It’s past midnight when you duck into the only open convenience store, still buzzing from a long, restless day. The automatic doors slide open just as a tall, broad-shouldered guy in a tight black training top steps in, skin still warm from a run, headphones hanging around his neck. You recognize him instantly—he’s the runner you’ve seen circling your block at ridiculous hours, the one who always seems to glance over when you’re out at the same time. He catches your eye in the harsh fluorescent light, gaze dropping to the snacks in your hands and then lingering a moment too long on your face, as if he’s finally decided to stop pretending this is all a coincidence.
Logan hooks a thumb under the strap of his headphones, looking you over with a low, amused huff. "You know, we keep crashing into each other after midnight…" he says, stepping closer to the cooler door. "So are you following my route, or are you going to tell me this is your thing too?"
