Page 25 of Auctioned to the Lumberjacks (Auctioned)

"Yeah, she’s making us pancakes. Then we're all going back into the barn after breakfast to carry on setting up the studio. I need help with some of the carpentry."

Both men carry on dragging the wood into the barn, ignoring my comment, but at least they can think about my plan as I go inside to give Skye the box of groceries and show her where its contents live.

Inside, the sweet smell of the pancakes fills the entire kitchen. I drop the box next to Skye and take out packets, rummaging around for the berries. She has already set the table perfectly.

"Leave it to me, Finn. I'll get it all unpacked." Our eyes connect again; so much is unreadable in her expression.

She urges me to sit, and I feel a stirring of optimism. Through the window, I watch Jack and West tear off their waterproofs and sling them over the railing, discarding their boots at the porch door with a rumble that makes Skye startle.

They pull up seats at the table, and Skye approaches, balancing a huge plate piled high with steaming pancakes and presents it to us. I pray West doesn't ask for bacon or sausages, but thankfully he doesn't. We all immediately dig in, slathering the pancakes in syrup as she pours steaming cups of coffee.

Our bachelor pad is suddenly very homey and domesticated.

"So, what do you need to do over in the studio, Finn?"

Skye twists to listen to my answer to West's question.

"Lift and carry the materials and make some workbenches. Lacquer and varnish."

"Finn here considers himself an artist. He wants to turn the small barn into a 'studio.'” Jack uses his fingers to quote around the word studio, and Skye's eyes widen with surprise. It's the most he's said that hasn't involved him being pissed at someone.

"I started back in the spring, but we were sweating our bollocks off over the summer, so it all ground to a halt. I thought now would be a good time to get it all back on track so you can use it, too." I point at Skye with my fork.

She swallows a lump of pancake as if it is a rock stuck in her throat. She puts down her fork and blinks awkwardly.Is she about to cry? "Wh…" That is all she manages to say before standing abruptly and gathering the plates.

I don't offer to help this time because Jack is finally behaving normally, and I don't want to poke the angry bear.

Jack is focused on what's left of his pancakes, and West is gazing at Skye's bare legs like a hungry dog. There is no sign of her ass on show, but I’m pretty sure I know what he's thinking.

"Let's start at ten."

Jack shrugs, his lack of enthusiasm unsurprising, but he doesn't say no, so that's something.

The rain has stopped by the time we all reassemble, and the sun attempts to break through the clouds. I ask West to move the damp kindle wood into the storage area at the back of the barn to dry, and to collect the boxes of flat-pack units I ordered for workbenches and storage closets. As I open the box, slicing through the packaging and releasing the fresh smell of new materials, I sense Jack's urge to say something. His foot is tapping vigorously on the concrete floor, and he cuts in.

"I would have built you some units and benches."

"Yeah, I know, man. But you're busy at the yard. I didn't want to pile on any pressure. This is easier. I just need you to put it together properly. I've already started and not done the best job." I eye the half-built units and shrug. "They look like they've been assembled by a blind woodsman. Maybe West and Skye can lacquer?"

I look over at Skye, who has found my box of brushes and palettes. She cradles each item delicately between her fingers, mesmerized. She brings a brush to her nose and sniffs gently, closing her eyes and taking in its scent. She grazes the soft bristles of the brushes gently over her hands and cheeks, lost in thought. I wonder what memories she's recalling and whether they're happy or sad.

She’s wearing tight-fitting jeans, which show off the curve of her thighs and ass, paired with a turtleneck sweater, clinging to her in all the right places. She's gonna get hot in here, and soare we with all that visual candy. West did well that first-night shopping for her.

"I want you to enjoy working here as much as I will," I say. "It'll keep you busy while we're at the yard." Looking up, Skye casts her questioning gaze between the three of us.

Her lips part, but she clamps them back together, turning away quickly.

Jack busies himself by lining up planks and screws, muttering obscenities under his breath, and West returns to lugging things about. I pass Skye the lacquer to apply to the units I finished in the spring. There is a purposeful atmosphere that feels like progress.

She accepts the brush and eyes the lacquer warily. "Can you show me?"

I demonstrate what I need her to do, and she observes and copies. I stay close, conscious that she's building her confidence around us. After five minutes, I'm about to leave when she says, "It's been a while since anyone did anything thoughtful for me…not since my parents, since…" Her voice trails off, and she lowers her gaze to the surface before her.

"This has been planned for a while. I just thought it would be something you'd enjoy, too."

She smiles shyly.

Conscious that we're making some group progress, I try to involve Jack. "Maybe Jack can show you how to carve wood."

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