I hadn’t even told Logan about them. How could I tell her first over him? If I couldn’t tell my own husband that Julian had reappeared, there was no way I could tell Abby.
“What about Julian?” Abby asks. Her eyes are narrowed once again, only now they’re slightly softer than they were before. She reaches across the desk, placing her hand over mine.
“Nothing.” I shake my head and slide my hand out from under hers, picking at the donut once again. Frosting lands on the tip of my finger. “Forget it.”
“Is everything okay, Lena?” Abby tilts her head to the side, examining me. I look back at her and wonder how we got here. Not necessarily here, in an old musty office building, munching on donuts. I mean in our friendship. It wasn’t long ago when I’d sat next to her in my economics class sophomore year.
“I’m good.” The reassuring smile I give Abby takes more energy than I can give. Still leaving the donut untouched, I slide my laptop out of my bag, hoping to place my mind elsewhere.
I wanted to tell Abby about the not so anonymous emails I’d been receiving. I wanted to talk with her about my suspicions with Logan and Natalie. I knew it would make me feel better, that I wasn’t the only one harboring these secrets. But as I sit with Abby ready to go over the logo I had designed for her business, I realized I would have to keep these secrets for myself.
Opening my laptop to my design file, Abby slides her chair around the desk, pulling it up alongside me. She crosses her legs, pressing her knee up against my thigh and resting her arm on the desk. She’s leaning over, turning herself more in my direction than my laptop. I turn it, moving it to give her a better view.
I click to open the design and Abby’s mouth drops open. “I love it, Lena. It’s perfect.”
“You really do?”
Abby nods her head up and down furiously, her grin spread wide, stretching out her blushed cheeks.
“I wanted to play on your initials.” I point to the screen and move my finger across the lines. “The ‘A’ and the ‘C’ are interconnected. If you don’t like the colors, we can play around with it a bit more. I just figured a deep purple suited your personality but still came across professional.”
“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 stopped by 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
