"Yeah," I say, rougher than I meant. "It's okay."
Heavy footsteps on the stairs announce Logan's arrival. He appears looking like he went ten rounds with his pillow, hair sticking up, moving toward coffee like his life depends on it.
"Thank you," Logan tells Savannah with genuine reverence, accepting a mug like it's a religious artifact. Takes a long sip and his whole body relaxes.
"It would've been justified if you killed me for not setting the timer," I grunt around a bite of toast. It makes her laugh in that easy way that's getting dangerous. The sound settling straight into my chest with a comforting warmth.
Xavier appears a few minutes later looking perfect despite it being barely seven AM. Hair done, real clothes that probably need ironing, shoes that cost more than my truck payment. Makes the rest of us look like cavemen.
"Coffee," Xavier says with grateful reverence, and I watch him transform from zombie to functioning human with the first sip.
We sit around my small table. I stretch my legs out under it, accidentally brush against Savannah's knee. She doesn't pull away. A small victory that makes me grin into my coffee.
Comfortable quiet while we eat. Toast's good, better than my usual protein bar. But it's more than food. It's the effort, thethinking about what we'd want, doing something nice without being asked. Makes my chest feel too full.
"We need to talk about the venue timeline," Logan says, setting down his mug harder than necessary.
Reality hits like ice water down my spine. I straighten in my chair, jaw clenching. Right. The resort. The impossible deadline that's been eating at me.
"Less than three weeks to finish," I say, gripping my coffee mug tight enough my knuckles go white.
"Electrical's done. Plumbing works in the main areas." Xavier pulls out his phone, fingers flying over the screen. "But we still need ballroom flooring, kitchen equipment, and all the finish work."
Savannah's scent goes sharp with anxiety. I catch her biting her lip, that thing she does when her mind's running worst-case scenarios.
"What about the kitchen?" she asks, leaning forward. "Caterers need a full test run."
"Equipment gets delivered tomorrow," I say, running through the mental checklist that's been eating at me. "Commercial everything. But the installation's tight."
"How tight?" Logan asks, and I can hear stress creeping into his voice.
I scrub a hand over my face, feeling the stubble rasp against my palm. "Install crew arrives Wednesday morning. If everything goes perfect, a functional kitchen Thursday afternoon. Test run Thursday night, adjustments Friday morning." I look directly at Savannah, watch her process what that timeline means. "One day buffer before rehearsal."
"Cutting it close for a thousand-person reception," she says, already making mental notes. I can see her brain working.
"Everything's cutting it close," Xavier says grimly, still scrolling through his phone. "That's what happens when you renovate in weeks instead of months."
"I can help," Savannah says immediately, sitting up straighter. "Coordinate vendors, handle deliveries, manage decorating."
"You've got wedding coordination," Xavier points out without looking up.
"I can do both," she counters, chin jutting out in that stubborn way that means she's not backing down.
The thought of her on a construction site surrounded by power tools and heavy equipment makes my protective instincts spike hard enough to make my vision narrow. My hands clench into fists on the table.
"It's dangerous," I say, with more alpha authority in my voice than I meant. "Heavy machinery, electrical work, crews who don't watch their language or keep their hands to themselves."
Her eyes flash with irritation mixed with determination. She crosses her arms, shoulders squaring up for a fight. "I can handle construction workers, Griff. I've been managing difficult people for years."
"Not the same thing," I growl, because the thought of some asshole contractor looking at her wrong makes me want to break things with my bare hands.
"Maybe coordinate from here," Logan suggests, hands up in a peacemaking gesture. "Handle vendor calls remotely."
I watch her weigh the suggestion, practical instincts warring with her need to be hands-on. Finally she sighs, shoulders dropping slightly.
"Fine," she says, but there's steel in her voice. "But I want daily updates. Detailed ones. And I'm coming to see the progress."
Challenge accepted. Something fierce and proud swells in my chest. "You want the grand tour?"
