Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
Jared
“Quinn, for the love of god, slow down before you break something!”
Blake’s shout follows his niece as she tears through the open door of Grady’s new cabin in a streak of brown hair and rainbow pajamas with Sprinkles’s massive black form galloping behind her.
The dog’s paws skid on the hardwood as he takes the corner into the living room, followed by the clatter of plastic hitting the floor.
I set my box on the porch and step inside, the March cold still clinging to my jacket.
Morning light cuts through the west-facing windows Dominic designed, throwing long splashes of gold across the bare floors.
Fresh paint and cedar linger in the air, the cabin empty except for the Wright Pack and the accumulating pile of Grady’s possessions.
Chloe sits in a folding chair in the middle of open space, her belly a perfect dome beneath her sweater, one hand resting on it. Her pink hair is twisted into a lopsided knot, and her quartz-colored eyes track every person moving through the space like a traffic controller.
“That one goes in the downstairs office,” she tells Holden, pointing at a box marked ‘Books’ in Grady’s neat handwriting.
Holden hefts the box, his golden-brown curls falling across his forehead. “I can read, sugar.”
“Then shoo.”
I grab my box from the porch and carry it inside. ‘Kitchen’ is scrawled across the side in black marker, the letters slanting where Grady must have written it one-handed, balancing on his cane. The box is heavier than I expect, clanking with what sounds like pots.
“You’re blocking the doorway,” Nathaniel says from behind me, and I jump out of the way.
He carries a stack of framed photos, his tall frame navigating around the chaos with the grace of someone used to moving through crowded rooms.
Quinn appears at the top of the staircase, Sprinkles at her heels, both of them panting. “Uncle Jared! Did you bring the frog?”
“There’s no frog in the kitchen box, princess.”
Her face falls. “But you promised!”
“I promised to look for frogs while I helped unload the barge. Not to bring them inside.” I set the box on the dining table. “Where’s your Uncle Grady?”
She points toward the back of the cabin, then bolts toward the side of the stairs, Sprinkles thundering after her.
“No playing on the elevator!” Blake bellows. “Leif! A little help?”
Leif appears from the hallway, his mauve hair damp at the temples from exertion, sleeves rolled to his elbows. He scoops Quinn up under one arm mid-stride, her legs kicking, and hoists her onto his hip with the ease of a man who’s been catching seven-year-olds for months.
“Time-out, kiddo.” He sets her on the arm of the sofa. “Five minutes of sitting still. Can you do that?”
She pouts. “But Sprinkles wants to play.”
“Sprinkles can sit with you.” He pats the cushion, and the Newfoundland flops down, his massive head landing on Quinn’s lap.
I’m halfway to the kitchen with the box when I spot Grady limping across the room with another box balanced on his hip, his cane in his left hand doing more work as a decoration than to support.
The hitch in his gait is pronounced, but before I can set my box down, Emily crosses the floor, closing the distance between herself and Grady in three long strides.
She holds out her hands for the box in Grady’s arms.
“I’ve got it,” he protests.
She takes the box anyway, sets it on the floor beside the sofa, and turns back to him.
With one arm behind his knees and the other supporting his back, Grady is airborne.
His cane clatters to the floor, and his arms flail for a second before they find her shoulders.
Emily carries him as if he weighs nothing and deposits him on the kitchen counter with the care of someone setting down a breakable object.
“Sit,” she growls, the word pitched for only Grady’s and my ears. “Stay.”
His face goes bright pink from collar to hairline, and his hazel eyes widen behind his glasses.
Emily cups his jaw with one calloused hand, tilts his chin up, and kisses him. When she pulls back, Grady’s lips are parted, and the flush has deepened to red.
From her spot on the sofa, Quinn giggles.
Ignoring their audience, Emily turns and walks back to the pile of boxes by the door, grabbing two at once and heading for the bedroom without breaking stride.
I can’t help but smile.
This is Emily at her best. Not the superintendent barking orders at a job site, nor the woman who rebuilt her life after betrayal, but the Alpha who takes care of what’s hers and doesn’t apologize for it.
And Grady, for all his stubborn independence, lets her. He sits on that counter with his legs dangling, his cane on the floor where it fell, and he doesn’t argue. His gaze follows her across the room, and the look on his face is downright smitten.
I pick up my kitchen box and carry it to the counter where Grady perches. “Comfortable up there?”
He adjusts his glasses. “It never hurts to take a break.”
“Just checking.” I plunk the box down beside his thigh. “We’ve got dishes to unpack. You can be useful without hauling things around.”
Another crash draws our attention. Quinn has escaped her time-out to race circles around the coffee table with Sprinkles in pursuit. Blake and Leif exchange exasperated looks as they move to intercept from opposite sides of the room.
Chloe shouts directions from her chair without moving, cutting through the chaos with the practiced command of a woman who manages four Alphas on a daily basis.
Dominic strides out of the back hallway, empty boxes flattened under one arm, his French braid coming loose at the temple. “Jared, there’s more on the barge. Holden’s bringing the next load.”
“I’m on it.” I squeeze Grady’s shoulder as I pass. “Don’t move, or she’ll catch you again.”
“Maybe I want to be caught.” But he doesn’t move.
Outside, the March air bites at my exposed skin as I hurry down to the docks to where Holden is already unloading another stack of boxes onto the back of the cart attached to a four-wheeler. The barge rocks gently against the pilings, salt spray misting the air.
We make quick work, and soon we’re heading back up to the cabin, Holden driving and me perched behind him.
As soon as he pulls up in front, I hop off and grab two boxes, hefting them as I turn toward the cabin.
Through the front window, I spot Emily directing Nathaniel, her hands moving in short, clear gestures. She pauses to look toward the kitchen. When she finds Grady still sitting where she left him. Her expression goes soft, just for a second, before she turns back to the chaos in the other rooms.
I bring my new kitchen boxes inside and settle them beside Grady. I pull my pocketknife and slice through the packing tape, folding the flaps back to reveal stacks of plates wrapped in newspaper, mugs nested in each other, and a colander wedged along one side.
“Dominic outdid himself,” I say, reaching for a white ceramic plate with a thin blue rim. “This place is four times the size of Leif’s cabin.”
Grady unwraps a mug, his fingers working the newspaper loose. “I’ve never actually been inside his.”
I pause, a plate halfway to the cabinet. “Seriously?”
“He hasn’t invited me.” He sets the mug down and reaches for another. “I’m not sure why they gave me so much space. I won’t even use the second story.”
The kitchen stretches around us, wide and airy, with quartz countertops and cabinets that reach the ceiling.
The west window frames a slice of the harbor between two pines, the water glinting silver in the morning light.
It’s the kind of kitchen built for people who cook together, not for one man living alone.
“Chloe gave you the Taj Mahal of cabins,” I say.
Grady’s mouth quirks. “She was hoping it would entice me to stay.”
“And it worked.”
“I didn’t stay for the cabin,” he says dryly as he unwraps another mug. “Honestly, this place is excessive for one person.”
I’ve seen the upstairs. I took a quick look while putting a few boxes marked for storage into one of the spare bedrooms. There’s a second master bedroom up there, with three smaller rooms, a bonus space, and another office.
It’s what I’ve been picturing for our pack, already built, and I suspect Chloe had more than just Grady in mind when she had Dominic design it, but I stay quiet. For now. I don’t want to scare off the Beta.
“Chloe means well,” I say.
“She’s let her newfound fortune go to her head.
” But there’s no heat in it. Grady sets the last mug on the counter and reaches for the colander.
“Leif mentioned hosting dinners on the island during the week. Once everything’s unpacked, maybe we could take turns so this kitchen gets some proper use. ”
“We might have to put some beds in upstairs, then,” I say, aiming for casual. “The couch above the garage at the Homestead is comfortable, but not that comfortable. Leif mentioned setting up a guest room, but he needs the spare room for his office.”
Grady pauses before taking the colander out of the box. “Is that so?”
“Wherever we sleep wins the bonus of my amazing breakfast sandwiches,” I wheedle.
“Wow. That’s super tempting.” Grady’s lips twitch. “If only I didn’t have the Homestead’s kitchen right next door.”
“You’re a hard man to woo, Grady,” I grumble. “For the record, my breakfast sandwiches earned Emily’s stamp of approval.”
“Well, that changes everything.”
I wave a spatula at him. “Sir, what are you implying?”
“Definitely not that Emily would approve of your breakfast sandwiches just to make you happy, no matter how bad it is.”
My mouth opens, then closes, because that’s totally something Emily would do. But I’ve eaten those breakfast sandwiches, and they’re delicious.
Before I can say as much, though, a crash erupts, followed by Quinn’s shriek and the thunder of Sprinkles’s paws on hardwood.
Then Emily’s command cuts through the noise. “Quinn Patel. Sit. Now.”
Absolute quiet falls in the wake of a seven-year-old who has just realized she crossed a line.
Grady grins. “She’s good at that.”