Chloe reclaims her clipboard and moves to the far corner of the cabin, muttering measurements and scribbling notes.
I hobble over to join Leif. “How’s the packing going?”
Leif surveys the boxes. “We’re getting there. We should finish by the time the movers arrive, assuming Quinn stays focused.”
“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you might not make your goal.” I turn to prop my hips on the counter to take the pressure off my leg. “Chloe says the barge will be here at noon.”
Dismay twists Leif’s features as he turns to check the time. “But that’s in thirty minutes.”
“Better switch to sandwiches, so Chloe can eat on the go.”
He stares down at the potatoes he had been watching before returning them to the storage bin and pulls out a loaf of wheat bread from the wooden box on the counter. Drool floods my mouth. I bet that’s homemade.
If I stayed on the island, I could have Holden’s cooking for every meal, if I wanted to. It wouldn’t be a hard trek up the hill to the Homestead.
Shoving those thoughts to the back of my mind, I shift my weight. “How are school preparations going?”
“Complete. We’ve got her outfit picked out, her bag packed, and Sprinkles is keeping on his service vest with no fussing.” Leif ticks each item off with his fingers. “Quinn is nervous, but that’s to be expected.”
“Mr. Leif says I’ll have to hit my friends with a stick,” Quinn calls from across the room, her ears tuned to any mention of school.
Leif’s head whips toward her in horror. “That’snotwhat I said! I explained it was only a figure of speech.”
I cover my mouth to stifle my laughter. “Do you have any plans for the weekend? I’m heading to the Saturday Market around ten if you want to join. They should have a new selection of used books, and the honey vendor is supposed to have different flavors this week.”
The invitation hangs in the air between us, identical to the ones I’ve extended the past three weekends. And Leif’s response comes with predictability now, his body language closing like a book snapping shut.
“Thank you, but we’ve got preparations to finish here.” He gestures toward the boxes. “Perhaps next time.”
My smile tightens. Leif and I had been going to the Saturday Market together for almost two months when he put a stop to our little excursions out of nowhere. I don’t know if I did something wrong, or what happened, and the change hurts more than I’d like to admit. I thought we’d been on our way to becoming friends.
“Honey sticks?” Quinn perks up from her position at the dining table, her art supplies spread out before her. She abandons her task and darts to Leif’s side, tugging at his sleeve. “Can we go? Please? You said we could get honey sticks next time!”
Leif stills, the shift almost imperceptible, the change so subtle that someone not watching for the signs would miss it. Not annoyance at the interruption, as I might expect, but an emotion closer to alarm.
His body tenses. “We’ll see. Let’s focus on packing first.”
Quinn appears crestfallen before she bounces back. “Then can Mr. Grady bring us honey sticks?”
“Quinn,” Leif says in gentle reproach. “Mr. Grady isn’t our delivery service.”
“I don’t mind,” I offer. “Happy to bring back whatever you need.”
Leif exhales, some of the tension easing from his shoulders. “That’s so kind. But only if it’s not out of your way.”
His reluctance to visit the market strikes me as odd, since he clearly still wants to go. It’s not the behavior of someone who prefers solitude, but of someone avoiding public spaces. But what could he be avoiding?
“If you change your mind, the offer stands,” I say, keeping the invitation casual. “The honey vendor mentioned a new lavender variety last week.”
“I’ll keep it in mind.” He turns away, signaling the end of the conversation.
My instincts whisper that there’s a story here. One Leif isn’t ready to share, but one that’s etched in every careful step he takes to avoid the mainland’s central spaces.
Chloe emerges from her corner. “Did I hear you making plans for Saturday?”
“Sure did,” I say without looking at Leif. “I have books to browse through and honey to buy.”
Her brow puckers. “Don’t forget the celebration party at The Breakwater Hotel in Pinecrest on Saturday. It’s at six o’clock.”