Sophie had meant the shiny new tour boats that also belonged to the resort, but the casual way he threw out “my own yacht” irritated her. She ought to be proud of him and his brothers. They were local boys who had done well. They’d grown up here with roughly the same start she’d had. Granted, Wilf had handed them a six-figure check to get them through school and on their way to building a life. She hadn’t had that leg up, but she could have had a very different life right now if she had made some smarter choices along the way.
Don’t, her inner mama bear warned. She would never regret Biyen and would never ever regret that her mother had lived long enough to hold her grandson. Still, Sophie had caught some really shitty breaks over the years while Logan had lived his best life after refusing to bring her into it.
Which was for the best, she insisted to herself. If a man wasn’t prepared to build a life with you, then the best thing to do was walk away from him. She’d learned that with Biyen’s father.
“I’ll still take my shifts with Storm,” Logan said.
“You guys are still doing that?” Days after they had arrived, Logan’s mother, Glenda, had come along with her nursing background and no-nonsense parenting. She had laid out a schedule for the men to look after their sister in twelve-hour rotations. As much as Emma wanted to be Storm’s mother, she had been hired as a nanny, so they could only rely on her for a standard forty hours a week.
“As my mother has made very clear”—Logan looked for his patience in the fluffy clouds overhead—“Emma marrying Reid does not miraculously give her more time in her day for childcare. I don’t mind,” he conceded with a twist of his lips. “The little turnip is growing on me.”
Storm was cute as a bow tie on a bunny, that was a true fact. Seeing one of these grown-ass men wandering around with her in a sling put a smile on faces all over the village, but Sophie was determined to remain impervious to whatever paternal instincts Logan was developing. They were transitory. He was transitory.
“Between Storm and work, I’ll only be here to sleep,” he pressed. “It’s only for a few weeks.”
“That’s what you said when you showed up here ten weeks ago! ‘It’s only for a week.’” She stomped the shovel back into the dirt.
“You think I don’t know that? Look.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “As much as I would love to fuck right off, I can’t. There’s a chance that Tiffany’s sister will show up and try to take custody of Storm.”
“What?” Sophie almost dropped the shovel altogether.
Logan gave a shrug-nod that said, Yeah, can you believe that shit?
“But Reid and Emma are adopting her.”
“Not until Em’s immigration papers are sorted. It’s a whole thing.” He sighed heavily. “Trys and I have agreed to stay the rest of the summer. We might need money for a court challenge so we have to get this place turning a profit, in case we need to sell it like that.” He snapped his fingers.
Sophie reflexively shoved aside that disturbing possibility. Wilf had been a wildcard of a boss, but he’d been the devil she knew, and he had said many times that this was his home and he intended to die here. Which he kind of had.
The threat of selling had been hanging over her head since the Fraser brothers had returned, though. She had pushed it onto a back burner, unwilling to stress about it until it happened.
“When did you learn this?”
“A few days ago.”
“How’s Emma?” Sophie tightened her grip on the shovel as she looked to the house on the hill again. Em had fallen hard for the baby she had been hired to nanny six months ago, back in January, before Wilf and Tiffany had died on the way to their elopement. When that happened, Emma’s first words to Sophie had been a fearful, What will happen to Storm? A custody challenge must be freaking her out.
“She’s handling it, now that she knows we’re all committed to keeping her and Storm, together. It’ll take time for everything to iron out, though. Meanwhile, I need a room.”
“Why here?” she demanded.
“For Christ’s sake, Sophie. Why are you making this such a big deal? This house is close to the marina and the baby. It’s convenient. You and I are adults and there are two other people here. Surely, we can get along for three weeks. I’ll pay rent,” Logan said with exasperation.
“I pay rent! I buy groceries and cook and clean for Gramps. Him. It’s his house, in case you didn’t know.”
“I do know. He’s the one who said I could stay. This is a courtesy call, not a request.”
Seriously, Gramps? Seriously?
She stabbed the shovel into the dirt and stomped on it. “I guess I could quit and leave. There’s a job in Comox I was thinking of applying for.”
“You’re not quitting,” he said tiredly. “You won’t leave Art. He won’t leave the island. You’re stuck here, same as me. Let’s both accept that and move on.”
“Oh, you’re very good at that, aren’t you?” she muttered.
“What?”
“Moving on.”
“Are you really saying that to me?”
They held a glower a little too long. Something squirmed in her stomach that was both culpable and defiant, burning hot and uncomfortably cold. There was a sting of shame, yet a dark pride in having provoked that small show of resentment from him.
But aside from antagonistic bickering, they didn’t talk about the past.
Boundaries. Good fences and all that.
He was supposed to stay on his side, though, in that house up on the hill, not in her freaking attic bedroom.
“How long is Emma’s family staying?” she asked begrudgingly.
“Three weeks,” he repeated.
“Is Reid likely to survive that?”
“It’ll be fun to watch and see.”
“Where is Trystan staying while they’re here?”
