Logan Sargent - Fort Loverdale

Danemark (Victoria's POV)

The morning light streamed softly through the curtains as I woke up, snug in my favorite winter pajama set—a thick, soft material patterned with tiny snowflakes, perfect for the chill outside. Slowly, I stretched, letting the coziness of my bed lull me for a moment longer. But soon, a familiar pull of excitement stirred within me. I'd almost forgotten—I had company.

Taking a deep breath, I pushed back the covers and eased myself out of bed, balancing on my crutches as I moved. Navigating down the stairs was a bit of a challenge, but I was determined. The soft sounds of voices drifted up from the kitchen—Logan's and my parents'. I smiled, picturing him sitting at our kitchen table, trying his best to impress them.

As I made my way down, careful on each step, I could hear the gentle murmur of my dad's deep voice and Logan's earnest replies. By the time I reached the bottom, I found them sitting together, with mugs of coffee in hand, laughing as if they'd been old friends.

Logan noticed me first, his face lighting up instantly. "Good morning," he greeted, a twinkle in his eye.

"Good morning," I replied, a little shy under the warmth of his gaze. Seeing him here, chatting with my parents as if he belonged, sent a flutter of warmth through me.

"Sweetheart," my mom chimed in, "Logan's been telling us some fun stories about his racing."

"Really?" I shot him a teasing smile. "Did you tell them about that time you accidentally drank energy drinks at midnight?"

Logan put a hand to his chest, pretending to be offended. "I was hoping to keep that one between us," he chuckled. "But since you've opened that door, I'll have you know your parents were about to teach me how to say a few things in Danish."

"Oh really?" I raised an eyebrow. "Good luck with that."

"Oh, come on," he grinned, looking at my mom and dad for support. "How hard can it be?"

My dad leaned forward, a mischievous smile on his face. "Okay, Logan, repeat after me: Rødgrød med fløde."

Logan's face scrunched up as he attempted it, but his pronunciation was way off, and we couldn't hold back our laughter. He tried again, only to make it worse. Each attempt brought another round of giggles, until even my dad had tears in his eyes from laughing.

"It's one of our classic Danish tongue-twisters," my dad explained, patting Logan on the back. "You'll get it one day."

"Oh, I'm determined now," Logan replied, pretending to square his shoulders. "I can't let a bowl of dessert win."

After breakfast, we spent the morning playing board games with my parents, who continued to slip in Danish words here and there, testing Logan. He was a surprisingly good sport about it, his enthusiasm never waning even as he struggled. I watched him with a smile, my heart swelling with each attempt he made to impress my family.

By mid-afternoon, my parents had decided to head out for some errands, leaving Logan and me alone. As soon as the door closed, he turned to me, a playful look in his eyes.

"Looks like it's just us now," he said, wiggling his eyebrows in an exaggerated way.

I laughed, reaching for my crutches, but before I could take a step, he swooped down, slipping an arm under my knees and lifting me effortlessly.

"Logan!" I protested, laughing as I clutched his shoulder.

"Hey, I said I'd take care of you," he replied, carrying me over to the living room. "And that includes making sure you don't stress your leg."

With a gentle motion, he set me down on the couch, arranging the cushions around me for maximum comfort. He settled beside me, draping a blanket over us, and I leaned back into the warmth of his shoulder. It was so easy to relax with him, the steady rhythm of his breathing blending with the cozy silence of the room.