Page 25 of A Good Egg

For the next hour, we worked in tandem, positioning receptacles under new leaks, mopping where we could, moving vulnerable items to drier ground. It was futile work—for everyleak we contained, another seemed to spring forth—but we persisted with grim determination.

Maisie climbed the ladder again, attempting to secure the second tarp while I held it steady from below. Rain streamed through the damaged section of roof, soaking her completely as she struggled with the unwieldy material.

"This isn't working," I called up to her. "You're getting drenched for nothing."

"I'm not giving up," she replied through gritted teeth, her fingers fumbling with cold and fatigue.

"There's a difference between giving up and recognizing when to try a different approach."

"If you have a better idea, I'm all ears, Westbrook."

I did, in fact, have an idea—but it would require her to trust me, something I wasn't convinced she was ready to do. "We need to access the roof from outside. Secure the tarp from above, not below."

Her eyes widened. "In this storm? That's insane."

"So is watching everything you've built get destroyed because you're too stubborn to try something different."

Our eyes locked—challenge met with equal defiance. Then, to my surprise, she nodded, descending the ladder with water streaming from her clothes.

"There's a utility ladder in the side shed," she conceded. "And extra tarps."

The next twenty minutes were a blur of driving rain, howling wind, and precarious balance as we positioned ourselves on the barn's slick roof. Maisie proved surprisingly agile despite the dangerous conditions, scrambling across the wooden shingles with determination that bordered on recklessness. Together, we managed to secure heavy tarpsover the damaged sections, weighing them down with roofing supplies Carter had left behind.

By the time we climbed back down, we were both shivering, soaked to the skin, but triumphant in our small victory against the elements. The barn's interior was still damp and disheveled, but the worst of the deluge had been contained.

Maisie staggered slightly as we reentered through the side door, exhaustion evident in every line of her body. I caught her elbow, steadying her.

"You need to get dry," I said, noting the blue tinge to her lips. "You're freezing."

"I'm f-fine," she protested, though her chattering teeth betrayed her.

"Hypothermia isn't on the café's opening menu." I glanced around, spotting a stack of clean dish towels on a shelf. "Here, at least dry your hair."

She accepted the towel, rubbing it vigorously over her auburn strands while I did the same with another. We stood in the middle of the storm-battered café, water pooling at our feet, the absurdity of our situation suddenly striking me.

"What?" she asked, catching my expression.

"Just thinking how different this is from my usual property acquisitions," I admitted with a wry smile. "Typically involves fewer near-death experiences on rooftops."

A reluctant laugh escaped her. "Is that what this was? A very hands-on assessment?"

"If it was, I'd have to report that the roof needs a bit more work." I wrung water from my shirt sleeve.

Something shifted in her expression. "If the barn were damaged beyond repair, it would only strengthen your position."

"Somewhere between our first argument and tonight, my position changed." I took a step closer to her. "I don't want to see you fail, Maisie. I want to see what happens when someone fights this hard for something they believe in."

Her blue eyes searched mine, looking for deception, for the cold calculation she expected to find. "I don't understand you."

"That makes two of us." I attempted a smile. "I’m afraid I’ve met someone whose entire worldview challenges everything I thought I knew."

A droplet of water traced its way down her cheek, and without thinking, I reached to brush it away. The simple contact sparked something electric between us. Her breath caught, and suddenly we were standing far too close for professional propriety, drawn together by forces that had nothing to do with business transactions.

"Logan," she whispered, my name a question and warning combined.

"Tell me to stop," I murmured, giving her the power to end this moment before it began.

Instead, she closed the distance between us, her lips finding mine with an intensity that answered every unspoken question. The kiss deepened instantly, and I felt years of shored-up walls crumbling in seconds.

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