Chapter 31
Thirty-One
Sunlight streamed through the cabin windows, casting golden streaks across the wooden floor. The sheets were warm around my body, cocooning me in the softness of half-sleep. For a fleeting moment, I let myself linger there, not quite ready to let go of the weightless haze between dreams and waking.
Then the smell hit me—warm, sweet, familiar.
I rolled over, blinking against the light, then froze.
Dean stood in the tiny kitchenette, bare-chested, a pair of gray sweatpants slung low on his hips.
He was moving awkwardly around the kitchen, his back flexing as he flipped a pancake onto a plate with all the grace of a man who clearly didn’t do this on a regular basis.
George sat loyally at his side, tail thumping against the cabinet as though waiting for something to drop.
He let out a deep bark, and Dean immediately hushed him.
“Shhhh… don’t wake her.” But then he glanced over his shoulder, and a grin broke out across his face, boyish and unguarded, when he noticed me.
“I was trying to surprise you,” he said, holding up the spatula like a goof.
My lips curved despite the heaviness in my chest. He looked so proud and out of place, yet so heartbreakingly perfect that I wanted to freeze time.
He plated a small stack of pancakes—making a face at the ones that were a little too dark before tossing them into the trash. “Turns out pancakes have a learning curve. The first two were tragic. The rest…” He carried the plate over and stopped beside the bed. “Lie to me if they’re terrible.”
I pushed myself upright against the headboard, tugging the blankets higher over my chest. “I thought pancakes were supposed to be one of your specialties,” I teased.
He shook his head as he handed me the fork, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “I said I could cook them,” he admitted, “not that they’d win any awards.”
I cut off a small piece and lifted it to my mouth.
The pancake was lopsided—one edge a little too crisp, the other soft and golden.
Hardly perfect. But when I chewed, warmth spread through me anyway.
Not from the butter or the syrup, but from the simple fact that he’d done this for me.
That he’d stood here, wrestling a frying pan, with George pacing at his side…
all because he wanted to make me breakfast.
I swallowed, my lips twitching. “They’re perfect,” I said, and I meant it.
Something in his shoulders eased, though he tilted his head to the side and made a face like he didn’t believe me. Then he leaned against the wall, folded his arms loosely across his chest, and for a moment just watched me eat.
“I have another meeting this morning,” he said finally. “I didn’t want to go without having breakfast with you first.”
I paused, fork hovering midair. “But you’re not eating.”
He shrugged, and that’s when I noticed the bags under his eyes. The wrinkles carved into his forehead, and I suddenly wasn’t hungry either. “Are you meeting with your grandfather again?”
He nodded, then looked out the window. “Yes, among others.”
“The men you met at breakfast the other day?”
“Yes. We’re taking them on another tour of the grounds.”
My brows furrowed. “Why?”
He looked at me for a long moment before answering. “Because it’s not just the firm they’re interested in. The lodge is part of the deal as well.”
“What?” My chest constricted and I set down my plate.
“It’s everything. Every acre, every structure, everything my grandfather spent his life building. It’s all on the table.”
“How could he even think of selling this place?”
His gaze dropped to the floor, then lifted slowly back to me. The words that came next were quiet, careful, the kind that hollowed me out just hearing them from his lips.
“Because he’s dying, and he wants to make sure we’re all taken care of after he’s gone.”
The fork slipped from my hand, thudding softly in my lap. I knew something was wrong yesterday, yet the confirmation made my heart stop.
Dean came closer and sat on the edge of the bed, making us eye level.
“But this place holds so many memories. It’s—”
“Everything,” Dean finished my thought. “I know.”
I swallowed against the knot in my throat. “What are you going to do?”
He leaned back on his elbow, raking a hand through his hair.
“Convince him I can handle it.” His eyes closed for a second before opening again, “Mason and I—we’ve been working on a proposal.
We’re still working out details, but the idea is to show him that we can split responsibilities.
Between us both, I think we can actually make the firm stronger, not weaker.
And neither of us will have to carry everything all alone the way he did. ”
My brow furrowed. “That makes sense.”
“We’ve mapped it all out. Mason would run operations here at the lodge. We could make it equitable by opening it to the public. I’d mostly oversee operations back at the firm. We’d each carry half the weight, so it’s not all-consuming like it was for him.
He gave a short, almost self-conscious laugh. “It’s boring as hell on paper, but it works. It proves we can take what he built and not just keep it alive but make everyone’s lives even better because of it.”
“And you’re showing him this when?”
“Tomorrow––before the farewell dinner.
The cabin felt much too quiet after Dean left, and I lay in bed for a while, staring at the ceiling, thinking about the weight he carried on his shoulders.
Eventually, I swung my legs over to the floor and forced myself through the motions—shower, clean clothes, tidying up the dishes we’d left in the sink from breakfast.
I had just dried my hands when a knock at the door startled me.
I froze, frowning, and looked over at George, whose ears had perked the second he heard it.
My chest tightened as I padded toward the door and peeked through the peephole. Nothing.
The knock came again, making me jump backward. I blew out a breath, rolling my shoulders back before turning the knob.
Little Emma stood on the other side, her hands on her hips, and she marched right through the opening as soon as it was wide enough for her to fit. “Hello,” she said.
“Uh… hello,” I said, following her little steps through the cabin until she plopped down onto the rug and began taking off her sneakers.
“Where are they?” she asked me.
I closed the door and turned around to face her. “Where are what?”
“Your shoes, silly.” She giggled. “‘Member—you told me I could wear dem someday.”
My mouth opened, then closed again. “Umm…Does your mom know you’re here?”
She nodded matter-of-factly. “Yep. She suuuure does. Said I could come ober today.”
George trotted over and began sniffing at her copper hair.
The girl shrieked, scrambling back, then ran over to my legs and held her arms up for me to lift her.
I scooped her off the ground, and she immediately buried her face into my shoulder, looping her tiny fists around my neck.
“Shh, it’s okay,” I soothed, rubbing her back. “That’s just George. He’s a big baby. I promise.” I squatted down, holding her on my knees, and George came over, wagging his entire body, clueless that anyone could possibly be afraid of him.
“See?” I scratched behind his ear. “He just wants to say hi.”
She peeked out from her hiding place at my neck, her wide eyes darting toward George. He stayed where he was, then plopped his butt down and sprawled his large body across the rug, his tail thumping softly against the floor like he already knew he had to earn her trust.
She turned her face back toward me for reassurance, then inched off my lap, little by little, until her small hand stretched out and brushed the top of his head. George didn’t move, except for that eager tail that beat harder now, thudding against the floor like a drum.
Her touch grew bolder, fingertips pressing into his fur. When he didn’t flinch, she tried again, this time longer, stroking him the way she might a stuffed animal. I felt her whole body shift against mine, muscles unclenching as the fear drained away.
Finally, she got down on all fours beside him.
George rolled onto his back with a dramatic sigh and showed her his belly.
She leaned in, threw her arms around his neck in a fearless hug, and he licked her face, his tail wild.
Giggles filled the cabin then, and soon they were rolling around on the floor together like long lost siblings.
I leaned back on my heels and watched them. She ran her hands through his fur, whispering something only he could hear. He licked her cheek, and she shrieked, pushing him back with both hands before collapsing onto her bottom.
The room softened around them. The earlier shock of her arrival faded into something that felt easy and normal. She wandered away from George after a while, padding across the cabin with her bare feet.
Her fingers trailed across the wall, she paused to look into the bathroom, out the window, then investigated the kitchen. Eventually, she stopped at the side of the bed, then turned around to face me again. “Okay,” she announced, “I’m ready to twy on your shoes now.”
I couldn’t stop the laugh that came out of me, but I stood up, then walked to the closet and pulled open the door. She followed me inside, bypassing the requested flip-flops and going straight for the red stilettos I’d packed for the farewell dinner.
Her eyes lit up as she sat back on the floor and shoved her tiny feet into the toes. “I’m like a princess,” she said.
She tried to stand, but fell over almost instantly.
“Woah,” I said, grabbing hold of her hands until she steadied.
I sat on the floor watching her, my legs splayed out in front of me as she dug through my closet. Then a tightness wrapped around my chest, as I remembered sneaking into my own mother’s closet. I’d been about Emma’s age.
Those aren’t for you. Don’t touch them.
All I’d ever wanted was to be like her—slipping into her shoes, painting my lips the way she did, pretending for a moment that I belonged in her world.
Now, Emma wobbled across the cabin in my heels, unsteady but radiant, her laughter spilling out like it was Christmas morning. Pure. Uninhibited.
And suddenly, I realized it had never really been about the shoes or the lipstick. What I’d wanted was permission. Permission to take up space. To play. To be more instead of less.
And here Emma was, taking it without hesitation—no shame, no fear.
Something inside me loosened. Maybe this was how healing began—not in erasing the past, but in watching someone else step boldly into the spaces you once longed for, and finding that you could cheer them on instead of aching for what you’d missed.
For the first time, I didn’t feel like the little girl standing outside the closet door. I felt like the one opening it.
Emma twirled in my heels, her laughter bouncing against every wall in the cabin, and I rose to my feet. “Wait here,” I said softly, heading for the bathroom,
Her eyes went wide when I came back with my box of makeup. “Wanna try?”
“Weally?”
“Really.”
She scampered over, nearly toppling in the heels. I steadied her and she pulled out a bright red tube of lipstick. Knowing exactly what to do with it, she swiped the color across her mouth then smacked her lips together and turned toward the mirror. She gasped. “I look like a movie star!”
I grinned, tears rushing to my eyes. “You sure do!”
She placed her hands on her hips and swayed back and forth, then squatted back to my box, and pulled out a bottle of perfume. Soon the entire room smelled like vanilla and roses, and her tiny cheeks were hot pink with too much blush.
Another knock came at the door, and I turned around to look at it. “Are you expecting anyone?” I asked Emma.
She shrugged and made a face. “No.”
I got off the floor, walked to the door, and peeked out the peephole. Trisha was standing on the other side, a frantic look on her face. I swung the door open.
“Have you—” But relief broke her features instantly, and she ran inside. “Oh, thank God,” she said, scooping little Emma up into her arms.
“I’m so sorry!” I blinked, wringing my hands together. “I thought you knew she was here. She said—”
Trisha shook her head, exhaling, but there was no blame in her voice, only relief. “I told her we could come over after I folded the laundry…but when I came out of the bedroom, she was gone.”
Emma wiggled free from her mother’s arms, then went over to find George again.
“You’re all she’s been talking about all week.” Trisha explained. “Aunt Vivienne this, and Aunt Vivienne that. It’s partially my fault I realize. I’ve been promising for days that we’d come over to see you. I just didn’t want to bother you—”
“It’s no bother.” I interrupted, not wanting Emma to hear those words. “In fact, we’re having a lot of fun.”
Emma’s mom looked at the chaos scattered across the floor—lipstick tubes, powder compacts, shoes strewn all over the place. Her gaze swept over the mess, then landed on Emma, who was grinning from ear to ear, lipstick crooked on her mouth.
Emma spun in one last circle, nearly toppling in the heels before catching herself and striking a pose with her hands on her hips. “She let me wear lipstick!” she announced proudly.
Her mom arched a brow but smiled widely. “Thank you,” she said, looking from me back to Emma. “I think you just made her whole year.”
I felt my throat tighten as I took in Emma’s joy, the brightness radiating from her like sunlight. My voice came out softer than I expected. “I think she made mine, too.”
Something flickered in her mom’s expression then—hesitation, then—“We’re going on a picnic this afternoon,” she said, her tone light but hopeful. “Would you like to join us?”