10. Grant
Chapter ten
Grant
Isit on the downstairs couch, forearm braced against my knee, listening to rain hammer the old windows.
The guest room upstairs waits, clean and deliberately chosen because it sits farthest from Laurie's.
Thunder rolls over the mountains. The lodge creaks. Gutters overflow somewhere outside, and the smell of wet pine presses through every gap in the weatherstripping.
Major lies near my boots, harness still on, alert but calm. His position covers both the front door and the staircase.
I've already checked the locks. The plumbing for upstairs is shutoff. I replaced the towels around the bathroom leak. The road closure is still in effect.
I replay the evening. Laurie's voice on the phone, trying to sound calm. Her in the upstairs hallway with a towel and flashlight, hair coming loose, determined to solve the problem through sheer stubborn will.
Bethany's dry commentary. The way Laurie tried not to smile.
Thunder cracks hard enough to rattle glass.
Major's head lifts immediately.
My shoulders lock. Breath shortens. Pulse jumps before I can override the reaction.
Major rises and presses his weight against my knee, head lowering over my thigh.
My hand settles on his neck. Warm. Steady.
I exhale slowly as I count back from ten.
Major stays until my breathing evens, then eases back but doesn't resettle. Still watching.
A floorboard creaks near the stairs.
My eyes lift.
Laurie appears in the doorway, wrapped in pajamas and an oversized cardigan, hair loose around her shoulders, socks silent against the old wood. She is prettier than any woman has a right to look at this hour.
Her gaze catches on Major close beside me.
Her eyes flick back to me.
"I was coming down for tea," she says quietly. "Didn't mean to interrupt."
I stand. Automatic.
She smiles. "I can make tea without military support."
"I wasn't providing support."
"Then what were you providing?"
"Company," I say.
***
We end up in the kitchen. Storm outside, old lodge warm inside, mugs steaming between us. Major lies near the archway, positioned where he can monitor both rooms.
The kitchen is already looking better. Cleared counters. Labeled supplies are lined up in neat rows. Clean towels sit folded by the sink. A mug holding fall flowers sits near the window.
"Is Major always this watchful?" she asks.
My guard rises.
"You don't have to answer." She focuses back on her tea.
I take a long breath in through my nose. Major being a service dog isn't a secret. He goes everywhere with me. But somehow admitting that makes me feel weak.
"Major is alert because of the storm. And because we are somewhere different tonight."
There. Truthful, without opening my past and dragging her through it.
"He's very good at his job."
"He thinks highly of you."
She smiles. "Major has excellent taste."
I purse my lips. "He's usually more discerning."
She laughs, "I'll try not to be insulted."
The tension eases. Soft humor fills the gap thunder left behind.
I glance around the kitchen again. "The lodge feels different since you and Bethany arrived."
Laurie deflects. "That's because we removed three bags of expired food and nastiness from this room."
"It's more than that."
She goes quiet.
"It's just… easier to relax," I say.
Her fingers tighten around her mug. She tries to shrug it off, but the words landed. Too honest to take back.
I don't apologize for them.
"After Tom died," she says softly, "I learned how much a room could either help you survive or make loneliness louder."
I don't know what to say. "I'm sorry."
She accepts it with a small nod.
The storm fills the silence between us. I become acutely aware of the little details about her: damp hair curling at her temple, mug cradled between her hands, the fragile expression in her eyes.
I want to reach for her.
I don't.
Boundaries are boundaries. She's temporarily housed on my property. My sister's best friend. My fake fiancée for legal optics that protect us both.
Bethany's footsteps creak overhead.
"Is the bathroom open?" she calls down.
The moment breaks.
Laurie calls back, "Yes. It's all yours."
Laurie puts her mug in the sink and pauses at the archway. "Goodnight, Grant."
"Goodnight."
Major watches her go, then turns his attention back to me.
"Don't start," I tell him.
***
Once the women have settled upstairs, I head up myself. Laurie and Bethany's rooms sit on one side of the hallway. I have assigned myself the guest room farthest down the opposite end.
The bed is made with clean sheets. The extra blankets sit folded at the foot. Major settles near the door.
I sit on the edge of the bed, not ready to sleep. My phone sits dark on the nightstand. The plumber is scheduled. The road will clear by morning. The leak is contained.
Everything is contained.
Except the way Laurie looked at me in the kitchen.
I lie back against the pillows, eyes on the ceiling. Rain drums the roof. Major's breathing evens into sleep.
I listen to the storm and pretend to sleep.
But really I'm wondering if somewhere down the hall, Laurie is doing the same.