Chapter 3 — When Paths Collide
Third Person
The faint rumble of truck tires on gravel reached Mira’s ears before she saw it. She stood on her porch, wrapping her oversized cardigan tighter around herself as the chilly morning air nipped at her skin. Her breath puffed in small, fleeting clouds, and she glanced over her shoulder at the house she’d soon leave behind. The sight of the vehicle—a boxy moving truck that had clearly endured countless journeys—made her heart stutter with a bittersweet mix of anticipation and dread. Today, her small-town life would be boxed away and driven toward the unknown.
The truck shuddered to a stop at the curb, its engine coughing once before dying. From the passenger side, a man hopped down, his energy cutting through the stillness of the morning. Broad-shouldered and grinning, Jake Tanner looked as though the crisp air carried a private joke only he understood. A battered baseball cap sat askew on his blond hair, and he waved cheerfully as he strode toward her.
“Morning, ma’am!” Jake called out, his voice bright and confident.
Mira raised a hand in return, a reluctant smile tugging at her lips. “Morning.”
The driver’s door opened next, and a second man stepped out, his movements deliberate and unhurried. Dark-haired and reserved, Logan Hayes exuded a quiet strength that contrasted sharply with Jake’s exuberance. His booted feet crunched against the frost-speckled gravel as he rounded the truck, hazel eyes scanning her house with a sharp, assessing gaze. Where Jake carried sunshine in his back pocket, Logan’s presence was steady and grounding, like the sturdy frame of a house in the midst of chaos.
When Logan’s gaze met hers, Mira offered a polite smile. He simply nodded, his expression unreadable, before turning away to unlatch the truck’s rear door.
“Friendly,” Mira muttered under her breath, pulling her cardigan tighter as the cold bit into her fingers.
Jake bounded up the porch steps, tipping an imaginary hat as he passed her. “Don’t mind Logan. He’s not much for small talk before coffee. Or after coffee, come to think of it.”
“I heard that,” Logan called from the back of the truck, his tone flat but threaded with dry humor.
Jake winked at Mira and disappeared into the house. She lingered on the porch, her gaze lingering on Logan as he began unloading with a meticulous precision. Each movement seemed purposeful, as though the task were part of a larger, invisible plan only he could see.
Clearing her throat, she stepped off the porch toward him. “So... Logan, right?”
He paused, glancing up with a calm, steady look. “Yeah.”
“Thanks for coming out so early,” she said, trying to sound casual. “I know it’s not exactly the most thrilling job in the world, but I really appreciate it.”
Logan shrugged, hoisting a dolly onto the driveway. “It’s our job.”
Mira blinked at the bluntness, unsure whether to be offended or impressed. “Well, in that case, I hope my chaotic packing doesn’t scare you off.”
His lips twitched, just barely, and for a fleeting moment, she thought he might smile. “I’ve seen worse. But it’s close.”
A startled laugh escaped her before she could stop it, and she tugged self-consciously at her sleeve. “Good to know.”
Jake reappeared in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame. “Mira, you weren’t kidding about the chaos in here. What’s the plan—open a department store in the city?”
“It’s called being prepared,” Mira shot back, crossing her arms. “Some of us like having options.”
Jake grinned, pointing a playful finger at her. “Options for what? The end of the world?”
“Hey, at least I’m not showing up with... whatever Logan’s into,” she retorted, smirking.
Jake snorted. “Trust me, if Logan had a hobby that involved more than three tools and one piece of wood, I’d never let him live it down.”
Logan, unfazed, grabbed a stack of moving blankets and headed toward the house. As he walked past her, Mira caught the faint scent of sawdust and cedar—clean, earthy, and grounding. The smell lingered, stirring a flicker of curiosity that tugged at the edges of her thoughts.
“Let’s just get this done,” Logan said, his voice low but firm.
*
Inside, the organized chaos of Mira’s belongings made the living room feel crowded and impossibly small. She hovered near the staircase, chewing her bottom lip as Logan and Jake surveyed the scene with practiced eyes, like soldiers preparing for battle.
“Alright,” Jake said, clapping his hands together. “Big stuff first—couch, dresser, bed frame. Then we tackle the mountain of boxes.”
Logan nodded, already moving toward the couch against the far wall. He bent to lift one end, his biceps flexing beneath the rolled-up sleeves of his flannel shirt. Mira quickly averted her eyes, heat rushing to her cheeks as she busied herself by smoothing out a nearby cushion.
“Are you sure you don’t need any help?” she asked, fidgeting with the hem of her cardigan.
Logan glanced at her briefly, his expression calm but distant. “We’ve got it. Just let us know if something’s fragile or sentimental.”
“Everything’s sentimental,” she muttered under her breath, her fingers twisting nervously.
Jake, overhearing, shot her a sympathetic grin. “Don’t worry. We’ll treat your stuff like it’s made of glass. Right, Logan?”
Logan adjusted his grip on the couch, his hands suddenly gentler, though he said nothing. Mira noticed the subtle shift, her frustration softening slightly.
As the morning wore on, Mira’s emotions oscillated between gratitude and exasperation. Jake’s teasing kept the mood light, but Logan’s quiet efficiency left little room for conversation. Still, she couldn’t help but steal glances at him as he worked. There was something reassuring about the way he moved—steady, deliberate, capable. It was a sharp contrast to her own nervous energy.
“So, big dreams for the big city, huh?” Jake asked as they carried a box labeled “BOOKS” out to the truck.
“Something like that,” Mira replied cautiously.
Jake grinned. “Let me guess. You’re going to be the next big thing in... what? Fashion? Art? Tech?”
“Beauty,” she said, lifting her chin. “I’m starting my own salon.”
Jake whistled. “Ambitious. I like it.”
“She’s got the drive for it,” Logan said unexpectedly, his voice even but steady.
Mira turned to him, surprised. Her heart skipped a beat—it wasn’t exactly a compliment, but coming from Logan, it felt like one.
“Thanks,” she said softly, searching his face for any hint of emotion. She thought she saw something flicker in his hazel eyes, but it vanished as he turned back to the truck.
*
By the time the last box was loaded, the house felt eerily empty. Mira stood in the doorway, clutching her cardigan as she watched Logan secure the load with ratchet straps. The creak of the porch step beneath her feet and the crisp bite of the winter air seemed to carry the weight of her memories.
She glanced over her shoulder at the now-bare living room. A small vase—a gift from her mother—sat alone on the mantel, forgotten in the rush. She stepped back inside, fingers brushing over the delicate ceramic before tucking it carefully into her bag.
“Hey,” she said quietly as she returned to the porch.
Logan glanced at her, his hands stilling on the strap.
“Thanks for being patient with all this,” she said, her voice softer now. “I know it’s... a lot.”
Logan paused, his hazel eyes meeting hers. There was something steady and grounding in his gaze, like the calm before a storm. “You’re making a big step. That’s worth helping with.”
Her throat tightened unexpectedly, and she nodded, a faint smile brushing her lips. For a moment, they stood in comfortable silence, the weight of the transition settling over them both.
“Ready to hit the road?” Jake called out, snapping the spell.
Logan straightened, giving Mira one last nod before heading toward the cab of the truck. She watched him go, her curiosity deepening. There was more to Logan Hayes than he let on—she was sure of it. And for the first time that day, she found herself looking forward to the journey ahead.
