Chapter Five
L ogan was not a nostalgic person, especially for his childhood, but there was something quaint and familiar in the morning scramble in the Hughes-Marshall household. Socks had to be located and a sack lunch prepared. There was yelling up and down the stair well and the smell of burnt toast and Art sitting in his chair, watching the morning news with the volume a little too high.
“Did you take your morning pill?” Sophie asked as she brought Art a cup of coffee.
“I did,” he assured her.
Logan noticed she checked the dispenser on the shelf over the coffeemaker anyway.
“Leave the dishes, Logan,” Art urged him. “I’ll do them before I come to the store. You all get going or the boy’ll be late for school.”
Logan turned off the water, suspecting Art was looking forward to peace and quiet.
The house was only a little farther from the marina than the one Logan had grown up in. He walked with Sophie and Biyen down the long driveway to the lane that led past the bottom of his own driveway and across the grounds of the resort—what they all called the village—past the pub and around to the boatyard and the side entrance to the marina building.
Logan imagined the walk felt longer in the rain, but this morning the sky was bright with the promise of a fine summer day. The air smelled like salt and school almost out and long days in the marina about to start. That, too, had an odd sort of appeal.
Biyen chattered the whole way, telling him dinosaur facts and a story about his friend’s little sister who put a crayon up her nose.
“Color me surprised,” Logan said.
It went over Biyen’s head, but Sophie sent him a look of mild admonishment for the pun.
“They had to go to the clinic in Bella Bella to get it removed,” Biyen continued. “So then we all had to come back the next weekend for JayJay’s birthday party again .”
“The lesson I’m getting from that is not to have a little sister. Sheesh, buddy, you could have warned me before I got one for myself,” Logan said.
“Now you know, though. Pro. Tip.” Biyen tapped his nose.
Who the hell was this kid, saying hilarious shit like that? Logan shook his head in amusement and reached for the door to the stairs that led up to the marina office.
“Have fun at school today,” Logan told him.
“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 W ILF H OME .
“G’day,” Emma answered after one ring.
“It’s me. Biyen is wondering if the kids want to play?”
“They’ve been asking about him all day. Send him over.”
“He just got off school. He hasn’t had a snack.”
“I’ll start a box of mac and cheese.”
“You’re a lifesaver.”
“No worries.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Biyen dumped his backpack on the floor and ran down the stairs.
“I’ll take that home myself, then?” she said to the door he’d left open.
She didn’t mind too much. She worked a lot in the summer and felt less guilty about it when Biyen was playing with friends. Also, he hadn’t eaten his apple. She washed it along with her hands and crunched into it.
While she ate, she perched on the stool by the other computer and began filling out work orders, matching her hours to vessel names and registrations so accounting could bill for them.
“Busy day?” Logan asked.
“Mm. I should tell you about this one nugget…” She spun on the stool. “Since he might complain. He called me down first thing with low oil pressure. I pretended we didn’t have the part on hand because he was solidly drunk. He reeked and could barely stand upright. I said he’d have to wait for it to come in tomorrow, but he staggered up here and of course Kenneth sold it to him. Gramps wasn’t there yet. Anyway, he tried to install it himself and made it worse.”
“’Course.” Logan nodded.
“So I genuinely did have to machine something at that point. I kept it under a hundred dollars, but he was super pissed. I left him trying to install it and warned the dock master that he shouldn’t be piloting anything until he sobers up, but…” She shrugged. It was the coast guard’s job to fine him if he was drunk on the water, not hers.
“See, I thought I had won Prick of the Day with a contractor who literally told me to fuck myself.”
“You hear that so often, you think it’s a term of endearment,” she scoffed, then couldn’t help continuing the joke. “Seriously, if you think that earns you a beer, I owe you one for every day you’ve been back. I say it all the time. Usually under my breath, but still.”
“Are you vying for Employee of the Month?” he asked, cocking his head and narrowing his eyes in suspicion.
“Ooh, why have we never had that?” she asked with excited discovery.
Prick of the Day was a longstanding tradition. Wilf had often bought a beer for whichever employee had the worst run in with a snotty tourist or grumpy fisherman. As far as Sophie could figure, it had been Wilf’s attempt to get someone to buy him a beer, but it had also been a way to let off steam and bond with other marina and resort staff while venting a crummy experience.
It wasn’t always a customer or tourist who ruined your day, though.
“Did you know there was a woman working in the grocery store last year who was drinking from the bottles of liquor behind the counter? She topped them up with water, then sold them. She never did it to locals, but someone called from Alaska to say they’d just opened a bottle of gin that was pure water. She’s the employee to beat. I don’t think I can do it, sadly.”
“Come on, Soph,” Logan chided. “I believe in you. Apply yourself.”
“Don’t tempt me.” The saucy phrase turned their easy banter into something more like flirting. Which made her blush so she shut up and spun back to the computer and got back to billing out her day. She thought she could feel Logan continuing to watch her, but she ignored him.
When she started to unlace her boots, Logan closed the folder of invoices.
“Pub, then?”
“No, thanks.” She waved off his offer. “I have too much to do.”
“I’m bringing beer home, anyway. You can have one there, when your day is done.” He worked an elastic band around the folder.
“You’re funny. My day is never done. But you don’t have to get beer.” She skimmed out of her coveralls and shook them, then stepped outside the door to hang them. “I bought some and gave it to Gramps to take home in his Gator.” She came back to put on her shoes.
“Why?” Logan looked up from pushing his chair into place under the desk. He was ridiculously tidy. “I said I’d do it.”
“You might have forgotten. Gramps likes to have one before dinner so…” She shrugged. “Buy some more. It doesn’t go bad. Not at the rate you drink it.”
“Are you serious? You didn’t trust me to buy beer ?”
“Oh my God, Logan. Are you serious?” His affront lit her temper. “I’m not three men and a nanny looking after one baby. Between work, Biyen, and Gramps, I’m going flat out at all times. I don’t have the luxury of trusting that someone else is doing anything. If it needs doing, I do it. It’s done. Happy day for you. Go home and have a cold one.”
“Wow.” His head had recoiled at her outburst. “You really do owe me a lot of beer.”
She pinched her mouth flat, refusing to take back that diss against him and his brothers. She hooked Biyen’s backpack over her shoulder and looked around for anything else she had to do before she left.
“I’ll make dinner,” Logan offered. “What else can I help with tonight?”
“I wasn’t complaining. I was stating a fact.”
“Sophie—”
“Fine. Look at the fan in the bathroom if you want to. It sounds like it has a bent blade. Gramps will get on a chair and try to pull it down himself if he notices so I can’t leave it, but I have to water the garden, get gas for the lawnmower, and mow; otherwise Gramps gets hay fever. Then I have to shower and check the delivery on Biyen’s birthday present. Also, I was supposed to reorder one of Gramps’s prescriptions today and forgot, damn it. Let me make a note of that.”
She came to the desk and found the sticky notes in the drawer. She scrawled the reminder and stuck it to the black screen of the monitor.
The phone rang.
Fuck. This was how her life had been going even before Wilf died, but she was only one person.
Logan snatched up the receiver.
“Hi, Kenneth.” He listened. “Uh-huh. Yeah. No, she’s gone for the day.” He jerked his head at her, telling her to leave. “I’ll come down.” He hung up. “The drunk says you’re a shitty mechanic, but also, he made it worse.”
“Shocking,” she muttered and headed for her coveralls.
“I’m going.”
“You don’t have to. But if you could call Emma and tell her to send Biyen home—”
“Sophie. Go. I’ll make sure his boat stays tied up.”
“Really?” She kind of hated him more when he wasn’t being an asshole than when he was. “Thank you.”