The morning rushed past her in a blur — her alarm had failed, her hair refused to cooperate, and now Harper was jogging across campus with her bag slipping off her shoulder. Breathless, she skidded to a halt at the parking lot.
And froze.
Logan was there.
Leaning casually against his motorcycle like a scene pulled straight out of a glossy magazine cover. Leather jacket, sun catching in his hair, expression unreadable. Students walked past him pretending not to stare, though every pair of eyes darted his way at least once.
Harper's chest tightened. For a second, she just… watched. The easy way he stood, the way the corner of his mouth curved faintly as if he knew the whole world was watching him. At first, she'd get irritated by that action — but no. She didn't. Her stomach flipped, painful and stupid, because she remembered: it's not real. Not the kiss, not the pull in her chest. Nothing.
She swallowed hard, forcing her legs to move.
