“What? No. No. I just… I mean, I didn’t expect you to say…” He shook his head, like he was annoyed at himself. “So, is this happening? Are we… shacking up together?”
“Such a romantic turn of phrase. You’re like a poet,” Shona said. “But, like, a really shite one.” She shrugged, playing down her keenness. “I mean, if you want the company, or whatever, I could come and crash here. Or not. Or just, you know, whatever.”
Logan smirked. “Such a romantic turn of phrase,” he said, then he reached for another chip and found the tray empty.
Down on the floor, Taggart licked his chops and pointedly refused to make eye contact.
Logan had just begun to call the dog a thieving wee bastard, when his phone rang.
And then, a moment later, Shona’s rang, too.
They both checked their screens. They both sighed.
“It’s the office,” they said, almost simultaneously.
Shona sprang to her feet, headed for the door, and pointed to her mobile. “I’ll go take it in your bedroom.” She stopped to think about this. “Or… I mean… our bedroom?”
“I said you could stay here, I didn’t say you were getting to share my room,” Logan replied.
He watched her laugh at that, and felt a surge of something that couldn’t quite be explained in words.
Taggart jumped up onto the spot on the couch where she’d been, sniffed around, then flopped down against Logan’s side. He stroked the dog’s head as he answered the call.
“Benjamin. To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked. He listened for a while, then once DI Forde had finished, he nodded. “Right, then,” he said. He glanced through to his bedroom.
Their bedroom.
“We’re on our way.”