Page 14 of Sugar & Shadows

Citing “controversy,” the state had pulled our permit to host the festival and given it to Birch Hollow.

The devastation would be widespread. The last year had been hard for all of us. Several local businesses were struggling and home values had gone down for the first time since they started keeping these records in the 1950s.

And it had happened on my watch.

Logan opened the door, his long hair pulled into a bun on the top of his head, and said “you look like shit” in greeting.

“You smell like shit,” I replied, nodding at the mat he used for stretching.

While his observation was figurative, mine was literal.

“Hey. I brought a life into this world,” he argued. “And you…” His lips quirked. “If Facebook is to be believed, you got hit with a taco in front of half the town.”

A deep laugh rumbled out of me.

He joined in. “I’m sleep deprived,” he said, rolling onto his back, still giggling. “What’s your excuse?”

I rubbed my eyes. “Same. And stressed.”

“Saw the Jeep in the driveway. I take it the rumor that Betsy totaled it isn’t true?”

“No,” I said. “Just a blown tire. I changed it. But the rim is dented.”

“Shit.”

I shook my head. “It’s fine. Within an hour, Frankie texted to tell me that she’d ordered a new one.”

He scoffed. “Frankie hates you.”

“She hates everyone, but she doesn’t hate cars.”

We stacked plates and started our workout, and for a while we mostly communicated through nods and grunts.

But Logan, despite his many good qualities, was a talker.

“Did you talk to Nolan?”

I finished my set and sat up on the bench. “About what?”

“Pressing charges, of course. Assault with a deadly taco.” Grinning, he snagged another set of dumbbells. “Ooh, or attempted manslaughter.” His face lit up. “Get it? Man-slaw-ter?” He fell into another fit of laughter.

Groaning, I gave him the finger. Then I focused on my next set.

“You know how much I love a good pun.” He was especially giggly today.

“Have you slept?” I asked.

Logan had a tendency to work for more than twenty-four hours straight and forget about basic human needs like eating and sleeping.

“Not yet. When we’re done, I’ll go home and inhale a six-egg omelet, then crash for a while.”

“Town meeting tonight,” I reminded him.

“Oh, I know.” His dark brows rose practically to his hairline. “I’ve gotten almost as many texts about it as I have about your taco assault shame. Was it really Sabrina Monroe?”

The name lit a spark inside me. One of irritation. Mostly. But there was another strange sensation flickering along with it. “Yes.”

He shook his head. “Haven’t laid eyes on her in probably fifteen years. How random.”