Page 76 of Tattered (Lark Cove 1)

I ran my hand over one of the beer cans that I’d washed and was drying on my worktable. “Those get made into sparrows.”

“Sparrows?”

I nodded and went to a drawer by his side, pulling out a couple of the birds I’d made recently.

The sparrows were small, about three inches from wing tip to wing tip. Each was different, depending on the type of can I used. And each was posed in flight, though they all varied.

“I make a bunch of sparrows from aluminum cans and then attach pins so they can be stuck into the wall. Usually I sell them in sets of fifteen or twenty so people can arrange them into wall pieces.”

He studied the two birds in his hands. “These are amazing. How’d you come up with it?”

“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “I saw something similar but with ceramic butterflies at a fancy home decor store in Kalispell. They were all strung into a mobile for a baby’s room, but I thought a wall piece could be neat. It took me forever to figure out the designs. The wings are easy, but the body and head have to be bent just right. And aluminum is a bitch to work with. I had to wash blood off the first hundred I made because I kept cutting myself.”

Hazel had ordered me a case of Band-Aids.

He turned the bird over in his hand. “I love these.”

“Thanks.” I smiled, savoring a swell of pride. I’d always loved those tiny beer-can birds, even more now that Logan admired them too. “You can have those two.”

“Are you sure?”

I nodded. “Now that I have the pattern down, these are my easy project. I can crank out a half dozen on a good night. It’s what I do when I don’t feel like making anything new. It’s mindless, you know? And in the winter, I stock up. I’ll run out of beer cans from the beach in no time, but I just swipe the empties from the bar.”

“An unlimited supply.” He set the bird down and stepped closer. “Your talents are wasted at that bar, Thea.”

I shook my head. “This is just a hobby.”

“No, this is incredible. I’ve been to my fair share of art exhibits and you’ve got something a lot of artists don’t.”

“Trash?” I joked.

“My daughter tells me it’s not trash, but treasure.”

I smiled, falling into him so I could loop my hands around his waist and rest my cheek against his heart. “Today was fun.”

“It was.” He wrapped his arms around my back. “The best day I’ve had in weeks.”

I closed my eyes, taking a few deep breaths of Logan’s smell. He was still in his T-shirt from yesterday. It smelled of my conditioner from sleeping in it, but I could smell him on the cotton now too. It wasn’t the Armani-cologne Logan smell, but the real Logan smell. The one that was rich and spicy. The one he’d left on my pillow from last night.

The one I’d miss when he was gone.

Gone to the city. Gone to lose himself in work. Gone to be snatched up by a woman who was more suited for his lifestyle. She wouldn’t mind the long hours, constant calls and social commitments.

Logan needed a woman like the one he’d lost.

Emmeline.

He’d been right earlier when he pegged me as

jealous. Though not for the reason he thought. I didn’t care that Logan had been with other women. I didn’t like it, but I wasn’t naïve enough to think I was the only one.

I’d been jealous because Emmeline had actually stood a chance. She’d had a shot at marrying Logan and building a life and family with him. A shot I’d never have.

This thing with us was fleeting. I wasn’t going to move to the city. He couldn’t give up the career he’d worked hard to build. I didn’t blame him for that, but I was being realistic. Eventually, we’d drift apart to where our only connection would be Charlie.

So I hugged him tighter, pressing my body into his muscles, wanting to imprint his heat permanently before the time came and I had to let him go.

But not tonight or tomorrow or the next day.