UNBROKEN PROMISE

~73~ Our Room

The house was quiet now. The warmth of dinner still lingered in the air, the scent of roasted meat and fresh bread clinging to the wooden walls. The evening had been filled with easy conversation, the occasional laugh, and the comforting presence of family, but now, it was just the two of them.

The fire in the hearth crackled softly as Logan walked alongside Oma. She was still recovering, still not as strong as she had been, but there was color in her cheeks again. Her eyes were bright, steady. Alive.

And Logan couldn't stop looking at her.

All night Logan had found himself watching her, memorizing the way she moved, the way she smiled softly when Caleb had leaned sleepily against her, the way her fingers traced the edge of her cup absentmindedly as she listened to Megan and Jacob talk.

She was here. Safe.

And he wasn't going to let her slip away from him again.

As they reached the hallway, Oma turned slightly, her hand resting lightly on her door handle, ready to retreat to her room for the night. But before she could open it, Logan reached out, catching her wrist gently.

She stilled, glancing up at him in surprise.

Without a word, he pulled her toward him, her body pressing softly against his. His arms came around her instinctively, one hand resting at the small of her back, the other curling around her wrist, holding her in place.

Her breath hitched, and Logan felt it, the way she tensed for just a second before softening against him.

He looked down into her eyes, his blue gaze steady, unwavering. "You're sleepin' in my room," he murmured, his voice low, quiet, but firm. "Our room."

Oma's lips parted slightly, her green eyes wide, but there was no fear in them. Only warmth. Understanding.

And then, after a moment, she nodded.

Logan let out a slow breath he hadn't realized he was holding. His fingers, still wrapped around her wrist, loosened slightly. His thumb traced over the delicate skin there, his touch warm despite the callouses on his hands.

He hesitated, his gaze dropping to her lips. His heartbeat pounded steadily in his ears, a slow, heavy rhythm.

"Oma," he murmured, leaning in just slightly. "May I?"

She swallowed, her cheeks already flushed, but she nodded.

That was all he needed.

His lips met hers in an instant, but the kiss was anything but rushed. It was deep, slow, a claiming of something that had long been unspoken between them. Logan's arms tightened around her, pulling her flush against him, his fingers splaying across the small of her back.

Oma clung to him, her hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt, holding onto him like he was something solid in a world that had never given her anything steady before.

Logan growled softly against her mouth, his grip tightening. He wasn't gentle, not in the way a man might be with a passing fancy...no, this was different. This was him pouring everything he had into her, everything he hadn't been able to say before.

She was his.

And he was hers.

When he finally pulled back, his breathing was uneven, his forehead resting against hers. His hands, still settled on her waist, flexed slightly, as if reluctant to let her go.

Oma's face was flushed, her lips parted, her breath coming in soft, shaky exhales.

Logan reached up, cupping her cheek before pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead. He felt her relax beneath his touch, felt the warmth of her breath against his throat as she sighed softly.