Chapter 4: Lunch Plans and Old Flames

I heard the door shut, finally exhaled deeply, and touched my forehead—cold sweat.

I had to wipe my palms on my scrubs. That had been way more intense than any date.

Before noon, I checked the list—my work here was done—so I packed up and headed back to my office.

I hadn’t even warmed my seat when someone knocked on the door.

I looked up, my face involuntarily twitching.

Here already? Such good service?

Logan Carter came in. I kept my composure and gestured for him to sit.

“Did you already know it was me?”

“Saw your name, knew it. The one-day boyfriend from Amazon—your app tag made it hard to miss. Sorry, I was working earlier. And don’t worry, the timer starts only when you say ‘Begin.’”

Logan Carter carried a backpack, wore a red basketball jersey over a white T-shirt, basketball shorts over black tight sports pants, and white basketball shoes.

He kept rubbing his pant legs, palms damp; up close, I could see the nerves in the way he smoothed the fabric.

He wasn’t talking about this, but something else—four years ago—sat between us like static.

From his silence, I guessed he’d clocked my poker face, decided to let the past lie for now.

If he thought I’d forgotten, he’d have no reason to bring it up.

Logan POV: Autumn was his second order. The previous one was a chubby girl who wanted to show up a guy who’d rejected her and called her a fat pig behind her back. Logan gave her plenty of face, and the first client gave him a five-star review, so when he was free, he asked the shop to keep an eye out for orders for him.

He remembered how awkward that first job had been—lots of hand-holding, fake smiles, but nothing like this. This felt real.

Though it said two thousand two hundred a day, Logan split fifty-fifty with the shop—still a lot. As he said, enough to buy a pair of game-day kicks—one of those limited-edition pairs he’d been eyeing.

But the world is too small. The second order turned out to be Autumn Brooks.

Logan steadied himself and continued, “When do we start?”

I checked the time—I still needed to organize patient reports, probably not until after lunch. “I have to organize reports, maybe by noon. If you don’t mind, we can have lunch and start the timer. We should also set boundaries—no medical talk about you in public, and if I say the word ‘pineapple’ at dinner with my mom, it means change the subject and save me. Sound fair?”

Logan said, “No, it’s the weekend next. I’ll wait for you at the door.” He added, almost sheepish, “We’ve got team housing curfew, but I’ll be fine.”

I nodded. “I’ll be quick.”

Logan paced back and forth in the corridor outside, occasionally bumping into teammates who asked if he was leaving with them. Logan shook his head. “You guys go ahead, I have something to ask the doctor.” He knew there’d be athletic department check-ins later, but he figured he could juggle it.

Teammate asked, “You okay?”

Logan laughed, “Nothing, you go ahead. Might be late tonight—if the team manager does a headcount, cover for me.”

In less than an hour, my office door opened. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the person on the corridor bench already standing up, casting a shadow over me.

After work, I changed into my own clothes—a loose, light-colored blazer and slim pants, making my figure look even more graceful. As I locked the door, I said, “I have no shift this afternoon, let’s go.”

“Where to?” Logan asked, a little clueless.

I glanced back. “You’re my boyfriend now—just do what you’re good at. However you served before, do that. Oh, tonight you have to come home for dinner, meet my mom, make her happy, and your job’s done. And remember—pineapple.”

I was about to say we should take my car, but Logan spoke first. “I have a car.”

So young, already has a car?

Then we went to the parking lot.

I was surprised.

Sure enough, a young guy—it was a badass motorcycle.

The thing gleamed under the parking lot lights, clearly well taken care of—a 300cc sport bike. He even thoughtfully brought two helmets, handed me one first, and checked the chin strap snugly. “Here.”

I took it, messed up my hair putting it on, strands sticking out everywhere. A security camera’s red light blinked, and an orderly pushed a cart past us. Logan gently said, “Don’t move,” then raised his hand and softly smoothed my hair, his fingertips brushing mine now and then.

The gesture was so intimate I froze, feeling a little flutter in my chest. I coughed lightly and quickly pulled my hand away.

Logan took me to Silver Hollow University. I got off, took off the helmet, and Logan naturally took it from me, scratched his head. “Let’s go to the dining hall, if that’s okay? The food’s pretty good.” We parked by the rec center near the courts.

“Sure, haven’t been back to campus in a long time.” To avoid awkwardness, I walked quickly ahead.

Logan followed, keeping just the right distance.

It’s a long way from the gate to the dining hall, lots of students passing by. On Friday afternoons, most have no class, so there aren’t many people eating. Those heading home have left, and those going to the library have already grabbed seats.

The air smelled like cut grass and fryer oil, typical campus atmosphere. Near the dining hall is the basketball court. Groups of boys carrying basketballs headed that way.

I walked straight ahead, one hand in my pocket, back straight. I’m not short, and with high-heeled sandals, I stood out. Unsurprisingly, plenty of energetic young men glanced back at me.

I kept my chin up, pretending not to notice the looks. Logan couldn’t help calling out, “Autumn.”

I turned around.

Sure enough, he asked, “Have you been to Flagstaff, Arizona?” I sped up half a step; my heels clicked a little faster on the pavement.

I countered, “Does it matter whether I have or not?”

Logan was stunned, just nodded dumbly, again and again, like a robot.

I said, “I’ve been.”