Chapter 24
Seth
By the time I pulled off my boots and dropped my clipboard on the kitchen counter, the sun was sinking low across the lawn, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold. My body ached in all the usual places, shoulders, knees, lower back, but my mind refused to settle.
I glanced out the window at the guesthouse. A single lamp glowed inside, warm against the shadows stretching across the yard. I imagined Madison moving through the space, her hair pulled back, Olive at her heels, the rhythm of bedtime already beginning.
My phone buzzed. Blair’s name lit up the screen.
I swiped to answer. “Everything okay?”
Her voice sounded bright and cheerful, the way she got when she was trying to keep something a surprise. “Everything’s great. I was thinking of kidnapping Olive for the night.”
I straightened. “Kidnapping?”
“Relax, big brother,” she teased. “She asked if she could come over for a sleepover. Greyson and I thought it’d be fun to let her stay with us, bake cookies, maybe build a fort in the living room.”
I rubbed the back of my neck. “Madison might not. ”
“I already called her,” Blair interrupted. “She said yes. I think she could use a night to herself. Maybe you could do something nice for her.”
I frowned at the implication. “Like what?”
“You figure it out,” she said. Then, softer, “She’s been carrying a lot, Seth. More than she lets on. Just… be there.”
The line clicked dead before I could respond.
I set the phone down and stared at the empty counter. Be there.
Those two words were heavier than they should’ve been. I knew how to be a problem solver. Fix a roof, install drywall, balance a ledger. But being there for someone? That was a whole different story. That meant opening up in ways I didn’t feel comfortable doing anymore.
Still, when I looked at the guesthouse again, I couldn’t shake Blair’s words. Madison deserved more than quiet sympathy and a roof over her head. She deserved a kind gesture, something that reminded her she wasn’t carrying everything alone.
I pulled open the fridge. A pack of chicken breasts. Fresh herbs from the planter on the porch. Vegetables I’d bought out of habit and barely touched. My hands moved almost automatically, setting everything out on the counter. I wasn’t a chef, but I could follow a recipe.
I pictured Madison walking into the main house, suspicious at first, maybe even a little annoyed. But then the smell of garlic and rosemary would hit her, and her guard might soften, just enough for her to sit down and breathe.
I wanted to see that. I wanted to give her a moment where she didn’t have to think about adjusters and storm damage, and what came next.
As I trimmed the chicken and set the skillet on the stove, I realized something that made my chest tighten.
I wasn’t just doing this for Olive anymore.
I was doing it for Madison.
And that scared me more than any storm ever had.