Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Grady
The path to Cabin One slopes downward in a way my left leg never appreciates. Each step sends pinpricks of discomfort from ankle to hip, the damp morning air settling into the metal pins holding my bones together.
My cane finds soft earth, gravel, and soft earth again as I navigate the familiar trail.
Sleep abandoned me around five this morning, leaving me alert but exhausted while I waited for Kyle to rise for his first shift of the day.
I stayed as quiet as possible so I wouldn’t disturb the man I’ve been mooching off of for months now.
As soon as he left, I started my morning ritual of cleaning the cabin for him, which doesn’t take long. Kyle is a simple man with a singular obsession, fishing and floating around on the water.
I feel guilty about how the cabin now holds more of my stuff than his, though I try to keep it contained to a small area, out of his way.
Up ahead, Chloe materializes around the bend, her pink hair catching the early afternoon light. Her arms overflow with a clipboard, phone, and a jangling set of keys that threaten to escape with each hurried step. Before I can raise a hand in greeting, she spots me.
“Grady! Thank goodness. I have sixteen things to move from storage before the pack gets back, and the delivery people called to say the barge will be at the dock at noon instead of three, which means we need to clear the front room for furniture and—”
“Good morning to you, too,” I say, falling into step beside her and reaching for the clipboard before it tumbles from her grasp.
Chloe passes it over with a grateful exhale. “Sorry. Hi. Good morning.”
“I take it the Homestead passed inspection?”
“Not a single issue.” She straightens with pride, as if she had a hand in its reconstruction. “Dominic, Blake, and Nathaniel have been at the storage unit since seven o’clock, overseeing the movers, which is why they’re so ahead of schedule.”
She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, the motion revealing the shadows beneath her eyes. “Have you been up long?”
“Since five,” I admit, glad her short legs don’t tax my limping stride. The physical therapy exercises have improved my gait over the past months, but my body maintains its own stubborn timeline. “Tell me about the sixteen things.”
She launches into a detailed inventory of furniture, linens, and kitchen supplies still waiting in the resort’s storage facility.
I filter the torrent of information, separating essential tasks from anxious speculation.
The clipboard reveals a list in Chloe’s handwriting, each item accompanied by multiple checkboxes, asterisks, and too many underlines.
“So the table goes in the dining room, but only after the rug is down, which can’t happen until after the floors are polished, which—” Her breath catches, the sentence fracturing as she contemplates the interlocking dependencies.
“Let’s start with what happens first.” I tap the top item on her list. “Storage unit inventory. Everything else will follow from there.”
Chloe’s shoulders lower by inches, her breathing becoming more regular as we continue down the path. The morning sun filters through the pines, casting dappled patterns across her short frame.
“It’s going to be so strange sleeping in a real bedroom again. With actual walls and a door that closes,” she says after a moment of quiet. “What if I get lonely?”
After months in Cabin One with the entire Wright pack, returning to the renovated Homestead represents more than a physical move. “Nothing has to be perfect on day one, Chloe, and your Alphas will be right across the hall. If you don’t want to sleep alone, then don’t.”
She laughs. “I thought I’d be so excited for personal space again.”
“And now?”
“Now I miss them when they’re gone for a day.” Her smile softens. “It’s like my brain rewired itself to need the chaos.”
“Or the pregnancy is giving you nesting urges,” I point out.
“Shush!” She looks around to make sure we’re still alone. “I told you that was a secret.”
I tilt my head toward her belly. “You won’t be able to hide it forever.”
She gasps in affront. “Did you just call me fat?”
“No, I called you preg— Oomph.” I rub my chest where she smacks me with her clipboard. “Sure, abuse the guy with the cane.”
She sticks her button nose in the air. “Don’t think you can use your disability to get away with insulting me.”
“Come on, it has to be good for something.”
We round a bend in the path, revealing the stretch of trail that leads to Cabin One. The small structure nestles among the trees, with two chairs on the small porch and a small table begging to hold an afternoon coffee.
“Changing the subject…” Chloe nudges my shoulder with hers. “Have you decided what you’re doing when we move? Kyle said you’re welcome to stay, but wouldn’t you like a space to call your own again? You must be going crazy with the fishing talk and that satellite radio he blasts.”
The question strikes a nerve I’ve been avoiding. For months, I’ve existed in a comfortable holding pattern, doing minimal social work for Chloe and writing up some news articles that spark my interest while trying to figure out what I want to do next.
With the Homestead now finished, my temporary arrangement loses its convenient excuse.
“I’m exploring options,” I reply, the vagueness of my answer obvious even to my own ears.
“The condos in Pinecrest are nice,” Chloe offers with visible reluctance. “Or your old ground-floor room in the Homestead is yours for the asking.”
Both suggestions hang in the air between us, reasonable and practical. Yet something prevents me from committing to either. Returning to the mainland means giving up the quiet of the island. But staying at the Homestead is a different kind of intrusion on someone else’s space.
“I’ll figure it out,” I assure her, echoing my earlier response with less conviction than I’d hoped. “The timing’s not ideal with the start of school driving up prices, but I’ll find something.”
Chloe’s eyebrows lift. “How’s the article you’re writing for the Homestead?”
“Almost done.” My cheeks warm. “Just need to interview a few people and take some pics after the equipment is all moved.”
The path widens as we approach Cabin One, allowing us to walk side by side without my cane bumping her legs.
Morning light streaks across the cabin’s wooden exterior, turning the weathered planks to gold.
Through the window, movement flashes as a small figure darts past, followed by the larger shadow of an adult.
“If you don’t like the idea of the Homestead, which would be super convenient for me, your bestie…” Chloe peeks at me from the corner of her eye and huffs when I don’t take the bait. “Nat pointed out that Cabin One will be empty soon. You could have the whole place to yourself.”
I consider the small building. “How much would the monthly rent be?”
Her cheeks puff up with indignation. “We’d never charge yo—”
“Chloe,” I cut in with a warning.
“Fine. Figure out the market value and subtract thirty percent for a friend’s discount.”
“Chloe…”
“Why won’t you let me be your sugar mama, Grady Garfield Finch?” She waves her hands in the air, almost flinging the keys she still holds. “You’ve done so much for me over the years. Just let me do this!”
“Fine, I’ll think about it,” I say noncommittally.
Chloe flashes a knowing smirk as we reach the cabin steps. “You do that. Take all the time you need.” She bounds up the stairs, her earlier anxiety transformed to excited energy. “But not too long. Change is coming whether we’re ready or not.”
My cane finds the first step as I follow her up, the wood creaking beneath my weight. She’s right, of course. Change arrives uninvited, unwanted, and unplanned, much like the accident that shattered my leg and rearranged my life.
The trick isn’t avoiding it, but finding steady ground when it comes.
Chloe pushes the cabin door open without knocking, her pink hair swishing across her shoulders as she steps inside. I follow behind, the warmth of the interior washing over my cold-stiffened joints.
The scene inside greets us with controlled chaos. Cardboard boxes sit in neat stacks, shelves half-emptied, and the unmistakable energy of a home in transition.
Leif stands in the kitchenette, his broad frame bent over the low counter, while Quinn darts between boxes like a hummingbird.
“Good morning,” Chloe sings out as she scans the room.
“Almost afternoon. You have perfect timing.” Leif turns toward us, and he brightens. “Quinn and I were just talking about what to have for lunch.”
Chloe rubs her stomach. “Yes, please. I don’t even care what you have planned. Just feed me.”
“You’re like a garbage disposal,” I tease before turning to Leif. “Nothing for me. I have other plans for lunch today.”
He turns to me. “Don’t tell me they recruited you for packing duty, too.”
“Not on your life.” I tap my cane against my shoe. “Permanent get out of jail free card.”
The joke earns me a small chuff of amusement.
Quinn barrels across the room, colliding with Chloe’s legs in an enthusiastic hug before twirling toward me. “Mr. Grady! Did you bring any new books?”
I spread my empty arms. “Not today, princess. But I have something better.” I reach into my jacket pocket and withdraw a small stone, the surface embossed with the shape of some crustacean. “Found this on the beach yesterday. It made me think of you.”
Quinn cradles the stone in her palms as if I’ve handed her a live creature. “It’s beautiful,” she whispers, turning it to catch the light. “Thank you.”
“Quinn, let Mr. Grady come inside,” Leif interjects, his tone gentle but firm. “And remember to finish packing your craft supplies before lunch is ready.”
Chloe reclaims her clipboard and moves to the far corner of the cabin, muttering measurements and scribbling notes.
I hobble over to join Leif. “How’s the packing going?”