I picked up a box the size of my head and threw it at him. It died and landed at his feet. “That’s what you get.”
Logan chortled and picked up the box, chucking it back at me. His throw would’ve done some damage if I hadn’t dodged.
“What about kissing?” He asked, lobbing another box my direction.
“Hard pass.”
“Second base?”
“You play hockey. No need for bases.” I ducked behind a pillar and kicked a box at his head. Logan caught it, but barely.
“Perfect. So straight to the net, eh?”
“Ugh. You would.” I pressed myself flat behind the pillar, but when nothing flew past after a few seconds, I braved a look. Thatended with me screaming and stumbling back because Logan was inches in front of my face with a box in his hands.
“Shit! Crystal, what—” Logan dropped the box and lunged after me, grabbing my arm before I fell completely on my ass.
When I found my footing, I smacked him in the chest. “You scared the crap out of me!”
“Ow! You started it!” Logan tugged on my arm, pulling me close and giving me a nougie.
“Logan!” I pressed my fingers into his sides to get free, but that only made him squeeze tighter, locking my arms to my sides while I laughed until I could barely breathe. “Logan, I’m going to pass out!”
“Don’t tickle me,” he laughed, breathless.
“I wasn’t! I swear!”
He loosened his grip, but as soon as I moved, he locked down again.
“I’m not going to do it!” I sucked in a breath and pushed back, finally getting some separation, when a voice from across the room made me jump.
“Creating a mosaic?”
I jumped to attention, recognizing Norman’s tone before I spotted him. He stood back by the broom, two men with him. Both with camera equipment.
“We hoped we could get a photo for documentation? The floor goes in at the end of the week, and then we’re on to trim, finishing touches, and my favourite part. The artwork.” He beamed at us.
Heat climbed my neck. How much had he seen? “Um, sure. Let me just get out of the way?—”
Norman clicked his tongue. “I want both of you in it, please.”
I looked to Logan with a panicked expression, but what was he supposed to do?
“Come a little closer,” Norman said, pointing to a spot in front of the now deconstructed pile of boxes. We obeyed, and he gave a satisfied nod.
Then, as the men lifted their cameras, Logan leaned down, picked up a box, and dropped it directly over my head.
Norman said something, but Logan only chuckled. “It's artistic. People will love it.”
I couldn’t have wiped the grin off my face if I tried.
_____
The rest of the week unspooled in typical fashion with notable highlights. I completed my armature in the pottery studio and was mostly happy with it. These days, that was the highest compliment. I attended an excellent Art History lecture, slept better than usual, and Norman reached out to see if I could help with some administrative tasks like organizing and responding to some of his emails.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t find all of it fascinating. Once he gave me access, I read every single message, sometimes scrolling back in the chain for months. Logan was on a week-long away game tour. Ottawa, Toronto, and one game south of the border.
By Friday afternoon, I was home alone, wearing socks and drinking tea. It couldn’t have been more idyllic before the pounding on the front door started. I debated ignoring it completely, but this person didn’t walk away after a minute. Or three.
