Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Emily
The sun breaks through for the first time in days, turning raindrops on cedar branches into prisms.
I squint against the sudden brightness as I pick my way along the soggy perimeter trail, clipboard tucked under my arm, boots sinking ankle-deep in places where the ground has turned to a bog.
Four days of relentless rain means the entire island needs inspecting, and I volunteered to check every drainage ditch just to get a little breather.
“Drainage ditch four, cleared,” I mutter, marking the box on my water-stained checklist. The paper curls at the corners from the lingering humidity, and ink bleeds at the edges of my notes.
The air carries a new freshness, the kind a storm leaves behind after scrubbing the island clean. Wet cedar and pine dominate, undercut by rich soil and the mineral tang of disturbed rock. Insects buzz in the renewed warmth, and birds call from branches still dripping with the night’s final shower.
I round a bend in the trail and pause to catch my breath. My boots must weigh twenty pounds each from the mud caked to their treads, and my shoulders ache from ducking under fallen branches. Sunlight dapples through the canopy in golden shafts across the forest floor.
If the day continues like this, we’ll be dried out by Monday and can get those kitchen lines hooked up.
A high-pitched squeal pierces the morning quiet, filled with delight, and my mood lifts for the first time all week. A deep, booming bark follows, and I peer toward the sound, which comes from a clearing near Cabin One.
Curiosity pulls me forward through a patch of undergrowth. The trail here curves away from the clearing, but a game path offers a shortcut. I step through ferns heavy with rainwater, their fronds releasing cold droplets that slide down my neck when I brush against them.
The sound comes again, a child’s pure joy mingling with canine excitement. As I push through the last of the foliage, the clearing opens before me in a sweep of mud and puddles glinting in the sunlight.
Quinn stands in the center of an enormous puddle, her pink rain boots submerged to the ankles, arms spread wide. Her jacket, a size too large and rolled at the cuffs, hangs open despite the morning chill. Sprinkles, her Newfoundland, bounds through the water, his black coat soaked and glistening.
The moment catches me off guard, and my arm drops to my side, clipboard forgotten.
Quinn’s face shines with the uncomplicated happiness of a child who has discovered a perfect playground in the storm’s debris.
She spins in a circle, arms extended, head tipped back to catch the sunlight on her cheeks.
Sprinkles spots me first, and his ears perk before he changes course mid-splash, bounding toward me with the unstoppable momentum of an overgrown puppy.
The motion catches Quinn’s attention. She turns, spots me among the trees, and shrieks with delight.
“Emily!” She launches herself after her dog, puddle water spraying from her boots.
I brace as she collides with my legs, arms wrapping around my thighs with surprising strength. The impact threatens to knock me backward, and I grab a nearby branch to steady myself. Wet mud from her sleeves smears across my work pants, and cold water seeps through to my skin.
“You came to play with us!” Quinn says, the words a little nasal from her recent cold. She tilts her face up, raindrops clinging to her eyelashes, cheeks flushed pink, though it seeems to be with cold and excitement, not from illness.
“I was checking the trails.” I tap my clipboard. “But I heard you having fun. Shouldn’t you still be resting from being sick?”
Quinn’s reply is cut short by Sprinkles, who circles us once, then skids to a halt less than a foot away. His entire body shakes, starting at his nose and rippling down to his tail, sending a spray of water over us both.
“Sprinkles!” Quinn squeals, more delighted than reproachful, burying her face against my hip to shield herself from the worst of it.
Cold droplets pelt my face and neck, and a startled laugh escapes me. Quinn peeks up at the sound.
“He does that every time.” She gives my leg a muddy pat. “I think he likes the way the water splashes.”
Footsteps approach from the trail, and Leif appears, jogging toward us. His blue button-down clings to his broad shoulders, darkened in patches where the trees have dripped on him. His mauve-tinted hair is plastered to his forehead in damp strands, and his cheeks flush from the exertion.
“Quinn! You shouldn’t splash other people with mud,” he scolds, closing the distance between us. “I’m so sorry about this, Emily.”
He reaches us, out of breath, and I’m caught off guard by the way water beads on his eyelashes, catching the sunlight when he blinks.
“Don’t be,” I reply, surprising myself with the warmth in my tone. “After this week, I think we all need to play in the puddles.”
Quinn releases my legs but keeps one hand wrapped in the hem of my jacket. Sprinkles sits beside her, tongue lolling, a constant shower of droplets falling from his thick fur to pool at his feet.
“We made a boat,” Quinn informs me, pointing back toward the puddle where a small piece of bark floats, a leaf serving as its sail. “Sprinkles keeps sinking it with his paws.”
“Ships are meant to face storms,” Leif says, crouching to Quinn’s level. His knees sink into the mud, but he doesn’t appear to mind. “That’s how you know they’re seaworthy.”
Quinn absorbs this wisdom with the gravity of a ship captain. “And we kept rescuing it.”
“The best captains never abandon ship,” I agree, and she beams up at me.
Leif rises, mud clinging to his pants in dark patches. He stands close enough that I catch his pheromones beneath the stronger aromas of the wet forest, the fresh linen and warm wood subtle but distinct.
“I swear we intended to stay on the porch.” He shakes his head in exasperation. “But the puddles called.”
I look down at my own mud-splattered clothes and the wet streaks across my jacket where Quinn clings to me. “Puddles are persuasive.”
“Apparently irresistible to seven-year-olds and Newfoundlands.” A hesitant smile tugs at one corner of his mouth. “Though, I expected better self-control from the dog.”
The unexpected joke cracks my reserve, and a laugh bubbles up my throat.
Quinn tugs on my jacket, eager to reclaim my attention. “Are you going to stay and play with us? Sprinkles would like that.”
“Would he now?” I raise an eyebrow at the dog, who pants in response. “And what about you?”
“Me, too!” She bounces on her toes, water splashing from her boots. “We can make a bigger boat. One that Sprinkles can’t sink.”
“I wish I could. But I have to finish checking all the drain pipes.” I tap my clipboard again, the wood veneer curling at the edges from moisture. “If they’re clogged, I have to dig out the gunk so the trails can dry out.”
Quinn’s face falls before rebounding with a child’s resilience. “Next time?”
“Definitely next time,” I promise.
Sprinkles chooses that moment to shake again, sending another shower over the three of us. Quinn shrieks with laughter, and Leif groans, wiping water from his face with his sleeve.
“At this rate, we’ll all need to change when we get back to Cabin One,” he mutters without any real annoyance.
I surprise myself by not caring about the cold spray or the mud seeping into my boots. After days of tension with Jared, avoiding hard conversations by filling all my time with tasks, the easy delight of a child and her dog is exactly what I needed.
“Actually…” I set my clipboard on a nearby stump where it will stay dry. “I think I have five minutes to help build an unsinkable ship.”
Quinn’s face lights up, and she tugs me toward the puddle, Sprinkles bounding ahead with renewed enthusiasm.
Our boat construction project proves successful, Quinn declaring it “Sprinkles-proof” when it survives two direct paw strikes.
I brush soggy leaves from my knees and prepare to return to my inspections.
Quinn, however, has other plans. She grips the hem of my coat with mud-caked fingers, her head tilted back, and flashes a smile missing one front tooth.
“When are you coming for a sleepover?” she asks, as if it’s a forgone conclusion I will. “Sprinkles misses you.”
Behind her, Sprinkles perks up at the sound of his name, his ears flopping forward with interest.
“A sleepover?” I repeat, caught off guard by the invitation.
“You never come to breakfast anymore.” Quinn leans closer to whisper, “Uncle Holden always does biscuits and gravy when you sleep over.”
“Ah. That does sound nice.” I crouch down to meet Quinn at eye level, my work pants sinking into the wet soil. “But we’ll have to wait until you’re back in the big house. Cabin One can’t handle one more body.”
Quinn contemplates this, her small brow furrowing with the seriousness of a contract negotiation. “How many more days?”
“Well, if the rain stays away…” I peer up at the sky, where blue peeks through thinning clouds. “We might have the Homestead ready by the end of the month.”
“That’s…” She counts on her mud-speckled fingers. “A lot of days.”
“Twenty-one, give or take,” I confirm. “But worth waiting for, don’t you think? We’ll have the kitchen working, and Sprinkles will have his princess castle again.”
Her face brightens. “And my bedroom with the treehouse?”
“Exactly.” I tap her nose, leaving a smudge of mud neither of us minds. “Much better than trying to fit into your cabin with all your uncles, aunt, and Sprinkles.”
She lets out a long sigh. “Uncle Nat snores. Louder than Sprinkles.”
“I’ve heard it before.” A laugh escapes me. “And, if you ask Uncle Holden, I bet he’ll whip you up some biscuits and gravy this weekend.”
“No, we’ll wait for you.” Quinn gives my jacket one last tug and releases me. “I’m going to tell Sprinkles you’re coming when the big house is ready. He’ll want to clean his fur.”
Proclamation made, she spins around and dashes back toward the center of the clearing, calling for the dog to follow.
Sprinkles bounds after her, his massive paws sending up sheets of water with each step.
I rise, my knees complaining after crouching in the damp ground, and notice Leif standing a few feet off. His focus stays on Quinn, touched with a quiet affection that goes far beyond responsibility.
“She talks about you all the time.” He rubs the back of his neck, the gesture almost shy. “Last week, she informed Blake that, when she grows up, she wants to be ‘tall like Emily and build houses for people.’”
A warmth spreads through me at his words. “She’s got good taste in career paths. Though, she might need to compromise on the ‘tall’ part.”
Leif chuckles, the pleasant sound wrapping around me. “According to her, being tall is a choice you make once you’re older, like settling on a favorite ice cream flavor.”
“If only it were that simple.” I wipe my hands on my already-ruined pants. “I would’ve picked strawberry if height came in flavors.”
His eyes crinkle at the corners. “She also claims you make the best hot cocoa. Better than Holden’s, which Blake says is ‘heresy’.”
“That’s because I cheat and use real cream,” I admit, pleased by the child’s assessment. “My gran always said if you’re going to indulge, do it all the way or not at all.”
“Wise woman.”
We fall into comfortable silence, standing side by side as Quinn splashes through the puddles with renewed vigor. Sprinkles circles her, stopping occasionally to lap at the water, his tail sending arcs of spray through the air each time it swings.
“This is good for her,” Leif says after a moment. “The last few days being sick in the cabin, with everyone crammed together and the rain keeping us inside, were hard on her.”
I understand without another word. “Kids need room to be loud. To sprint everywhere. To get filthy. She didn’t have much freedom before Blake brought her into his pack. Being cooped up only heightens her anxiety.”
“I picked up on that, based on things her uncles have said.” He turns toward me, sunlight illuminating the periwinkle blue of his eyes, the intensity stealing the air from my lungs. “I want to apologize.”
My brows shoot up. “Whatever for?”
“I treated you with unnecessary wariness when I first arrived, even after you helped me with those harassers.” He grimaces. “I should have treated you better.”
I cock my head in question. “Why?”
Startled, his brow furrows. “Because you were being kind?”
“But I could have been pretending so I could get close to you and take advantage. You had no way to know my motivations,” I point out. “Never apologize for putting your safety above the kindness of a stranger.”
A chuff of surprise escapes him, and the moment stretches between us, unexpectedly intimate.
I find myself noticing details I’ve overlooked, like the slight curl at the ends of his hair where it’s beginning to dry, the strength in his forearms where his sleeves remain rolled up, and the way he occupies space without being imposing.
The exact opposite of every Omega I’ve met before, but not in an unappealing way.
Quinn’s squeal breaks the moment as Sprinkles shakes himself yet again, the spray catching her full in the face.
Suddenly aware of how close we’ve been standing, I clear my throat and step back. “I should get back to work. Drainage pipes won’t clear themselves.”
“Of course.” Leif’s expression shifts back to polite professionalism. “Don’t let us keep you from your rounds.”
I collect my clipboard from the stump where I left it, tucking it under my arm.
As I turn to leave, Leif speaks again, “Thanks for letting her get you muddy, and for playing along. She needed that.”
I glance back at the muddy clearing where Quinn now kneels beside a new puddle, Sprinkles sitting at her side as she explains some elaborate game to him. The sight tugs at the yearning for a pack of my own, a tender spot I usually keep guarded.
“We both did,” I admit.
As I walk away, Quinn’s laughter fades into the forest hush. For the first time in days, I catch myself smiling, and just as quickly, the guilt follows.
Because I know who I wish had been here to see it.