Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
Leif
Igrip the wine bottle in my left hand, the six-pack of beer dangling from my right, and stand frozen on Emily’s porch.
My indecision at the liquor store has led to this moment of double-fisted awkwardness, and I’m still not sure which was the right choice. Wine seems too formal, beer too casual.
Before I can figure out a way to knock, the door swings open, and Emily stands framed in golden light, her flannel shirt rolled up to her elbows, revealing strong forearms.
“You came.” The pleasure in her voice unwinds a fraction of my tension.
I lift both offerings. “I couldn’t decide which to bring.”
She takes the wine with one hand and reaches for my arm with the other, pulling me over the threshold. “Perfect. You’ve just solved our divided household. Jared’s a beer man, and Grady’s partial to reds.”
The cottage welcomes me with its familiar scent of wood and fresh bread, but beneath it runs the electric current of a gathering in full swing. Voices filter in from the backyard, punctuated by occasional laughter.
“Everyone’s out back.” Emily leads me through the living room toward the kitchen. “Jared’s been threatening to light the grill since noon.”
We pass through the kitchen, where plates of sliced vegetables and bowls of chips cover the counters. Emily deposits the wine on the counter and grabs a bottle opener from a drawer.
I peer out the kitchen window and don’t see a giant Newfoundland in the backyard. “No Quinn today?”
Emily shakes her head. “She’s baking cookies with Holden.”
“That will be fun for both of them.” She loves her Uncle Holden and all the treats that come out of his kitchen.
“Take these out?” She hands me a platter of hamburger patties from the refrigerator. “I’ll be right behind you with your beer.”
Outside, string lights zigzag overhead, though they’re unnecessary in the late afternoon light. The grill area buzzes with activity, Jared waving tongs as he speaks while Grady perches on a nearby stool, his cane hooked over the arm.
To my left, Emily’s workshop doors stand wide open, spilling sawdust and the rich scent of cut wood into the yard. Blake bends over the workbench, T-shirt already stained with sweat and wood stain.
“Leif!” Blake’s greeting cuts through the ambient noise as he straightens and waves. “Perfect timing. Em says you’ve been learning to woodwork.”
Before I can respond, he crosses the yard in long strides and relieves me of the platter, handing it off to Jared.
“I’m about to do a corner joint,” Blake continues, guiding me toward the workshop. “Come on, I’ll show you, and you can see what I’ve got going for Quinn’s bed frame.”
The workshop envelops me as Blake pulls me to the bench where pieces of wood lie in organized chaos. A corner post sits in the center, with a bear climbing a tree and what might be…
I lean closer. “Is that an octopus?”
“Sure is.” Blake rakes his fingers through his beard, dislodging sawdust. “There will be two rabbits, also, per Quinn’s request.”
I laugh in bemusement. “It looks like we need to go back over land and sea creatures’ habitats.”
“She’s been obsessed with marine life since I took her to the aquarium a while back,” Blake explains. “Last weekend, she drew gills on all her forest animals because ‘what if the forest floods?’”
I chuckle at the logic. “She’s a smart kid.”
“She is, which is why I like to support her imagination.” Blake runs his fingers along a dark streak in the maple.
“See this grain running through here? If I cut along this line, the whole piece might split.” He looks up at me with the enthusiasm of someone sharing their craft.
“Always respect the grain. Wood remembers how it grew.”
The moment catches me off guard, not because the concept is difficult, but because he’s taking time to teach me. I lean closer, my earlier nervousness forgotten when presented with this unexpected lesson.
“I never thought about wood having a memory,” I admit, studying the swirling pattern.
Blake traces the grain with reverence. “I’ll carve from this direction instead, following its natural flow.” He demonstrates with his hand. “See how that works?”
“Careful, Leif,” Emily appears in the doorway, a cold beer in one hand and a glass of wine in the other. “Dominic has Blake up to his ears in projects, so he’s aiming for another set of hands.”
“Can’t blame a guy for trying.” Blake raises his hands in mock surrender before he turns to me. “Em showed me the pieces you did together. They’re good. With a little more training, we could have you building custom furniture in no time.”
“I’m happy to help,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck. “But maybe with a little more training? Emily and I only just got started.”
“Fair enough.” Blake claps me on the shoulder. “But I’m holding you to that ‘maybe’ for another time.”
As Blake turns back to his work, Emily holds up her hands. “Wasn’t sure which you preferred.”
Carson had always said beer was for the unrefined and insisted we drink wine.
Pulse quickening, I take the beer from her hand. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She jerks her head toward the yard. “Come on. Jared’s about to burn the first round of burgers.”
I follow Emily to the grill area, where Jared wields a spatula with dangerous enthusiasm, flipping burgers with more force than necessary.
“You’re going to launch them into the bay if you keep that up,” Grady cautions, leaning backward on his stool.
Emily’s hand finds his back as she passes him the wine. “I told you not to sit so close. Didn’t you learn anything from last week?”
Jared flips another burger with a flourish. “It’s all in the wrist. Tell him, Leif.”
“Don’t drag me into this,” I laugh, the sound surprising me with its ease. “I’m a microwave guy.”
“Heathen,” Jared accuses without heat, then launches into a story about the time he caught a thirty-pound salmon with Kyle and tried to grill it whole.
The conversation flows around me, touching on boats, island gossip, and whether the new coffee shop in Pinecrest will survive the winter. No one pushes for me to contribute more than I offer. No one gauges my reactions to use as a weapon later. They simply accept me as I am.
I move between groups with increasing comfort. When Blake calls for an extra pair of hands to hold a piece steady, I step in without hesitation. When Grady mentions a book he’s reading, I find myself sharing my thoughts on the author’s previous work.
At some point, my attention snags on Emily across the yard, quiet satisfaction evident in her bearing, mirroring the growing contentment settling inside me.
Without conscious intent, my cedar-and-linen pheromones, usually locked under strict control, fan outward in calm waves, no longer fluctuating with anxiety.
“Food’s up!” Jared calls from the grill.
The announcement triggers a casual migration toward the patio table.
Emily emerges from the cottage with a bowl of potato salad in one hand and a platter of sliced veggie toppings in the other.
She sets them down next to a ceramic dish of pickles, their bright color standing out on the worn wooden tabletop.
Blake arrives first, grabbing a blue ceramic plate with a chipped edge. “These burgers look like hockey pucks, Jared.”
“That’s called ‘well done,’ thank you very much.” Jared flips a burger onto Blake’s plate.
“It’s called ‘cremated.’” Blake piles on toppings regardless, constructing a tower that threatens to topple.
I hang back, waiting for everyone else to go first. When Emily spots me standing apart, she nudges a green glass plate into my hands.
“Get in there before Blake comes back around for more,” she says.
I join the loose circle around the table, filling my plate with a burger that isn’t as burnt as Blake claimed and sides from the various bowls. No one dictates how much I should take or comments on my choices, and the absence of scrutiny puts me further at ease.
We settle at the picnic table, and I find myself between Grady and Emily. The burger is juicy despite its charred exterior, and the conversation flows as freely as the beer Jared distributes from a cooler, while Emily tops off Grady’s wine glass.
As we finish eating, the sunset paints the sky in bands of orange and purple, reflecting off the windows of the cottage. Blake checks his watch and sighs.
“I should head back before it’s full dark.” He sets his empty plate on the table. “Holden will think I’ve fallen into the bay if I’m not home by six, and Kyle will be wanting to settle in for the night.”
“He likes to be in bed by eight so he can be up at four in the morning.” Grady shudders. “I’m a morning person, but I’m not a crazy morning person.”
Disappointment shoots through me. In my experience, one person leaving often signals the end, with others following suit in a cascade of departures, and I’m not ready to return to my hotel room, where I’ll be alone. I should have second-guessed less and arrived earlier.
I stare at my half-empty beer. It’s my third of the day. If I’d known the gathering was going to break up so early, I would have stopped at two.
Emily leans over. “I can give you a ride back to your hotel later. I haven’t been drinking.”
“Thanks,” I reply, the single word inadequate for the warmth spreading through my chest.
Blake gathers his things. “Grady, you coming?”
Grady purses his lips as he gauges the amount of wine left in the bottle on the table.
Jared lifts it in question. “There’s a spare toothbrush in the guest room, and Em’s planning biscuits with gravy for breakfast.”
“I’m convinced.” He pushes his glass forward for a refill. “Sorry, Blake, you’re on your own.”
Blake flattens a hand over his heart. “I’m hurt. Truly.”
Grady gestures for Jared to keep pouring. “You’ll get over it.”
“I don’t know.” Blake backs toward the door. “I might have to tell Chloe what a fickle friend you are, to abandon me and stay here for the night.”
The tips of Grady’s ears turn red. “Haven’t you heard that gossiping is bad?”