Quinn releases my legs but keeps one hand wrapped in the hem of my jacket. Sprinkles sits beside her, tongue lolling, a constant shower of droplets falling from his thick fur to pool at his feet.
“We made a boat,” Quinn informs me, pointing back toward the puddle where a small piece of bark floats, a leaf serving as its sail. “Sprinkles keeps sinking it with his paws.”
“Ships are meant to face storms,” Leif says, crouching to Quinn’s level. His knees sink into the mud, but he doesn’t appear to mind. “That’s how you know they’re seaworthy.”
Quinn absorbs this wisdom with the gravity of a ship captain. “And we kept rescuing it.”
“The best captains never abandon ship,” I agree, and she beams up at me.
Leif rises, mud clinging to his pants in dark patches. He stands close enough that I catch his pheromones beneath the stronger aromas of the wet forest, the fresh linen and warm wood subtle but distinct.
“I swear we intended to stay on the porch.” He shakes his head in exasperation. “But the puddles called.”
I look down at my own mud-splattered clothes and the wet streaks across my jacket where Quinn clings to me. “Puddles are persuasive.”
“Apparently irresistible to seven-year-olds and Newfoundlands.” A hesitant smile tugs at one corner of his mouth. “Though, I expected better self-control from the dog.”
The unexpected joke cracks my reserve, and a laugh bubbles up my throat.
Quinn tugs on my jacket, eager to reclaim my attention. “Are you going to stay and play with us? Sprinkles would like that.”
“Would he now?” I raise an eyebrow at the dog, who pants in response. “And what about you?”
“Me, too!” She bounces on her toes, watersplashing from her boots. “We can make a bigger boat. One that Sprinkles can’t sink.”
“I wish I could. But I have to finish checking all the drain pipes.” I tap my clipboard again, the wood veneer curling at the edges from moisture. “If they’re clogged, I have to dig out the gunk so the trails can dry out.”
Quinn’s face falls before rebounding with a child’s resilience. “Next time?”
“Definitely next time,” I promise.
Sprinkles chooses that moment to shake again, sending another shower over the three of us. Quinn shrieks with laughter, and Leif groans, wiping water from his face with his sleeve.
“At this rate, we’ll all need to change when we get back to Cabin One,” he mutters without any real annoyance.
I surprise myself by not caring about the cold spray or the mud seeping into my boots. After days of tension with Jared, avoiding hard conversations by filling all my time with tasks, the easy delight of a child and her dog is exactly what I needed.
“Actually…” I set my clipboard on a nearby stump where it will stay dry. “I think I have five minutes to help build an unsinkable ship.”
Quinn’s face lights up, and she tugs me towardthe puddle, Sprinkles bounding ahead with renewed enthusiasm.
Our boat construction project proves successful, Quinn declaring it “Sprinkles-proof” when it survives two direct paw strikes.
I brush soggy leaves from my knees and prepare to return to my inspections.
Quinn, however, has other plans. She grips the hem of my coat with mud-caked fingers, her head tilted back, and flashes a smile missing one front tooth.
“When are you coming for a sleepover?” she asks, as if it’s a forgone conclusion I will. “Sprinkles misses you.”
Behind her, Sprinkles perks up at the sound of his name, his ears flopping forward with interest.
“A sleepover?” I repeat, caught off guard by the invitation.
“You never come to breakfast anymore.” Quinn leans closer to whisper, “Uncle Holden always does biscuits and gravy when you sleep over.”
“Ah. That does sound nice.” I crouch down to meet Quinn at eye level, my work pants sinking into the wet soil. “But we’ll have to wait untilyou’re back in the big house. Cabin One can’t handle one more body.”
Quinn contemplates this, her small brow furrowing with the seriousness of a contract negotiation. “How many more days?”