“I will. Love you, Mom.”

“Love you, too, bud.” She gave him a hug and kissed the top of his head.

He started up the hill.

Sophie faltered as she realized Logan had waited and watched them. Maybe it was his holding the door for her that made her cheeks go pink with self-consciousness.

“Thanks,” she murmured, starting to walk through it.

Logan was being polite, not chivalrous, but now it felt weird.

Thankfully, Biyen called out to him.

“Hey, Logan!”

They both stepped back outside to look up to where Biyen stood on the road going up the hill.

“Remember that time you barfed by that tree?” Biyen pointed.

Sophie made a choking noise in her throat.

Awesome.

“I do. What about it?” Logan asked.

“I don’t know. I just remembered.” He shrugged. “Can I play with Imogen and Cooper after school?”

“I’ll check with Emma. I’m sure they’d like that,” Sophie said.

“Okay. Bye!” He finished running up the hill.

“You barfed by that tree?” Sophie smirked as she walked past him.

“The day after we got here. I guess my mother was right. A first impression is a lasting one.” He followed her up the stairs.

“When has Glenda ever been wrong?”

“Just the one time, when she agreed to let Wilf Fraser buy her a drink.”

Sophie snorted and took her coveralls off the hook by the door, carrying them into the office. She gave them a shake, then stepped into them. Rather than push her arms into the sleeves, she tied them around her waist, leaving the heavy cotton bagging around her hips while she pulled off her sneakers and stepped into her work boots.

Don’t ogle. He forced himself to start the pot of coffee they would nurse the rest of the day.

“I’m going to try to get these invoices entered before the phone starts to ring.” Sophie stood in front of the desk they shared, absently holding the bronze water pump that had weighed down a red folder. Wilf had been old school, still doing everything with hard copies. Logan had insisted they move everything online, but some of their vendors were being slow to transition.

Fuck, she was cute right now with her coveralls hanging like hip waders off the indent of her waist. Her beige bra strap was showing on one side from beneath her green tank top. Her hair was up in its tangle, like a snag of red gill net, and her mouth pouted in concentration while she read a note left by accounting.

“Did you see—What?” She caught him staring.

“Nothing.” He looked at the coffeemaker, an old drip thing full of limescale. “This should have been replaced ten years ago. Are these barnacles?”

“That’s what gives the coffee its unique, chewy texture. I don’t actually drink anything that comes out of it. I’ve been wondering why you do.”

“Death wish, obviously.” Storm, was the real answer. Between his nights with her and various worries over her future, this business, and his own, he had lost a lot of sleep in the last two months. “Art always had a pot going. I thought that’s what we still did.”

“Yeah, he’s not allowed to drink that much coffee anymore. Thank you, by the way, for asking him to work at the store. Even if he decides not to do it, it’s nice for him to feel needed. Losing your dad hit him really hard.”

A cold, hollow sensation scraped behind Logan’s sternum. He pivoted away from it and poured the first cup of what was truly rancid coffee.

“Is his health okay?” He was thinking of her diligence in making sure Art took his many pills.

“If he went to the doctor, I could answer that,” she said with exasperation. “He’s eighty-four. Every time he goes, they tell him something else needs watching. Blood pressure, thyroid, cholesterol, blood sugar….” She shrugged. “He gets bummed about his limitations. Hopefully, being in the store gives him a sense of purpose. I kind of wish I’d thought of it, to be honest.” She circled her desk and tapped to wake up her computer, then pulled the folder closer. “Did you see the fuel surcharge on this one?” She waved an invoice at him. “High seas piracy.”

They were done with personal talk, Logan surmised.

“Lemme see.” He took it and sipped his coffee, then spit it back into his cup. “I can’t do it. I’m going to the coffee shop for a red eye. You want one?”

“No, thanks.”

By the time he got back, she’d been called down to a charter yacht with an oil leak.

*

It was a typical Monday where everything went sideways and time disappeared before Sophie knew where it had gone. She briefly saw Gramps in the store, when she stopped in for a part. Otherwise, she’d been run off her feet all day with repairs, big and small.

By the time she climbed the stairs to the marina office again, planning to sit down at her desk and finish those invoices, Biyen was there, talking to Logan. He was at the desk working through the invoices himself. Or trying to.

“Some dinosaurs lived for three hundred years,” Biyen informed him.

“You’re fibbing me.”

“No. It’s in my book. I’ll show you when we get home.”

“You sure love dinosaurs. Why is that?”

“That’s a good question.” Biyen pinched his chin as he deliberated. “I don’t think I’ve ever thought about it.”

Logan looked at Sophie, expression bemused.

Biyen provoked that reaction a lot. Some people called kids like him an old soul, but Sophie liked to think he was just a bright kid who hadn’t been devastated by life yet. He led with his heart because it hadn’t been broken.

“Hi, Mom. Did you ask Emma?” were the first words out of his mouth.

“Rats. I forgot.” She came to the desk, hit the button for speakerphone, then the speed dial button labeled WILF HOME.

“G’day,” Emma answered after one ring.

“It’s me. Biyen is wondering if the kids want to play?”