More Than A Favor (Elaine and Logan) novel Chapter 2

The soft rustle of paper caught Logan' attention. He looked up, his dark eyes locking onto mine. I didn't need a mirror to know how grim my expression was.

"You look pale," he said, frowning slightly. "Are you feeling unwell?"

Without answering, I walked over to his desk, my fingers tightening around the marriage license application in my hand. Swallowing the bitterness in my throat, I finally spoke. "If you don't want to marry me, I can tell your mom myself."

His frown deepened. He knew I'd overheard everything.

My voice cracked as I continued, "I never thought I'd end up being a burden to you, Logan—"

"Elaine," he cut in, his tone calm but firm. "To everyone else, we're already like a married couple."

I froze. Was that why? Because it looked right to everyone else?

I wanted him to marry me because he loved me, not because it was convenient.

Logan capped the pen in his hand with a quiet click, his gaze dropping to the crumpled application form I was holding. "We'll register next Wednesday," he said, the words flat, emotionless.

It was what I thought I wanted to hear. But instead of relief, I felt a heavy ache deep in my chest.

I shook my head slightly, my voice barely above a whisper. "You don't have to force yourself. I'm not some charity case."

"Elaine Hart." His voice turned sharp.

I flinched and looked up, meeting his impatient gaze.

He held out his hand. "Give it to me."

I didn't move. The air between us grew tense, heavy.

After a few seconds, he sighed, stood, and crossed the short distance between us. His tall frame towered over me as he exhaled softly, his frustration tempered with a strange gentleness. "I was joking with Caleb," he said, his voice quieter now. "Did you really take it seriously?"

Was it really just a joke?

"You know how men are," he added, his tone almost dismissive. "Prideful. Stupid."

He reached out, his hand sliding down my arm until it found mine. His grip was firm yet strangely comforting. Slowly, he pried the document from my grasp. "Don't let something like this get to you," he said, his voice steady, almost coaxing.

With that, he turned away and tucked the application form into a desk drawer. Then, grabbing his coat, he added, "I need to step out for a bit."

He'd been doing that a lot lately—leaving without explanation, staying out longer each time.

Before he could pass me, I spoke, my voice cutting through the silence. "Logan."

For a moment, I thought I saw something flicker in his eyes—hesitation, uncertainty—but it vanished as quickly as it appeared.

His hand dropped to his side, and he let out a soft chuckle, as if I'd asked something foolish. "Don't overthink things," he said lightly. "Come on, let's go home after work. You like fish, right? I'll have someone send over some fresh salmon and cook it for you tonight."

Then he turned and walked out, leaving me standing there in the quiet, his words hanging in the air like smoke.

He'd dodged the question. Again.

The faint scent of his hand cream lingered in the space between us, and the warmth of his touch still burned on my cheek. But my heart felt cold.

Logan treated me well. He pampered me. He cared for me. But his affection felt… familial. Like that of an older brother looking after a younger sister.

And yet, despite everything, I couldn't stop myself from loving him. I had loved him for ten years.

But what now?

Should I marry him, knowing that we might spend the rest of our lives together as nothing more than companions, our intimacy stripped of passion and romance?

Or should I let him go, even if it meant breaking my own heart, so he could find someone he truly loved?