Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Grady
The Saturday Market hums with life around me, each step requiring careful navigation with my cane. Vendors call out their wares while visitors shuffle between stalls of glistening produce and handmade crafts.
Blake walks ahead with Quinn, her small hand gripping his sleeve while her other clutches Sprinkles’s service vest. Chloe strolls beside me, matching her pace to mine. Her pink hair catches sunlight each time she turns to scan a jewelry display or wave to a familiar face.
“Take your time,” Chloe murmurs, her fingers on my arm as I pause to rest my leg. “We have all morning.”
I adjust my grip on my cane, the wood warm in my palm. “I’m fine. Only admiring the pottery.”
Six months ago, she might have pressed me on it, worried about my discomfort. Now she allows me the dignity of my own limits. Growth, for both of us.
Ahead, Quinn tugs Blake toward a display of honey jars, the glass containers catching sunlight in amber prisms. Quinn’s head swivels as she peers around the crowd.
“She’s looking for someone,” I murmur to Chloe.
Chloe follows my gaze, her lips pursing. “Leif was supposed to meet us here. He texted Blake this morning about being under the weather.”
A frown tugs at my lips before I wipe it away. Chloe’s far too nosy. If she gets a single whiff of gossip, she’ll pester me to no end.
“Uncle Blake!” Quinn points to a display of autumn squash. “Can we get some for dinner? The star-shaped ones?”
Blake crouches to examine the acorn squash with exaggerated interest. “I’m sure Holden will know what to do with that. How many should we buy?”
She scrunches up her nose as she counts on her fingers. “Seven!”
His eyebrows shoot up. “Is one of those for Sprinkles?”
“Duh!”
While Blake completes the purchase, I use the moment to catch up, my cane finding purchase between cobblestones worn smooth by years of foot traffic. A vendor offers samples of apple cider, the liquid tart and cold on my tongue when I accept, and Chloe hands one to Quinn.
The little girl takes a tiny sip, and her nose wrinkles at the tartness. “Mr. Leif would like this. He loves sour things.” Uncertainty pinches her features as she passes the cup back to Blake. “Why did he stop coming to Market Day?”
Blake smooths a hand over the top of her head. “He’s just been busy, kiddo. The weekends are his free time, too.”
“But he used to spend the weekends with me.” Her fingers tighten on Sprinkles’s vest, and her shoulders rise with tension. “Why did he stop coming after I started school?”
Blake tugs on one of her pigtails. “I’m sure he’s figuring out the new normal, same as you.”
“Does he not like the school? Bethany’s mom saw the dean talking to Mr. Leif, and she said it sounded serious.” Her free hand twists in the fabric of her shirt. “Is he in trouble? We can go back to private lessons if he’s in trouble. I don’t really like school, anyway.”
Blake crouches in front of her, nudging her chin up. “Hey. You don’t have to love every minute of it, but school’s still important.”
His hand settles briefly on Sprinkles’s vest, grounding her. “And none of this is your fault. “And Mr. Leif isn’t in trouble, princess. He and Dean Whitaker are old friends from school.” Blake holds a finger to his lips. “But it’s best not to mention it to your classmates, okay?”
Quinn’s forehead creases, doubt clear in her amber eyes. “Why?”
Blake boops her on the nose. “Because it’s bad to gossip.”
Quinn considers the explanation. After several seconds, she gives a small, reluctant dip of her chin, unsatisfied but unwilling to challenge her uncle further.
“Okay.” She turns to Sprinkles, burying her fingers in his thick ruff. “Can we bring back almond cookies?”
As they begin negotiations about how many cookies they can sneak in under Holden’s careful eye, the memory of Leif’s reaction at the hotel party floods back to me, the way he paled at the sight of Carson Whitaker.
I saw him slip through the side door without a word to anyone, vanishing into the night air. His fear was palpable, nothing close to the friendly connection Blake described to Quinn.
Another piece of a puzzle I can’t quite fit together.
“Grady!” a familiar voice cuts through the market chatter. “Blake!”
I turn to find Emily and Jared weaving through the crowd.
Emily wears her hair clipped up on one side in a more feminine style than usual, and the tank top she wears under her open flannel sways in a way it never does while she’s at work.
Beside her, Jared sports a grin that transforms him from handsome to radiant.
There’s no denying what a stunning couple the pair make.
Chloe nudges me in the side. “Wipe the drool off your chin before they reach us.”
I snap my mouth closed. “Shut up.”
“Ms. Emily! Mr. Jared!” Quinn bounces on her toes, tugging Sprinkles forward with an enthusiasm that has the massive dog trotting to keep pace.
Jared reaches us first. Without comment, he lifts the canvas tote from my shoulder, the one growing increasingly heavy with market purchases. The relief is immediate, and my pride stings only for a second before gratitude washes it away.
“Thanks,” I murmur, adjusting my stance now that my arm is free.
Jared winks. “I need the workout.”
Emily hugs Quinn to her side before she steps closer to me, her palm touching my forearm in greeting. “I hope you’re not filling up on market treats. We’ve got lunch planned.”
“Lunch?” Blake shifts his gaze between Emily and Jared, curiosity evident in the tilt of his head. “What are you two scheming?”
“We invited Grady to come for lunch,” Jared reveals.
Chloe gasps and swats at me. “Secrets, Grady? How could you?”
I bat her hand away. “I planned to tell you when we were done with the market, so you wouldn’t pester me the entire time we were here."
Her hands fly to her hips. “I do not pester!”
“It’s okay, mate.” Blake draws her to his side. “Your pestering is adorable.”
Jared swings my bag over his shoulder with casual strength. “We’d like to invite you all over, actually, so not a secret. I got the barbecue cleaned, and there are burgers and hot dogs.”
“And a fire extinguisher,” Emily mutters.
Jared reaches past me to nudge her. “Be nice. I’m a grilling genius.”
“So you keep saying.”
“Em spent all morning baking up buns,” Jared tells the rest of us. “So you’re all officially expected to show up hungry.”
Quinn, who has been listening with growing excitement, tugs at Blake’s sleeve. “Can we go now? Can Sprinkles come, too?”
Emily crouches to Quinn’s level. “Sprinkles is always welcome at my house, so long as he plays nicely with my cat, Mixie. And I have a backyard with plenty of space for him to stretch out.”
Quinn clasps her hands together under her chin. “Do you have cookies?”
“Quinn,” Blake admonishes, though his lips twitch.
“What? I want to know if there are cookies,” she insists with the unfiltered honesty of childhood.
Jared leans down. “There might be brownies.”
Her mouth forms a perfect O of delight.
“It’s settled,” Chloe laughs. “We’re all going to Emily’s.”
The group moves toward the parking area, our collective pace slowed by my careful steps and Quinn’s frequent pauses to point out interesting sights to Sprinkles.
“The weather’s clearing up,” Blake comments, tilting his face toward the sun. “Won’t get many more grilling days like this before fall sets in.”
Chloe groans. “Don’t remind me. I’m going to hibernate through the cold season.”
“How is that any different from the usual?” I tease.
“It’s not.” Her hands move to her hips. “In fact, you should move into the Homestead so I don’t have to trudge through mud to come have coffee with you.”
“Not happening,” I tell her. “A man needs some privacy.”
She gasps. “Since when?”
Since Chloe found four mates, though I don’t say it out loud. The Wright Pack always welcomes me, but I remain on the outside.
At the parking lot, Blake helps Quinn into his SUV while Chloe collects the market bags from Jared.
Emily touches my elbow. “You can ride with us if you want. Save you from climbing into that monster truck Blake calls a vehicle.”
Blake overhears and clutches his chest in mock offense. “My car is perfectly reasonable.”
“Then why do I need a step up?” Chloe asks, grabbing for the handlebar attached to the frame next to the windshield.
“Because you’re a wee little thing.” Blake gives her a boost. “It’s reasonable for those of us who are of normal height.”
She puts on a show of scanning the area. “Are the normal-height people here with us?”
As Quinn settles Sprinkles beside her in the backseat, the Newfoundland taking up most of the available foot space, my leg protests at the thought of cramming into the back with them. “I’ll ride with Emily and Jared.”
As Jared helps me into their truck, I catch sight of Quinn through the window of Blake’s vehicle, her hopeful gaze still fixed on the market entrance.
My chest tightens.
Whatever exists between Leif and Carson Whitaker, it’s affecting more than just Leif now. And given Carson’s position of authority over the school Quinn attends, that connection matters more than anyone seems to realize.
Except, perhaps, for Leif himself.
I step inside Emily’s cottage and have to stop myself from doing a slow turn to take it all in.
Nothing matches. And somehow everything works perfectly together.
It’s a cozy mixture of hand-carved furniture and crocheted blankets, with cat toys scattered around. The scent of fresh-baked bread and coffee fills the air, along with another, warmer scent that puts me at ease.
“You can put your things anywhere,” Emily says, hanging her jacket on a wooden peg by the door.
Quinn stands in the entryway, gaping with wonder as she takes in the space. “Your house is like the ones in my fairy books.”
Exactly my thought, though it isn’t feminine. It exudes a sense of comfort and encourages you to settle in and stay.
“Thank you,” Emily responds as she takes off her boot. “Want to explore? Sprinkles, too?”