Fifteen minutes after Penelope phones the number on Logan's business card, there's a knock on the door.
We share a glance.
"That can't possibly be him, right?" I ask, even though we both know the answer.
Penelope bolts to the door, yanking it open without a second thought. So much for caution.
He must be thinking the same thing, because the moment the door is opened I can hear his voice. "Are you out of your mind?" Logan's deep voice rumbles through the apartment. "You don't just open doors without checking. Especially if you're worried about stalkers."
Penelope's cheeks flush. "Sorry, I just—"
But Logan's already inside, his eyes scanning every corner of the room like a predator seeking prey. His gaze snags on the white bag of apple fritters, and I swear I see his nostrils flare.
Then he's moving. Toward me. With purpose.
