The late afternoon sun painted golden streaks across the mall’s marble exit as the four of them stepped outside; arms full of bags, coffee cups, and lingering tension turned to laughter.
Logan walked ahead to unlock the car, when Hannah leaned toward Jean with a wicked grin.
"So..." she sang under her breath. "Did we just witness a PG-rated version of your honeymoon?"
Jean rolled her eyes. "Oh, shut up."
Hannah gasped. "You didn’t deny it."
"I did it with my eyes."
Before she could deliver a coback, Logan opened the car doors. "Co on, ladies. I’m done for the day... might as well drive you all ho."
As they settled in... Martha in the passenger seat, Hannah and Jean in the back... the car buzzed with content quietly... until Martha glanced over at Jean mid-turn and clucked her tongue.
"Logan, have you been feeding your wife properly?"
Logan blinked. "What?"
"She looks pale. Weak. That’s not stress... that is poor nutrition."
Jean straightened, flustered. "Martha, I’m fine..."
"I said what I said," Martha sniffed, turning to Logan with all the grace of a general preparing for battle. "When was the last ti she had a ho cooked al?"
Logan gripped the steering wheel, sighing. "We’ve had takeout sotis. She picks at it."
"Exactly," Martha said triumphantly. "Which is why I’ll cook dinner tonight."
Logan nearly swerved. "Absolutely not."
"I wasn’t asking for permission, sweetheart."
"You’ve had a long day. You should go ho. Jean and I..."
"Vote," Martha said. "I call for a vote."
He blinked. "What?"
"We’re voting. On whether or not I’m staying and cooking dinner."
She turned around dramatically in her seat. "Hannah?"
"Yes to the food and drama." Hannah threw her hand up like she was in a reality show.
Martha smiled. "That’s one for . Logan?"
Logan groaned. "No. I’m saying no. I’m her husband..."
"Yes, and clearly not feeding her. Jean?"
All eyes turned to Jean.
She opened her mouth to rescue him.
She ant to rescue him.
But then she rembered the last ti Martha had cooked... the grilled chicken steak that tasted heaven, grilled salmon that lted in her mouth, roasted vegetables without the judgntal calorie comntary.
Martha didn’t make food feel like a performance.
She made it feel like love.
Jean hesitated.
Then sighed.
"I vote yes."
Logan turned his head, betrayed. "Jean."
She gave him a small, helpless shrug. "Your mom’s roast chicken is unbeatable. And... she lets eat without watching my fork like a calorie tracker."
Martha bead.
"Victory," she declared.
Logan groaned into the steering wheel.
Hannah patted his shoulder from behind. "Sorry, big guy. You just got democracy-d."
Logan muttered sothing unintelligible under his breath but drove on, watching Jean from the rearview mirror.
Despite the betrayal, there was a soft smile tugging at his lips.
Because she looked peaceful.
And if letting his mother take over dinner ant Jean would eat without fear... then maybe, just maybe... it was worth losing the vote.
The Kingsley mansion buzzed with life again.
Martha was already clattering pans in the kitchen like a woman on a mission. Hannah had kicked off her heels and was dancing to music only she could hear, scrolling through dinner recipes she had no intention of cooking.
Logan, on the other hand, had one objective.
He waited patiently... like a man on a covert mission... until Jean excused herself to set her shopping bags down near the staircase.
Then, with all the stealth his six-foot fra could manage, he caught her hand and tugged her gently through the hallway, past the glass doors, and into the back garden.
The late evening sky cast a dusky lavender glow across the trimd hedges and cobbled path. Tiny fairy lights were already flickering on, weaving a soft magic around the trees.
Jean blinked as the doors closed behind them.
"What are we..."
"Garden interrogation," Logan said, releasing her hand only to fold his arms dramatically. "Let’s talk about the betrayal I witnessed today."
Jean raised a brow, amused. "Betrayal?"
"You left to die under my mother’s lecture like a coward."
Jean fought a grin. "You were being scolded."
"I was being humiliated. In front of witnesses."
"Accurate witnesses."
Logan narrowed his eyes. "So you enjoyed watching your husband be verbally spanked?"
Jean pretended to think. "Low key... yes."
Logan gave a theatrical gasp and took a step closer. "Unbelievable."
She smiled coyly, backing up slightly. "To be fair, you looked very... obedient. I didn’t know that side of you existed."
Logan leaned in, lowering his voice. "Keep teasing and I’ll show you a side that doesn’t obey nearly as well."
Jean’s breath caught... for one second.
Then she looked away, the edge of a smirk playing on her lips.
He watched her in silence for a mont, hands slipping into his pockets. The night air was cool, scented faintly with lavender from the flower beds. Lights shimred in her eyes like tiny constellations.
"You looked happy today," he said, softer now.
Jean glanced up. "Did I?"
He nodded. "You laughed. A genuine laughter. Even with all the drama."
She shrugged, pretending it didn’t matter. "Maybe I just needed cinnamon rolls and mild family chaos."
"And a kiss," he added slyly.
Jean rolled her eyes, but didn’t deny it.
He stepped closer again, this ti without teasing.
His voice was quieter. "Thanks for letting be part of it."
Jean’s lips parted slightly, caught off-guard.
And just when it felt like the air around them was still growing... charged with sothing that wasn’t banter... the glass door opened behind them.
"Logan Kingsley!" ca Martha’s call. "Stop seducing your wife under the moonlight and help taste-test the gravy!"
Jean burst out laughing.
Logan sighed, muttering, "There is no peace in this house."
But his hand brushed against hers again... and this ti, she didn’t pull away.
By the ti Jean and Logan stepped back into the kitchen, the air was thick with the scent of roasted herbs, garlic butter, and sothing faintly citrusy.
Martha was in full queen-of-the-kitchen mode, wielding a ladle like a sword.
"Perfect timing," she said, eyeing Logan. "Your mouth is good for sothing after all... taste this."
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