“I have a solution for that.” She waved at the desk. “We have these things called telephones. They’re a primitive technology, but they still work in a pinch.”
“So you don’t mind walking upstairs every time I call and tell you I need to talk to you?”
She walked up and down those stairs a thousand times a day, but point taken. She would kill him if he called her more than once a week.
“What did you have in mind?” She glanced around. “Taking out that coffee shelf isn’t going to give you much room for your own desk.”
“No, but there’s a supply closet on the other side of that wall. It’s for all those reams of paper no one uses anymore.”
“And a photocopier that’s been broken for years.”
“It doesn’t even work?”
“The fax machine part does.”
“That’s useful,” he snorted.
“There’s a recycle place in Bella Bella. I’ve been suggesting for ages that it would make a good school fundraiser for the company to cover the cost of shipping a pallet over. No one wants to pack their old TV across on the seabus, but they’ll pay a few bucks to add it to a pile of electronics that’s already going.”
“That’s a good idea. Make it happen.”
“Awesome.” She had a broken VCR she’d been trying to get out of the house for years. She turned back to finish logging her hours.
He stretched out his arms in a rough measure of six feet.
“I am compelled to point out”—she spun around again—“if your goal is to add expense to the restoration, an office reno definitely nails it.”
“As always, I appreciate your input.” He didn’t look appreciative.
“Well, it seems like a lot of effort unless you’re planning to stick around longer than the end of summer?” Why did that thought unfurl such a sense of promise inside her?
“It’s a workspace, not a homestead.” He pulled the tacks from the corners of the map and started rolling it.
“What’s really eating you?” she asked.
“I need a space that’s mine.” He set the map aside. “I’m leaving your place at the end of the week to go back to a room that wasn’t even mine when I was a kid.”
He retrieved the sledgehammer she used as a doorstop.
“Logan! You have to warn accounting. You’ll scare the hell out them if you crash through that wall like the Kool-Aid guy. You’re not even wearing your goggles. What if there’s electrical inside that wall? Safety first!”
He sent her a deadpan look as he lay the hammer in the middle of the floor, perpendicular to the wall. He stood and stretched out his arms, measuring a rough six feet again, then nudged the hammer a little farther, providing a sense of how far a wall might come out.
“Oh.”
“What do you think? We could put a wall here to separate my desk from yours and a door here. That computer goes into the nook it creates over there.”
“I can see it.” They discussed a few other fine points.
“There’s a window from Dad’s we could reuse. That would give me some natural light and a sense of space. Also, neither of us would have to get up when we need to talk.”
“You could pass me the good coffee from the break room, like I’m at a drive-thru window,” she said brightly. “But back up there, slick. ‘We’?”
“What else are you doing while Biyen’s away this weekend? You already told Randy you’d be on call. If I’m paying you for that, I might as well put you to work.”
“Being on call is a flat two hours. You know I get overtime if I do actual work,” she reminded him.
“I will pay you straight time and you can bank the hours to take as paid time off later.”
The yard work was mostly caught up, thanks to Logan and Trystan pitching in. What would she do all weekend?
“Deal,” she agreed, telling herself it was about the money and had nothing to do with seeing more of Logan.
*
Logan was some kind of masochist. First thing Thursday morning, he started working alongside Sophie in the close confines of the supply closet.
Randy was handling any urgent repairs down at the wharf. Sophie had caught up the paperwork backlog yesterday while Logan and Reid had carried out the broken photocopier. Accounting had finished sorting the boxes of records that had been stored in here, sending most of it to shredding, so the shelves were empty.
Sophie was suited up in goggles and her steel-toed work boots with a snug T-shirt and baggy cargo shorts. Her arms and legs held a hint of toasted gold beneath her all-over freckles. Her hair was a skein of autumn-red twine.
She used a cordless drill to begin pulling screws from the brackets that held the shelves and Logan nearly swallowed his tongue.
“What?” she asked when he stood there like a tool.
“Nothing.” He took the first shelf she freed and started a stack in the hallway.
By the time she was on the floor on her back, reaching under the lowest shelf, with one knee crooked and a light sheen of sweat sitting on her skin, he was biting back a groan of pure lust.
“You guys are making way too much noise.” Reid came to the doorway, gaze landing with amusement on Sophie. “Did you pull the short straw, Soph?”
“Logan’s afraid to get his clothes dirty.”
“Yeah, he’s—What?” Reid frowned.
Logan tried to erase whatever atavistic snarl had taken over his expression.
“Nothing. I said we’d get it done by Monday. That means starting today.” He shifted to block Reid’s view of Sophie’s legs and felt about fourteen years old as he did it.
“I know.” Reid was wearing his What the fuck is wrong with you? face. For once, Logan probably deserved it. “I told everyone to leave early and work from home tomorrow so they don’t have to listen to this.”
“What time is it?” Sophie sat up.
“Ten thirty.” Reid shifted so he could see her. “I’m heading home to help Emma get everyone packed and ready to go.”
“You probably wanted to spend the morning with Biyen,” Logan realized. “Why didn’t you say?”
“He was tying flies with Nolan. I’ll take this last shelf out, then head home, not that he could care less whether he sees me. He was packed before bed last night and is bouncing off the walls for this trip. Good luck, pal,” she said to Reid.
