Page 29 of Mine

“No, don’t change it. I really do love it.” She keeps her focus on the laptop, her smile never fading away.

“Okay. I’ll send it over to you then.” I close out the file and open a blank email. After sending her the email, I check my phone and find a text from Logan.

Logan: I thought we could start building you a new office today.

Below his text is a picture of our yard, where once laid the pile of old, weathered planks of wood. The spot of grass is empty, a stack of new wood laid out beside it.

“Hey,” Abby says, bringing my attention back to her. “Do you want to grab some lunch? I heard there’s this great taco truck out in the park not too far from here.”

“I’m sorry.” I frown. “I think I’m just going to grab something small from home.”

“Oh, okay.” Abby’s eyes move to my phone, finding the open text from Logan. “How about tomorrow?”

“I have a meeting with a new client out in Tacoma.” I’d nearly forgotten the appointment I’d made a few weeks back until the client had messaged me yesterday, ensuring we were still able to meet.

Abby’s frown deepens. I place my hand on her arm. “But maybe we can meet up later this week? Logan’s working a ton of closing shifts so we can do a dinner and movie at my house if you want.”

“Sure.” Abby nods, pressing her red lips into a thin line.

She’s upset with me, but I still can’t shake the conversation we had this morning. Not only did I want some space from Abby to think, I wanted to see Logan.

We hadn’t talked since last night and I needed to see where we stood. I took the wood as a good sign.

* * *

I stoppedby a drive-thru coffee shop on my way home. The caffeine had removed some of the fatigue I’d felt this morning, giving me another few hours of energy to deal with whatever was going on between me and Logan.

By the time I get home, I find Logan outside in the back yard. I set the alarm by the front door and walk out back to meet him.

He’s standing in front of the empty patch of grass, his hands perched on his hips. His eyes narrow as he studies the four pieces of wood he’s laid out in a square, creating the base for the frame.

“Do you think this would be a good size space?” He tilts his head in my direction but keeps his focus on the wood. He’s wearing torn jeans and a red plaid shirt, the long sleeves rolled halfway up his arms, showcasing the tense muscles underneath them. His long hair is tied back, and his beard has already grown out noticeably longer than it was yesterday. He looks like he should be on the cover of a lumberjack magazine. I savor this image of him, knowing he’ll most likely have to trim his beard before he goes into work tonight.

I look down at the four pieces of wood, imagining what it would look like with walls. I step over one of the planks, standing in the middle. I spin in a circle and stop in front of Logan. A small smile ghosts his lips.

I shrug. “Seems big enough to me.”

“Good.” Logan nods once then bends over to pick up another plank of wood. I step out of the square and sit in one of the patio chairs. I lift my feet and rest them on the edge of the seat, pressing my knees to my chest, watching Logan as he works.

He grabs a nail and holds it against the wood, lifting his hammer in the air. He stops and glances over his shoulder.

“How was your meeting with Abby?”

“It was okay,” I mutter. I rest my chin on my knee, feeling my eyes growing heavier against the midday sun.

“Did you talk to her about last night?”

I wait to answer him until he finishes putting in the first nail. His knees are bent, resting on the grass. He scoots over, starting in on the next corner.

“We talked about it.” I sigh. “I don’t know, Logan. She acted as if she had no clue what telling that story might do to me.”

He looks up, resting his arm on his best knee. “Really?”

I shake my head and rest it on my knee, staring at him sideways. “I don’t understand. We used to be so close. We were there for each other all through college. She let me stay with her when you were in the hospital. I just feel like we’re on two different wavelengths.” I close my eyes, letting the warm sun soak into my skin. “I'm probably not making any sense.”

Logan hammers in another nail, the sound of metal meeting wood piercing my ears. “No, it makes perfect sense,” he says. “It just means you’ve both changed. A lot has happened this past year. I don’t think any of us are the same.”

I open my eyes as Logan lifts the bottom of his shirt, wiping the film of sweat from his forehead. Stray pieces of hair fall from his low bun, framing his face. He pushes them back and continues working.

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