Page 5 of Forgiving Her First Love

“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?”

“On the Storm Ridge.” It was one of the pair of tour boats that had been part of Tiffany’s Great Revitalization Plan. Poor Trys, who was a loner at heart, was now hosting tourists on five-day cruises.

“It’s booked to the gunwales and gone half the week so I can’t stay there with him,” Logan reminded her. “But Reid and Emma are taking her family on one of the tours so I’ll stay at the house with Storm while they’re gone. See? Once the math shakes out, I’ll be here for ten sleeps. Max.”

“Are they leaving Storm with you?” She pulled her bottom lip in a wide, Yikes.

“I thought we agreed to keep things civil.”

She rolled her eyes.

“I’m not cooking for you,” she stated. “I’m not picking up your socks and washing your underwear.”

She was accepting her fate was what she was doing. Damn it, Gramps.

“Buy your own groceries,” she added. “Don’t swear in front of Biyen. Don’t even think of getting between the two of us. Ever,” she warned in a dangerous voice. “And don’t get Gramps drunk. A beer at the end of the day is fine, but—”

“That was one time. I’ve barely had anything to drink myself since then.”

“That is not the story those flats of beer cans told when Biyen did his bottle drive for school last Saturday.”

“Those were Emma’s,” he lied shamelessly. Sophie knew Emma drank wine because they often polished a bottle between them. There wasn’t a lot to do here. Drinking was a popular hobby.

“I’m saying if you want to have a piss-up, do it elsewhere,” she warned. “This isn’t a party house.”

“Aye-aye, Cap’n. Anything else?”

“No shop talk. If you want my professional opinion, call me in and pay me for it. But not today. It’s my day off. And who is minding the hardware store if you’re here?”

“Trys. I’m going to give that kid a try, by the way. The one you said was looking for a summer job. But Trystan has Storm so I should get back. I’ll bring my stuff over Sunday.”

“Can’t wait,” she muttered, and stomped the shovel into the earth once more.

*

If there was one thing that revved Logan’s engine, it was a scantily clad woman wielding tools. Heavy gloves and a low-neck top; naked arms operating a hammer drill; safety goggles and a ponytail… They all did it for him. When a tanned, flexed calf muscle wore a smudge of dirt above a steel-toed boot, he was pretty much done. Cooked like Sunday dinner.

When it was Sophie? That got complicated real fast. She worked for him, among other reasons.

But she was objectively hot with a figure toned by physical labor. She twisted wrenches and carried propellers and machined drive shafts all day. She had the confidence to stare him down and she had so many freckles. When he looked at her kinky red hair, he always remembered the way it had caught in his combing fingers back when—

Don’t, he warned himself for the millionth time.

In fact, her grandfather had made it clear there would be no funny business on his watch.

You need a bed, you always have one under my roof, Art had said. But you aren’t sharing Sophie’s. Not unless she invites you, and you damned well better be fixing to stay there if that happens. I won’t have a repeat of eight years ago.

Had he meant Sophie getting pregnant? Logan didn’t intend to make any kids, ever. He wasn’t his father, willy-nilly with his willy. His resolve had been strengthened by these last weeks of caring for his little sister. Babies were a complete pain in the ass.

He pulled the door open on the hardware store and heard Storm let out a cry of genuine pain.

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