Dating and Dragons (Dungeons and Drama, #2) (25)

“Sure, no problem.”

We work separately, poking into boxes and moving them to different spaces in the attic to sort them. I’m intensely aware that Logan is a few feet from me, and I track each of his movements out of the corner of my eye. I don’t want to pay attention to him, but I can’t seem to stop myself. As Grandma pointed out, we’re completely alone up here, and the last time we were alone he insinuated he likes me. Or at least, that he used to like me, and I don’t know what to do with that information.

Logan closes the lids of two boxes, stacks them on top of each other, and easily carries them to the corner of the attic. Maybe those were two super-light boxes, but I’m pretty sure I saw the word cookbooks on one of them. I turn away and train my eyes on a box of quilts. I need to keep my eyes to myself.

“Whoa, look at this box,” he says a minute later. “What do you think of these tiles?”

Reluctantly, I lean over his shoulder. This is a box of square tiles with a hand-painted blue and white motif on them. I pick up a few more and each is similar in coloring, but the designs are different. They’re clearly handmade.

I glance around the box to look for a label. “Portuguese tiles,” I read aloud.

“Cool,” Logan says. “Do you think they’re actually from Portugal?”

“Yeah, I bet a lot of these boxes are filled with things from her travels.” I look down at the tile. “These could be a big seller. We should definitely take them down.”

He sighs. “Of course it’s the heaviest box that needs to go down the shaky attic ladder.” He picks it up and takes it over to the steps before opening the next box. “Hmm, this one might be good too. Do people care about lace?”

“Probably, if it’s imported.”

He nudges the box toward me, and I pull out the piece on top. I’m expecting something larger and rectangular—like a tablecloth—but this isn’t anything like that. It’s more like a scrap of lace. I hold it up in front of me. “Huh, what do you think—”

The realization comes to me too late, and my eyes unconsciously lock on Logan. Both his eyes and mouth have popped wide open.

“Oh my god!” I shriek, and throw the fabric as far away from me as I can. That wasn’t a delicate piece of handwoven lace from a village in Europe.

That was Grandma’s lingerie.

“Ahhh!” I yell again, and shake out my hands like they’ve been dipped in acid.

Logan rubs a hand over his mouth. “I can’t believe you—”

“Don’t you say it.” I point at him. “Ever. We’re both going to our graves before we talk about this.”

He laughs loudly. “I’m pretty sure the whole box is…you know.”

I drop my hands to my knees and do some deep breathing. “Grandma,” I whisper in horror. I’m scarred for life.

“Kids? Did I hear screaming?” Grandma calls from below.

I blow out a breath. “We’re okay,” I say. “I just saw…a mouse.”

“A mouse! I thought we’d finally gotten those things under control. Logan, I’m going to need your father to come back out here with more traps.”

“Uh…” Logan walks over to the ladder. “Actually, I don’t think it was a mouse. Quinn thought she saw something and freaked herself out. She’s very sensitive.”

I glare at him. “Just a false alarm,” I call to her.

“Keep an eye out anyway,” Grandma replies. “And I’ve got cake down here for when you’re done.”

He turns back to me with a smile. “Another false alarm—you seem to keep having those around me. Speaking of, did you ever figure out the reason you were so unsteady that day?”

The teasing shine in his eyes makes my heart thump.

“No, I did not, but I’m feeling perfectly steady right now, thank you.”

Luckily, he doesn’t push the subject and we work a bit more in silence before he asks how my day was. I grimace at the reminder.

“It’s a work in progress,” I reply. “Turns out that switching schools in the middle of the year isn’t easy.”

“Never would have predicted that.” He pulls another box in front of him. “I’m sure it’s hard leaving all your old friends behind.”

A heavy weight presses on me at the reminder. I shake my head. “Actually, that was probably the best thing about the move.”

“Leaving your friends?” he asks incredulously.

“I think it’d be more accurate to describe them as ex-friends.”

Logan’s kneeling on the ground, going through another box, but he swivels toward me at the words. “Were these the people you played D&D with?”

“Yeah. It was a two-for-one loss—no more friends and no more gaming group. So I’m grateful to be in Laurelburg regardless of issues.”

I expect him to ask for details about what happened, or to look uneasy at the knowledge that my last D&D group disowned me. That’s not the kind of thing that inspires confidence when you’ve just added someone to your game—especially if you weren’t happy about including them in the first place. But Logan only frowns in sympathy.

“That’s horrible. I’m sure whatever happened, it was their fault.”