Quinn has been talking about her plans to bake cookies with her Uncle Holden nonstop since breakfast, which rendered the lesson plan I had for the day all but pointless.
“Mr. Leif, do you think Holden will let me crack the eggs this time?” She bounces on her toes, her braids dancing on her purple sundress. “Last timehe said I was getting better at not getting shells in the bowl.”
“I imagine he’ll let you try,” I say, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “You practiced a lot with those plastic eggs during science class.”
A burst of warm laughter spills through the window, followed by the thump of cabinet doors.
“Are you two planning to stand out there all afternoon?” Holden calls from inside. “The butter’s already softening!”
Quinn grins up at me, exposing the gap from her missing front tooth. “Come on! He’s got rainbow star sprinkles today!”
As she tugs me toward the door, a shout erupts from uphill, the words indistinct but the anger unmistakable. More voices join in, a chorus of indignation rising from the direction of the construction site.
Quinn freezes beside me, her smile faltering. “What’s that?”
I tilt my head, trying to catch the words, but they’re too far off. “I’m not sure.”
The screen door creaks open, and Holden appears, flour dusting his forearms and a wooden spoon in hand. His golden-brown curls catch the afternoon sunlight, but his expression clouds as another angry shout rises from above.
“Quinn, princess, I need your expert opinion on which cookie cutters to use today.” Holden extends his hand, his voice light. “I’m thinking dinosaurs, but maybe you have a better idea?”
Quinn hesitates, peering from Holden to the commotion. “But what’s happening? Why are people yelling?”
“Grown-up stuff.” Holden meets my eyes over her head, silent communication passing between us. “Nothing for cookie experts to worry about.”
I release Quinn’s hand, nudging her toward Holden. “Go on inside. I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Promise?” she asks with far too much worry for her seven years.
“Cookie monster’s honor.” I trace an X over my heart.
As Quinn disappears inside with Holden, the angry voices swell again. I remain frozen on the porch, caught between the warmth of the house behind me and the commotion coming from the construction site.
At the top of the central road, I spot Grady limping past with his cane, his head tilted and his brow furrowing as another wave of shouting rises.
Our eyes meet across the distance, both of us pretending we’re not worried while concern pulls at our expressions.
Grady turns and limps down the path toward me. “Thought I’d bring Emily’s thermos back from lunch.” He lifts the container, a transparent excuse to meet up with the female Alpha. “Though it sounds like there might be more interesting entertainment up by the break tent.”
I step down from the porch, meeting him halfway. “Think we should sneak over for a little looksee?”
Grady tucks the thermos under his arm. “Was just thinking the same thing.”
Quinn’s high-pitched laughter drifts out the open window, followed by Holden’s soothing tones, the domesticity a sharp contrast with the rising tension.
I turn to call back. “Holden, I need to check something with Grady. Save me some dough to sample!”
Holden appears in the doorway. “Take your time. We’re still in the mixing phase.”
Grady and I start up the gravel path, our pace casual. Just two people on an innocent stroll, nothing more.
As we ascend toward the construction site, the shouting grows clearer, and my stomach tightens.
“…can’t trust him around the Omega guests…”
“…Wright Pack needs to stop protecting him…”
“…watched the video myself, clear as day…”