’t either.
He stopped at a woodworking stall and asked questions about the tools like he actually cared.
At a gallery tent, he stepped aside to let me wander alone through portraits of the region’s Luna lineage. I found myself looking at brushstrokes more than bloodlines.
I looked across the path and saw Logan trying to haggle for the bowl I’d liked earlier.
Logan, who didn’t even carry his own wallet most of the time, now fumbled through cash with that furrowed brow he wore when faced with important tasks.
The vendor laughed and corrected him gently, and I had to turn away before I stared too long.
That was the thing. It wasn’t that he was trying to impress me. That would’ve been easier to ignore. Logan was trying to learn me…what I liked, what I noticed, what I paused for.
It left me unsteady and heated my skin.
By the time we circled back toward the plaza’s edge, my bag held a few small items I hadn’t expected to want, and the late afternoon light slanted golden through the trees.
Logan didn’t say anything when he took the bag from me and carried it without comment. He didn’t ask if I had fun. He didn’t force a debrief conversation, which I appreciated. I wasn’t one for small talk.
We walked back to the car in silence, but something in the air between us had shifted.
I’d spent so long expecting him to force me into his world. I hadn’t prepared myself for what it would feel like to be welcomed into mine.
Back home, I turned, expecting since we’d spent the day together that we’d go our separate ways. But he stopped me with a gentle hand on my wrist
“Come enjoy the night air with me. Please.”
The softness of his voice made it impossible to say no.
That night air had cooled with the scent of approaching rain and jasmine vines climbing the trellises. Logan stood at the edge of the balcony, one hand resting loosely on the carved stone, the other resting loose in his pocket.
I stepped out, cautious. It wasn’t the loosened top button of his shirt that caught me off guard, it was the quiet. No phone calls, no scheduled briefings. Just him. Just now.
“I thought you’d like the festival more,” he said after a long pause.
“I like it. A lot, actually.”
“You didn’t smile much.”
I settled into the chair across from him, folding my hands in my lap. “That doesn’t mean I didn’t like it.”
Logan finally turned. His expression was unreadable, but something about the way he lowered himself into the chair beside mine felt… tentative. Like he wasn’t here to deliver a confession.
He stared at the horizon for a moment longer before speaking.
“When I was about eight,” he said, voice quieter than usual, “my father told me I had to attend this summer gala. One of those stuffy, formal Pack events. Speeches, photo ops. I hated them.”
That I could believe. I wasn’t a fan of them, myself.
“I didn’t want to go. I wanted to run in the woods and play sentinel.” He poured us drinks, watching the liquid catch the light. “So, I snuck out before the driver came and rolled in the mud behind the stables.”
I blinked. “You?”
“I figured if I was dirty enough, they’d leave me behind. That I’d be an embarrassment. That maybe I’d be invisible for once.”
His his jaw was tighter now, eyes focused somewhere far away.
“My father found me before they left. Hosed me down like a mutt. Made me ride with him anyway. Sat me right in front so everyone would see what a disobedient heir looked like.”
I didn’t know what to say to that.
Logan gave a slow exhale, like he was letting the memory finish playing out in his mind.
“After that, I stopped trying to enjoy things. I just focused on doing them well enough not to get noticed for the wrong reasons.”
That explained so much. Why he always seemed a little too polished. Why his calm was so exact. Why his anger always felt coiled, held back. Not because he didn’t feel it, but because he was taught early that what he wanted was a liability.
I swallowed. “Why are you telling me this?”
He looked at me then. Just a man, bruised in quiet places. “Because today, I didn’t know if you hated what I picked or if you just didn’t want to be there with me.” A beat. “And I’m not sure which answer would bother me more.”
That struck something deep and immediate. I shifted in my seat, suddenly too aware of how still everything had become.
“I didn’t hate it,” I said.
He nodded, but the doubt lingered in his posture.
“And I had a good time with you, there.” I rushed to finish before he thought not hating the day meant I didn’t want to be there with him.
He looked back out toward the trees. “If you had a free day, no expectations, no cameras, no responsibilities, what would you choose to do?”
My first instinct was to deflect. To say something practical. But I didn’t want to lie. Not right now. Not when he’d just peeled himself open in front of me.
“I’d sleep in,” I said slowly. “I’d make something sweet and slightly burnt. I’d walk barefoot in the grass until my feet hurt. And then I’d sit in a sunbeam with a trashy book.”
Logan’s mouth lifted, just barely.
“Sounds like a better day than I’ve ever planned.”
I laughed softly. “That’s not a high bar.”
His gaze landed on me, steady. “No. But you raise it.”
I felt the blush creep up my neck and cheeks. “Thank you, Logan. Today was… good.”
I didn’t know what to do with the warmth spreading through my chest. It wasn’t heat like anger or desire. It was quieter than that. Something gentler. Something that made me want to stay a little longer, just to see if the moment would stretch.
But instead, I stood. Smoothed the front of my dress. And wished Logan good night.
When I left him on the balcony, I could still feel his eyes on me. And later that night, I dreamed of muddy footprints and soft sunlight, and a man who I had more in common with than I thought.