Ryker grabbed the tape measure and stretched it from the floor to the ceiling. “Seventy-two inches.”
Ryker looked at the crooked, wobbling, glorious mess they’d made. “A trapezoid can hold books,” he said. “If you believe in it.”
“Rustic leaning.”
“That’s the height of the room, Ryker. We need the width.”
Viggo had always been the careful one. He measured twice, cut once, double-checked locks, and kept a spare key to his spare key. Ryker, on the other hand, believed that caution was a polite suggestion and that “we’ll figure it out” was a perfectly acceptable plan.
