Page 27 of A Good Egg

I'd barely fastened the last button on my shirt when the barn door swung wide. Piper entered first, balancing coffee cups, with Gram and Carter close behind.

"Cavalry's here!" Piper announced, then froze mid-step, her gaze darting between us, taking in our rumpled appearance and the disheveled nest of tablecloths. A delighted grin spread across her face. "Though I see you found... alternative assistance during the crisis."

Heat climbed my neck as Gram's perceptive gaze swept over us. Her expression revealed nothing beyond a slight arch of her silver eyebrows and a cryptic, "Nature finds interesting ways to weather storms."

Carter, mercifully oblivious or tactfully silent, inspected our emergency roof repairs. "Decent patching job considering the conditions," he commented, running weathered hands along the secured tarp. "Held better than I expected."

"Logan's handiwork," I explained, grateful for the subject change. "He climbed up during the worst of it."

Carter regarded Logan with newfound respect. "Takes guts to scale a roof in a gale."

"It needed doing," Logan replied simply, though something in his tone suggested he was touched by the unexpected praise.

More vehicles arrived in quick succession—neighbors and friends from throughout Starlight Bay, armed with tools, supplies, and determined goodwill. Several regular customers from Bayhouse Beans brought fresh coffee and pastries. Mr. Phillips from the hardware store arrived with his teenage sons, hauling lumber and roofing materials. Even my former highschool classmates appeared, ready to help with cleanup and repairs.

The barn transformed into a hub of activity, the community's response to crisis swift and resolute. I moved among the volunteers, organizing efforts and expressing gratitude, occasionally catching Logan's eye across the space. He'd shed all traces of professional aloofness, working alongside locals with ease, his sleeves pushed up and hands dirty with honest labor.

Around midday, Gram cornered me by the refreshment table, her voice pitched low. "That boy looks at you differently now."

I busied myself arranging bagels, avoiding her all-too-perceptive gaze. "We worked through a crisis together. Bonds form."

"Some bonds more intimate than others," she observed, her tone neutral but knowing.

My cheeks heated as I glanced toward Logan again, who was helping Carter measure replacement flooring. The practiced polish of a man accustomed to wheeling and dealing had vanished entirely, replaced by something far more authentic and appealing—a man engaged in purposeful work, moving in tandem with others with unconscious grace.

"Just guard your heart until you're certain his actions match his words," Gram advised, squeezing my hand before moving to direct a new group of volunteers.

Logan approached moments later, car keys in hand. "I need to get fresh clothes and pick up additional supplies. Back in an hour?"

I nodded, trying to ignore how his fleeting touch on my arm sent warmth cascading through me.

After his departure, Piper materialized at my elbow, her expression mischievous. "So the developer finally... developed feelings?"

"Don't start," I warned, though I felt the corners of my lips lifting.

"Girl, I haven't seen that much electricity between two people since the power station blew during the '98 nor'easter." Her expression softened. "But seriously—you doing okay?”

"I don't know what I'm doing," I admitted, the confession easier with Piper than with anyone else. "Twenty-four hours ago, he represented everything threatening my family's legacy. Now..."

"Now you've seen another side of him. Possibly several sides," she added with a wink. "Just take it one day at a time. The heart's renovation project can be as challenging as this barn's."

True to his word, Logan returned within the hour, transformed by fresh attire yet still seeming—at least to me--fundamentally different from when he’d first arrived in Starlight Bay. He brought not just the promised supplies but even more materials than we’d requested. Once the volunteers began organizing his contributions, he approached me, his expression unusually hesitant.

"Can we talk privately?"

I led him to the small office alcove we'd created, where ledgers and café plans now shared space with emergency lanterns. The confined area brought us unavoidably close, his scent—clean laundry and expensive cologne—mingling with the earthy aftermath of rain and repair work.

"I called Victor this morning," he stated without preamble. "I've officially recused myself from the O'Malley acquisition."

My breath caught. "What happened?"

"He expressed his displeasure in colorful terms," Logan replied, a wry twist to his mouth. "I've been given until Tuesday to 'rectify my lapse in judgment' or face termination."

"You can't jeopardize your career over this," I protested, alarmed despite myself.

"I'm not jeopardizing it—I'm evolving it." His gaze held steady. "I've proposed establishing a division focused on heritage preservation and adaptive reuse rather than demolition and new construction. Projects that honor a community's history while ensuring economic viability."

I studied him, seeking any hint of the calculated manipulator I'd first encountered. "Your firm will approve such a dramatic shift?"

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