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“Aye, you strip naked, wrap yourself in wool and run down the high street shouting, ‘You can take our lives, but you will never take our knitting.’”
As usual, Logan was having far too much fun at her expense. “How do you get out of the group?”
“You don’t. Once you’re in, you’re in for life. It’s like the Mafia.”
“You really are no help at all.” She smacked his chest. He caught her hand and held it against him, making her want to sink deep inside the man and never leave.
“I’m glad you came to me for help with this,” he said, his voice a low, rumbling sound she could feel right through her body.
“It wasn’t like I had much choice.” The only people she knew in Invertary were ones she worked with—and Logan. Who she also technically worked with…
“You had a choice,” he said softly. “You could have confronted Dougal and told him he’d never asked for jumpers. Or you could have called your sister in Glasgow and had her drive up with some. The shops there are open all the time, and she would have done it in a second.”
Agnes didn’t have an answer for him. He was right, and she didn’t want to look too closely at why she’d chosen Logan.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” Heather said, making Agnes realize the sewing machines had fallen silent. For how long, she didn’t know. “Will you two stop making googly eyes at one another long enough to get me a cup of tea? I’m parched over here.”
Agnes snatched her hand from Logan’s clasp. “There’s nothing going on here.”
“Aye,” Jean said with a mischievous smile. “And I’m sure there was nothing going on at the hotel the other night either when they caught Logan streaking in the halls.”
Logan folded his arms. “I wasn’t streaking. I was…”
Yeah, there was no logical explanation for being caught naked in a hallway. At that moment, Agnes felt a little sorry she’d shoved him out the door—but only a little.
“Flashing your backside to the world,” Heather said. “We know. It was all over Facebook before they banned it for being too…what’s the word?”
“Sexy?” Jean said.
“Salacious,” Heather said with a nod.
Agnes covered her mouth with her hands as she looked up at Logan.
“You seriously owe me,” he told her. “If the guys at work see it, they’re never going to let me live it down.”
“Oh, they’ll have seen them,” Heather said. “It was my Megan who sent the photos to me, and she’s in Bahrain, I think, being a bodyguard to some princess or other. I still don’t like the thought of Megan with a gun, but she’s happy. And she says to tell you that you’ve aged well.”
“Aged well, my backside. I’m only thirty-eight.”
“Yes.” Heather nodded. “It’s your backside that’s aged well.”
As the women giggled, Logan cast Agnes an exasperated glance.
“I’m sorry?” she said, but it didn’t sound convincing, even to her ears. “To be fair, it is a very nice backside. A really cute little bubble butt.” She held up her hands to show him what she meant.
“Oh, I am totally getting you back for that crack,” he promised.
“Crack!” Jean said, then howled with laughter.
“It’s like dealing with teenagers.” Logan shook his head before pushing away from the counter. “I was going to help you with the tea, but you’re on your own now for that bubble butt crack.”
“Men,” Jean said. “They’re so sensitive.”
And then all the women burst out laughing.
Chapter 18
“Should we wake them?” a voice whispered, stirring Agnes from a deep sleep.
