#lv ff

He’s made aware of that fact when the woman behind him clears her throat. As he puts in his order for a large Americano (wondering why the man who took his order seems amused by his presence) and then doctors his drink with cream, he considers his options. If he were to take a lap around the building he could walk directly past the window she’s studying next to. Perhaps get a look at her left hand. Do reconnaissance. Or ‘casually’ catch her eye and give her the patented one-two combo of a smirk and raised eyebrow.

He takes a sip of his coffee and almost flees the coffee shop. Staring at the woman in silence for about thirty seconds is enough creeping for one day. Besides, she might be in a relationship even if she’s not married. Or suck as a person. Or drive a pastel colored scooter for god's sake. His romantic notions have gotten him into trouble before (and once before that and again a time before that) and he’s determined to do it differently this time. New condo. New Logan.

As he walks home he makes plans to return to the coffee shop the following day.

It’s during his fourth visit to Sea Monkey that he hears her voice for the first time. She’s at the same table from before and in much the same position – books scattered, at least three coffee mugs abandoned, and a stack of notes she’s rifling through. This time, though, someone else has also noticed her.

Logan has a nice view of the back of her head as he stirs the half and half into his coffee. He takes his time and pretends not to notice the guy in the leather jacket approaching her table.

“Yo, what’s up?”

Logan snorts at that and covers it with a cough. This must be a friend of hers. One who is purposefully acting like an ass to make her laugh. But then she sits up straight in her chair and appears to double the attention on her notes. So, maybe not.

“All alone. Drinking coffee. Want some coffee? I’m just kidding.”

She tilts her head back to look up at the guy. His eyes widen a fraction and then he lets out a tense chuckle. Logan might not be able to see her face but if the guy’s expression is anything to go by she possesses a serious set of murder eyes.

“Yo, see that guy over there?” She makes no effort to look where the guy gestures with his coffee cup. “That’s my boy Broyden. And he was looking at you and made him premature in his pants.”

Logan wonders if she has wished so hard to be anywhere but here that her spirit has transcended to a different place. She’s just staring at the guy -- hasn’t moved a fraction of an inch.

“Also, he thinks you’re really cool. He’s a good guy. Honestly, he’s a good guy.”

She waits another beat to respond. Logan expects a long dressing down but her response is succinct and direct: “Fuck off.” Her head tilts back down to her notes.

Leather Jacket almost scampers away and Logan feels the need to do the same but waits for a second. While this woman is clearly a force he wants to make sure Leather Jacket and Broyden (is that even a real name?) don’t make a scene. It’s been a couple years since he punched a guy, but he could probably do it again in a pinch.

He spends the next hour staring at the pages of work he brought with him but not processing the words. Instead he spends his time puzzling over why he possesses the impulse to defend a woman whose name he doesn’t even know.

Veronica. It takes three weeks and almost a dozen additional visits but he finally learns her name. He worked out early on that she is well acquainted with Wallace, the guy who owns the coffee shop. As a regular Logan has built an easy camaraderie with the man who he swears must live under the espresso machine counter.

Logan has taken to blocking off Tuesdays and Thursdays as days to read the new manuscripts his assistant earmarks for him. Home proves to be too distracting so Sea Monkey has become his office away from office.

He usually sees her on at least one of those days and sometimes (glory hallelujah!) on both. He’s halfway through reading a promising urban fantasy manuscript when she bursts into the coffee shop like it’s her home and not a business.

“Stanford can kiss my ass.” She marches straight towards Wallace like he is the source of her fury.

“Can they now?” Wallace steams milk for her latte and she helps herself to three biscotti from the jar on the counter.

“My dissertation is a joke.” She bites into one of the biscotti, scattering crumbs across the counter. “My methods are shoddy and unfocused. My research committee is going to laugh at me –“

“And the other kids on the playground will pull your pigtails?” He slides the beverage and a plate for the cookies across the counter.“Your table’s open. Go work.” She pulls out some cash from her back pocket and Wallace waves it away. “Your money’s no good here.”

She picks up the plate of biscotti with one hand and the coffee with the other. “What if after all this they don’t want me, Wallace?”  If Logan’s table was any further away he’d have missed the tentative note to her voice. It’s something that hasn’t been present in the few past conversations of hers he’s overheard.

“You’re kidding me, right? You think they’re really gonna say no to you? Dr. Veronica Mars has an irresistible ring to it.”

Logan wants to offer his encouragement alongside Wallace’s. Maybe mention that anyone who approaches a task with her patented ferocity will be fine, but he doesn’t. Instead he turns her name over in his mind.

Veronica Mars. He likes the sound of it. He likes her.

Turns out he’s not the only one to have noticed her. Over the next few weeks he discovers she’s routinely hit on and never appears interested. ‘Fuck Off,’ strangely enough, is her phrase of choice. (She said it to her text book once and seemed startled by her own outburst.)  He understands. She’s there to work not be ogled. It should inspire him to find a new location to work. More time in her presence will only lead to him doing something supremely stupid.

But then one day he looks up from the manuscript in front of him and discovers that she is watching him. They lock eyes for a breath of a second and then she looks away, but it’s enough encouragement to come back the next day. When the lightning speed staring contests continue in the days ahead Logan decides to add Saturday visits to his weekday ones. Just in case.

They speak for the first time on a Tuesday. She passes by his table and he barely resists sucking in his stomach, as if that will show him off to greater advantage. He’d laugh at himself if he wasn’t having a hard time breathing because she’s standing there. He looks up at the sound of her ‘ahem.’

“You highlighted your lip,” she says, and touches the corner of her mouth. “There.”

He absently smudges at the spot, more than a little flustered by her presence. Breathe. “I wanted you to be able to find it later.” He winces. Idiot. “I mean --”

“You wanted me to find your lip?” She sounds genuinely curious, which is the only reason he keeps talking.

He waves a hand in front of his mouth as if presenting it for her appraisal. “Well, yes. It’s quite useful.”

“What can it do?”

Damn. It takes him a second to recover. He’s hopped up on adrenaline and didn’t think she’d volley the innuendo. Thought it more likely she’d roll her eyes or groan and stomp off. The desire to push their interaction a little further wells up within him.

“Well, I can’t play the kazoo but I know how to hum.”

She smirks at that and nods a little, impressed by his answer. He doesn’t know what the test was but he thinks he passed.

In fact, testing one another becomes a natural part of their interaction. He loses count of who’s scored more points in the game they seem to be playing.

He thinks he wins the day she learns his name.  It starts when he feels her looking over his shoulder, trying to read the name on his credit card receipt as he signs. He blocks her with his shoulder until she huffs out a resigned sigh. “Is your name really ‘Loony Evils’?”

“Logan Echolls.”

“Ah. That makes more sense.”

Once he’s settled at his table he hears her hiss at Wallace, “Shut up.” Wallace laughs at her indignant expression and Logan smiles into his mug.

By the time he realizes he knows the scent of her perfume, the light citrusy scent heralding her presence in the coffee shop before he ever sees her, he’s halfway to falling in love.  The most torturous moments are when she stands behind him in line. When her perfume mixes with the scent of cookies and he wonders if it smells the same in the space between her neck and shoulder as it does lingering in the air between them.

He shakes himself from that thought and attempts to order a blueberry muffin only to be stopped with a “You really don’t want to do that, Loony.”

“Really?” he asks, leaning his hip against the counter.

“Get the apple cinnamon. Trust me.”

He orders the apple cinnamon.

Call him a fool but the thing is he does trust her because, pathetically, he feels like he knows her. At the very least he knows things about her. He knows she has breakfast with her dad every Wednesday and dinner on Sunday. And that the ‘they’ she’s worried won’t want her is the FBI. And that she has a dog named Bailiff she adopted from the animal shelter.

Fuck. He needs to do something.

It’s just that it feels fragile, almost, and he’s scared to wreck it. Which is why after three months of staring, and flirting, and snarking, he hasn’t asked her out. (He bought her a cookie once, when he noticed there was only one snickerdoodle left but that’s it.)

It’s a question he asks himself frequently: How did fourteen year old Logan land the most popular girl in school within days of starting high school but grown up, made his own fortune, owns a condo (with a patio!) Logan is incapable of asking for a woman’s number?

The informal standoff builds and finally crests on a busy Saturday morning.

Wallace is at the register, greeting regulars with ease and affable smiles. The two baristas do that thing where they appear calm but are actually busting their asses to keep up with the string of customers. Logan sits with a newspaper and his second cup of coffee on the off-chance Veronica will make an appearance. Also, he feels comfortable in this place now. Has a favorite table. Opinions on the best pastries. (Veronica was wrong. The blueberry is superior.)

He’s absorbed in reading a puff piece in the local section when he hears her barely audible “Damn it” somewhere behind him. He cranes his neck and there she stands – coffee in one hand, laptop tucked under her arm, scanning the tables to find them all occupied.

He smiles. It’s high time to make some progress. “Okay. Enough with the begging. You can sit down.”

The glare she throws his way must be a gut reaction. Once she processes who is speaking to her she lets out a breath of relief and nods gratefully. “You won’t even notice I’m here.”

But he does notice. Every detail of her presence is amplified and his reaction would be embarrassing if she wasn’t doing a fair bit of noticing him too.

She shifts in her chair and bumps his foot with hers. The glint in her eye and the way she faux casually bites her lip tells him it’s on purpose. He stretches and sees her watch the hem of his Henley as it lifts a couple inches. It wasn’t intentional the first time but after her reaction he does it again. She clears her throat and refocuses, narrowing her eyes at her laptop.

It’s an exquisite sort of brutal torture and he doesn’t think he can take much more. He starts cleaning up the table to leave it to her. Ever the gentleman, he thinks.

“You done, Loony?”

He rolls his eyes at the nickname but nods. How can they have nicknames for each other but never have formally introduced themselves? “Heading home.”

“You live nearby?”

He quirks an eyebrow. Her tone might be breezy but he hears a trap being set. “Yeah. Just around the corner.”

The lid of her laptop closes with a quiet snick. “Thanks for asking. I’d love to see your place.”

“Would you now?”

“Come on, Loony. You know you’re dying to make me a sandwich.” She leans forward, resting her elbows on the table. “Grilled cheese maybe. I bet you’re rich enough to have some fancy cheese to throw in there.”

“Sounds like you think you have my number.”

“I know I do.”

He folds up his newspaper, trying not to give away how her words have triggered a frantic beating of his pulse. “Girls like you are always after one thing.”

She nods in complete agreement. “We gotta get that cheese.”

The next morning they come into the coffee shop together, her neatly tucked under his arm, their fingers tangled together. She’s wearing her jeans from the day before but his UCLA sweatshirt. Wallace bursts out laughing the moment he sees them and Veronica stalks towards the counter.

“Shut up, Fennel.”

“No. I don’t think I will.”

“Did you get a callback?”

She keeps her eyes affixed to the signup sheet, a little miffed she can’t continue to stare at her name in silent triumph. She nods. “For Silvia.”

“Funny that. I got a callback for Proteus. If we get cast we’ll probably have to make out.”

She had a feeling this would happen. That she’d encounter at least one frat boy disguised as a theatre nerd. “Proteus is a dick.”

“He still gets the girl.”

“Not Silvia. And dicks throughout history have gotten the girl. Not a point in Proteus’ favor.”

She hikes her messenger bag up on her shoulder and prepares to walk away but first steals a glance at the person she’s snarking with.

He’s tall – significantly taller than she is, but that isn’t really an achievement. His hair is doing that artfully mussed thing; where he wants the world to think he just rolled out of bed but really spent thirty minutes styling each hair right. From her periphery she sees him arch a brow at her perusal. She spares a second to internally applaud his fantastic eyebrow control but then narrows her eyes and walks away.

He calls after her. “My name is Logan, by the way.”

“Don’t care.”

Logan does in fact get cast as Proteus and Veronica is cast as Silvia. Her friend Mac is cast as the world’s most sarcastic Julia which thrills Veronica. Together the two of them make sure that someone always teases or pokes fun at Logan. Always to his face because they’re not savages. He laughs when it’s Mac. He preens when it’s Veronica.  

In their first week of rehearsal she discovers Logan’s last name is Echolls and, yes, he is in fact the son of that Echolls. She writes him off as being the kind of privileged asshole she left Neptune to get away from. The way he interacts with Eli Navarro, the lighting designer and board op, seems to confirm her suspicions. She also notices he’s quick to change the subject if people bring up his dad.

In their second week a small group of the cast meets at Stacey’s Diner every night to practice their lines. A couple times they’re the last to leave and he walks her to her car. She tries to remember her dad’s advice about going into an investigation with an open mind.

In their third week of rehearsal he renames the play The Two Gentlemen of Ve-rone-ica. She tries not to laugh when she sees he’s sharpied out ‘Verona’ on his script and wrote ‘Veronica’ instead. Later that week the whispers start; members of the cast gossiping about her and Logan. One of the Outlaws calls her a golddigger. She steals Logan’s script and replaces it with a  version that doesn’t have her name on it. He complains that it doesn’t have his blocking notes. She keeps the original.

In their fourth week of rehearsal he suggests they practice their makeout scene. A scene that doesn’t exist. In the much reviled Act V the director has Proteus attempt to kiss Silvia and then Silvia kicks him in the shins. Veronica offers to rehearse that part whenever he wants and points him toward Mac, the girl he’ll actually kiss onstage.

Mac puckers her lips and takes a bite of her roasted garlic pizza. “This is my third piece.”

Logan smiles. “Alright, Mac. Let’s do this.” He takes the pizza slice from her as she’s mid bite and finishes the rest in two chomps. “Equality.” He tosses the pizza crust behind him, not even aiming for the garbage can. Veronica winces when it makes it in. He’s far too smug for his own good.

“How do you have any friends?” Mac asks. She crosses the stage, zig zagging left and right as Logan chases after her.

“Have patience, gentle Julia! Have patience! Come back to me, Julia.”

In their fifth week of rehearsal she sometimes catches him staring. How she reacts is dependent on her mood. She alternates between ignoring him, telling him to quit it, and staring right back.

It’s during cue to cue in their sixth week that Logan finds her stage right, tucked behind a curtain. “You know,” he says, tapping his fingers to the cover of his script. “Not one of Shakespeare’s finest.”

She nods in agreement, her eyes on the stage. “It could have been Cymbeline.”

“Praise god for little favors.”

Veronica chuckles, nodding again.

“Momentous occasion, Mars. We just agreed on something. I’m going to write about it later in my feelings journal.”

She rolls her eyes and bumps his arm with her shoulder. “That’s your cue.”

Before she realizes it’s happening Logan is in front of her, clasping her hands to his chest. “When possible I can, I will return.” He presses a quick kiss to her knuckles and then rushes forward to meet Wallace and Piz in perfect time for their entrance.

She feels as if he’s outmaneuvered her and his wink in her direction confirms it. if she thought stealing his script and keeping some physical distance would dishearten him, she was mistaken. The guy almost delights in being knocked down and bouncing back.  

She watches him in the scene, the knuckles of her hand still faintly tingling from the memory of his lips pressed there. It rankles that she’s not as immune to his charms as she thought. 

She stands up straighter, crossing her arms as Logan and Wallace move stage left. Again she reminds herself she went to school for four years with guys like Logan Echolls. She left Neptune to escape guys like Logan Echolls.

She ignores him through the next two nights of tech and the university donor invited dress, only speaking to him when they’re onstage together. His initial confusion at her chilly demeanor quickly gives way to a calm acceptance. Almost like he expected this would happen.

Opening night comes and her whole body hums with nervous energy in anticipation of performing. It doesn’t even matter that the auditorium only holds two-hundred people. It feels bigger than that. But there’s something about her new discordant relationship with Logan that mutes her enjoyment of the experience.

They see each other in the green room once they’ve changed into their costumes. He nods and offers her less-than-half of a smile. “Break a leg, Veronica.”

“You too.” When she doesn’t say anything else, he turns around and heads back into the dressing room.

Wallace and Mac are sitting on one of the green room couches going over their lines. They’re also pretending they didn’t just witness the pleasantly awkward exchange between her and Logan. It’s a kind thing to do and Veronica shakes her head at herself.

Their stage manager sweeps through the room. “Curtain in ten, actors.”

The entire cast replies. “Thank you, ten.”

“Did you hear?” She groans because she knows that voice. She looks behind her to find Tim Foyle, leaning against a wall with practiced ease. He’s currently dressed for his part as Antonio but has a few different roles to play. Regardless of the part, Veronica wants to smack his smug little face.  

She circles her hand in an ‘on-with-it’ gesture. She’s not going to indulge him for longer than necessary.

“There’s like a fleet of paparazzi out there. A few live news feeds too, apparently.”

“I didn’t even know this city had paparazzi,” she says.

“Why are they here?” Mac asks.

Tim smiles at them both in that condescending way of his. Veronica tamps down the urge to yank out a handful of hair from his terrible goatee. It’d be satisfying if not productive.  

“Why do you think? Can’t you see the headlines now? ‘Son of a movie star in college Shakespeare production.’ ‘Son of a movie star following in dad’s footsteps.’ Story writes itself.”

“How do they know he’s in the show?” Wallace asks. “Logan and his dad don’t really keep up with each other.”

Veronica frowns at that statement because, 1) she didn’t know Logan has a tense relationship with his dad, or 2) that he and Wallace were close enough friends to talk about it.  

“Wouldn’t be the first time an attention seeking celebutante called the paparazzi on himself,” Tim says.

“No, it wouldn’t.” There’s a sudden and oppressive quiet that falls over the cast at the sound of Logan’s voice. His eyes dart down to briefly meet Veronica’s before he glares at Tim. “Shouldn’t we be getting to places?”

“Oh, so you’re the stage manager now too?” Tim asks.

Veronica flashes back to that first meeting with Logan. The moment when she quickly and decidedly wrote him off as a dick. At least Logan was a good-natured-smiling-dick. Tim Foyle is the type of dickish-sociopath you see profiled on Crime TV. Or working as a correspondent on Fox News.

“For God’s sake, Tim,” Veronica says. “Stop being such a douche.” Several members of the cast laugh at her outburst. Mac and Wallace applaud. Logan does that thing where he scratches the back of his head in embarrassment. All of it delights Veronica.

Tim clenches his jaw but is interrupted from responding further by the stage manager’s return. “Actors, places.”

“Thank you places.” Veronica almost shouts the word in Tim’s stupid face.

The show itself goes smoothly enough for an opening night. A couple sound cues are a second later than they should be. She supposes that’s what the director gets for trusting Corny with responsibility.

There’s also an incident that occurs when the group of Outlaws lead Silvia offstage. Outlaw number one is Tim Foyle himself and he takes an elbow to the stomach when Veronica thrashes a little more than she did in rehearsal. If the director or stage manager asks she’ll calmly explain the adrenaline got to her.

There’s no standing ovation but the audience seems to enjoy the show well enough. The stage manager skips giving notes that night which means the only thing separating Veronica from celebrating with her friends is a costume change.

Mac and Wallace are up for going out. Piz’s family is visiting from Oregon so will go out with them the next night. She isn’t even aware she’s standing in the middle of the green room searching for someone specific until Wallace’s voice startles her.

“I can’t find him either.”

“Maybe he already left?” Mac suggests.

Wallace shakes his head. “Nah. The reporters are still here. They got a few at every door.”

Veronica toes at the carpet, working out both where Logan could be and a way to get him out of the building undetected.

“What are you thinkin,’ V?”

“Has Piz left yet?”

“He’s finishing packing up his stuff.”

“How tall is he?”

“I don’t know. Couple inches taller than me. 5’10” maybe?”

“Dammit,” Veronica mutters.

“What about Kurt?” Mac suggests.

“He’s tall. Very tall.” Veronica looks up and put her arms in the air. Kurt plays Valentine, Silvia’s love interest. She mimes looping her arms around someone’s neck, imagining the moment at the end of Act V. “Maybe 6’4”? Taller than Logan.”

“So he’ll slouch,” Wallace says. He’s already backing out of the green room and into the men’s dressing room. “Hey! Kurt. We need a quick favor.”

After checking backstage and the costume shop, she finds Logan up in the tech booth. The work lights are on, flooding the stage with an even wash of light but the house lights are turned off.

His feet are propped up on the shelf directly below the light board and he leans back in his chair. He’d look serene if it wasn’t for the tight line of his mouth and the tension in his shoulders.

“Eli’s going to be pissed if you touch his board.”

He startles, his feet dropping to the floor. “Eli and I have an arrangement. If I don’t touch his board he’ll accidentally miss Tim’s spot in Act I.”

“Well you’re secret friends with everyone aren’t you?” He looks at her for a second and his brow furrows. She skips past offering an explanation. “I think the reporters cleared out. If you want to escape. I’m meeting Mac and Wallace for food somewhere.”

“Ah,” he says, sitting up. The tension is back in his shoulders; like he’s bracing himself for something. “So, you gonna ask me if I did it? Did attention seeking Logan Echolls tip off the paparazzi about his onstage debut?”

“Hey. I wouldn’t be here if I thought you did.” She takes a step closer and Logan reaches out to wrap his hand around her wrist. With an insistent but gentle tug he pulls her closer. She stands directly in front of him. Even with him sitting they’re almost eye to eye.

“Have you been avoiding me?”

“Do I look like I’m avoiding you?”

“Do you always answer questions with more questions?”

“Would it bother you if I said yes?”

He smiles at her. A wide almost childlike toothy grin. She smiles back in kind. She wonders if he’s going to kiss her and finds the thought isn’t unwelcome. Technically he does, leaning forward just enough to brush his lips across her forehead. “Are we friends now, Veronica?”

She nods, closing her eyes tight. “Of course we’re friends.”

“Are you my girlfriend?”

She shakes her head. “We haven’t even gone on a date.”

He laughs at that and they’re still close enough she feels his breath puff out against her skin. “Come on,” he says, pulling away from her. “We’ll go celebrate our stage debut with omelets.”

“If you finish Stacey’s twelve egg one it’s free.” It’s likely one of the least sexy things she’s ever said, but it still comes out all breathy. “I’ll text Mac.”

“Sounds perfect.” He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear then trails his fingers down her arm and clasps her hand in his. It’s smooth enough she wonders if he’s thought about this. “Bear witness, heaven, I have my wish forever.”

Veronica rolls her eyes and tugs on his hand, pulling him off his seat. He rotates so he can reach the light board with his other hand, turning off the work lights in favor of the ghost light.

“Told you Proteus gets the girl,” Logan says.

“Shut up, you ass, and buy me an omelet.”

“From ‘dick’ to ‘ass’ in just seven weeks. Going to file that as an improvement.”

She drives them to the diner and Logan holds her hand the whole way, only letting go long enough for her to shift.

She thought she knew who Logan was from their first interaction in that hallway. As they drive, she wonders if Logan is hundreds of miles from home for the same reason she is. Maybe he needed a fresh start too.

“Okay, well –“

Veronica grits her teeth and turns her head to look up at the man standing before her. Woah. He’s taller than she expected and wearing a rather a well cut tuxedo. She tilts her head back and frowns. There’s an air of familiarity there but she doesn’t believe they’ve ever met.

“Well nothing,” she says. “I’m sure there’s a girl with low self-esteem somewhere who will find your particular breed of asshole charming.” Perhaps it’s a bit harsh, but it’s been a long week and her tolerance for humor of the ‘two chicks? dude!’ variety is non-existent.

The man clenches his jaw and she can almost hear him counting to ten as he takes a series of deep breaths. She gets that reaction a lot.

“Seeing as that’s my name there,” he points to the place setting beside her, “and this is where I’ve been told to sit, I think I’ll stay. That okay with you?”

There’s a quick jab of remorse because it should be great fun sitting next to Douchey McStupid-Joke. Especially now. She hadn’t even looked at the seating chart so turns to read the placecard he references.The instant she does remorse morphs into a crushing swell of embarrassment. It’s actually a black hole of embarrassment. Point of origin: beneath Veronica’s chair.

Logan Echolls. Fuck.

She’s never met him but she does in fact know him.

She glances down at her hands. The regret must be evident on her face because his shoulders relax, and he looks faintly amused. Like he knows she’s stepped in it and he’s going to thoroughly enjoy watching her backtrack. It’s a deserved reaction.

“You’re Carrie’s Logan?” she asks.

He nods and fuuuuck. She was hoping to be wrong.

“Lilly’s Veronica?”

“That’s me.” Her voice is weak and tremulous and she avoids saying anything else in favor of gulping the last of her wine.

The only blessing in this is that they are the only two currently at the table. No one else to witness this moment of humiliation. The moment where she was a jerk (a well-meaning jerk coming to the defense of her best-friend!) to the person without which this whole event may not have happened.

Someone at the head table, she thinks Carrie’s older sister, clinks a fork to a glass and gets the room’s attention. Carrie and Lilly stand holding hands. They thank everyone for attending and announce dinner will be served shortly. Lilly catches Veronica’s eye and nudges Carrie. Their eyes drift to Logan almost in unison and both women wave enthusiastically at their table. Veronica waves back with just as much enthusiasm. She’d seen them right before the start of the ceremony but it feels like it’s been hours.

As the guests find their seats and the servers come out in perfectly choreographed waves, Veronica thanks the gods for bowls of French onion soup. It’s a well-known fact she loves food but right now she’s mostly thankful for the distraction of activity.  

Veronica spends both the first and second courses studiously ignoring Logan. She chats up Carrie’s personal assistant and her boyfriend who are sitting at the same table. The two are from the Midwest and occasionally look up at the ceiling of the Grande’s ballroom like it’s as glorious as the Sistine Chapel.

The servers flit around, collecting the plates from the second course and then refill wine glasses. Veronica’s a little proud of the steadfast manner in which she’s ignored Logan. She’s also a tad ashamed of herself.

Before the wedding even started, she knew she wanted to introduce herself to Logan and thank him for everything he’s done for Lilly and Carrie. To thank him for being there for Lilly when Veronica was in another country and physically unable to be. For sending Veronica an email when Carrie checked into rehab. For being the one who supported Veronica in her assertion that guys like Sean Friedrich were leeches who needed to be cut from Carrie’s and Lilly’s lives.

Veronica always felt she and Logan were a team. Together in a weird way as they separately worked for the happiness of their friends.

She sighs and takes another sip of wine. Two courses down, three to go. Then it’s only another two hours of cocktails and dancing. She doesn’t notice Logan lean closer to whisper to her until his breath puffs out against her skin.

“Would you rather wear a dress made entirely of razor blades or sit next to Celeste at the head table?”

Her eyes flit to his for a second just to ensure that, yes, he is in fact speaking to her. When eye contact is met with a quirk of his lips and a jerk of his head, she looks at the person in question.

The members of the head table are having a genuinely good time. On Carrie’s side is her mom, older sister and brother-in-law. Carrie’s dad is noticeably absent but the motto of the whole past week has been fuck him. Veronica even made t-shirts. On Lilly’s side sits her mom and dad as well as her brother Duncan and his daughter-of-a-senator wife. Celeste is the only one who appears determined to not enjoy herself. Her features are pinched and Veronica knows that deep deep down she must be happy for Lilly on her day. Those more joyful feelings simply happen to be buried beneath feet of bullshit and pretense.

“She is looking particularly constipated today,” she whispers back. Logan snorts a laugh and she’s almost proud of herself for prompting such a reaction. “How long would I have to sit next to her?”

“The entire time.”

Veronica scrunches up her nose and tilts her head to the side, giving the question an appropriate amount of consideration. “Razor blades. Razor blades for days.”

“I knew you were a sensible woman. Why aren’t you at the head table by the way?”

“Why aren’t you?”

“I asked you first.”

“Seriously are you twelve?”

“I was a fantastic twelve-year old.”

“I’ve seen pictures. Glad you grew into those ears.”

And like that, the tension is broken. In the exact way the first clap of thunder announces a storm, Logan’s stupid question paves the way for the next hour of jokes, jabs, and easy camaraderie. In part it’s born out of their mutual care for Lilly and Carrie, but as they finish dinner Veronica concludes she genuinely likes the guy.

It’s over cups of ice cream (Veronica’s thrilled because there’s also going to be cake!) that they discuss their respective jobs. Or, intend to. 

“Carrie mentioned you were a writer,” she says.

“Yeah. I think it was the year after we graduated from college. She tossed a notebook at me one day and said, ‘write it down rich boy, and stop torturing me.’ I took her advice and haven’t stopped.” He licks the ice cream off his spoon and then pushes his bowl away. “And you, don’t tell me, have made a career of stomping on the bones of your enemies?”

She laughs, interpreting his words as an odd but strangely flattering compliment. “Well, I –“ she doesn’t trail off as much as she abandons the thought completely in favor of losing her mind. “Shit,” she swears under her breath. “Shit, fuck, shit.”

“What a coincidence. I too have worked at shit-fuck-shit.”

This is not an amusing situation, but she can’t help but laugh. Her assumption was that by some unspoken agreement she and Duncan would celebrate Lilly’s day separately, and not speak to one another. Kind of a ‘the beloved brother of my best-friend is not my enemy but I can pretend he doesn’t exist’ thing.

“Duncan Kane has our table in his sights,” she mumbles.

“Ah, that’s right,” Logan says. He leans back in his chair and crosses his ankle over his knee; all casual like because he has no reason to be uncomfortable at the prospect of the impending conversation. “I forgot you used to diddle the donut.”

“God, Logan. Pick a grosser word.” She keeps her sights on her ice cream, mushing the remaining bites with her spoon, but eyes Duncan from her periphery. He and his wife are weaving through the couples who have started to dance, stopping every few feet to greet someone and offer perfunctory kisses.

“What phrase would you prefer? Bisecting the triangle? Making whoopee? Doing the frickle-frackle?”

Her shoulders start to shake with laughter because are these things people have ever actually said? And seriously, Duncan is about one-hundred feet from their table. “Frickle-frackle isn’t a thing.”

“We could make it one.”

Her head whips up so fast she thinks she hears something snap and levels Logan with a glare. If the way he wiggles his eyebrows is to be believed, he intended for it to come out that way. “Not you and I together. You and I separately. With other people. What were you thinking? Hmmm?” He scoots his chair closer and rests his arm around the back of hers so his fingertips graze her shoulder.

She frowns. She’s not upset as much as simply good and confused. “What are you doing?”

“You don’t want the ex to think you’re sad and alone. Just play along.”

She shakes her head, incredulous that he’s actually suggesting such a thing. “We just met two hours ago.”

“He doesn’t know that. Our best-friends are getting married. It stands to reason we’d know each other.”

He’s talking with words that are technically in the English language but this whole idea does not make logical sense. Because pretend dating. That’s not a thing, right? “He’ll be able to tell.”

He leans in and whispers, his breath warm against her ear. “Honestly, Veronica. I’ve met Duncan a few times, and he’s about as insightful as a paperclip.”

She finds herself hiding her smile in the crook between Logan’s neck and shoulder. His whole body tenses for a second but in the next she feels him relax. The fingertips that were barely touching her shoulder now move up and down her arm in a gentle caress. She enjoys the sensation way more than she thinks she should.

“See, Mars. I knew you’d get the hang of it.” His voice is warm and wraps around her last name like a blanket. It’s almost intimate, the way he says it. Like they are dear friends with years of history stretched between them as opposed to people who just met.

“Duncan, hey!” And then he’s all charismatic carnival barker with a hint of used car salesman.

It’s her cue to look up. There’s Duncan and his wife of two years, Maggie. It makes the whole interaction both better and worse that Maggie is such a charming person. Even Lilly has come to know and appreciate her as a friend.

The memory of it feels far away at times, but for most of high school and college Veronica thought she was Duncan’s person. Until one day she wasn’t and Duncan was barely able to look at her. It was as if he hoped she’d figure it out and they could simply forget they dated for five years.

Over the years they’ve made polite small talk for Lilly’s sake. Veronica still hasn’t told anyone she didn’t really know they’d broken up until Duncan showed up to her apartment with a box of her stuff. It’s been six years, and it doesn’t exactly hurt but sometimes it stings.

“It’s really good to see you, Maggie.” It is good to see this woman who has been such a staunch supporter of both Lilly and Carrie. “Duncan,” Veronica nods. She prefers to stick to factual observations in their interactions. His name is Duncan and he’s standing in front of her.

“Veronica, that dress is beautiful.” Maggie beams at her, and Veronica’s returning smile might be small, but it is genuine. “I love the red.”

“I thought it was a little much, but Lilly insisted.”

“It’s perfect, my darling.” Logan kisses her temple, a smack of his lips against her skin. She looks up at him, eyes wide. It feels like an oversell. My darling?

“When did this happen?” Duncan asks, gesturing between them.

Veronica and Logan’s eyes lock. She keeps her mouth shut and nods to him. They don’t need to do that thing where they each burst forth with a contradictory reply. This might be a stupid ass idea but she will not be caught.

“About six months,” he answers. Perfect.

And now, armed with that fact, she can lie her ass of. “Remember how Lilly came to San Francisco for her final dress fitting? Well, Logan –“

“—I insisted I tag along to meet the one and only Veronica Mars.” He picks up the story with almost no effort and she wonders if being a writer makes him a natural con artist. “She was so beautiful that when we actually met all I could say was ‘hello.’”

Okay buddy. Maggie’s eyes narrow in suspicion even as she smiles. She’s smart enough to know they are, at the very least, leaving out details. But Duncan has the same stare he often wears and nods along like it makes perfect sense.

The music in the ballroom changes and Veronica hears the starting notes of an old Frank Sinatra tune. Logan’s hand immediately drops from her shoulder and he pulls her up and out of her chair before she has time to process much of anything.

“I’m sorry Dunc. Maggie it is so lovely to see you again, but they’re playing our song and it must be danced to.”

Veronica manages to toss a farewell wave over her shoulder and then they are on the dance floor, Logan’s hands on her waist and her arms wrapped around his neck.

“Did you really quote An Affair to Remember?” she asks. “MGM could sue you for copyright infringement.”

“Twentieth Century Fox, and it’d never go to court.” She smiles up at him in gratitude and takes a deep breath. As the song goes on she finds she quite likes swaying to the music with Logan. Enjoys even more the way he spins her around and then pulls her close like this isn’t the first time they’ve danced.

As the music continues, Logan occasionally sings some of the words from under his breath. Her cheeks flush in shame when she remembers she hasn’t actually apologized for the way they met.

She clears her throat. At the sound, his eyes (which she is fairly certain were focused on her lips) drift up to meet hers. Her heart’s pounding, and she doesn’t have an explanation for why except that she loathes apologizing.

“Yes?”

“About that first impression I made earlier in the night –“

“Bygones.” There’s no hesitation. No saying stop when he really means go on and tell me how sorry you are. He spins her out one more time and brings her back in. Her right hand lands so it’s directly above his heart and she leans into him. “Besides, that wasn’t my first impression of you.”

“Excuse me?”

“When I was in college, I went with Carrie to visit Lilly at Vassar. In her apartment she had this picture of the two of you from when you guys were in middle school. Lilly caught me looking at it and said ‘that’s Veronica Mars; she’s the best person I know.’ That was my first impression of you.”

She crushes the fabric of his button down in her fist, for some reason wanting to bring him closer. “She said that?”

He nods.

“And you remembered?”

He nods again. And this time she is definitely not imagining it when he looks at her lips.

The sound of brass and horns along with the lyrics ‘in other words / I love you’ blare through the speakers of the ballroom. There’s a moment of stillness as the song fades out and another starts to play. Veronica wants to press even closer to him and sway along to the pleasant melody but instead she takes a step back. At the same time, he drops his hands from her waist.

She reaches out a hand to flatten a wrinkle in his shirt. A crease she put there. She doesn’t understand where the impulse comes from, but she doesn’t analyze it.

“They’re going to cut the cake soon,” he says.

“We could dance one more?” It’s hesitant and unsure which are two words that rarely describe her. “If you wanted to.”

And he must hear the uncertainty, because before she has time to regret phrasing it as a question, he pulls her closer. “Good idea,” he murmurs. “Duncan could still be watching.”

It’s about when she hears Ray Charles sing ‘you're gonna love me like nobody's loved me’ that she peers over Logan’s shoulder. Lilly and Carrie are dancing only feet away.

She catches Lilly’s eye and her best-friend licks her top lip and winks like she can tell from how much Veronica’s enjoying herself. How much her pulse is racing and the way little butterflies have started to take flight as she and Logan dance. Veronica wouldn’t put it past Lilly to read how much she’s enjoying the scent of Logan’s cologne. Or the strength of his hands as he guides her around the dance floor.

She wonders if Lilly planned this and narrows her eyes at her friend. And maybe Lilly did because her dear friend whispers something in Carrie’s ear and suddenly Carrie is watching Logan and Veronica dance now.