I lean closer to examine her work as she adds a floating bed in the center of the room.
“What about shelves for your books?” I suggest, handing her a brown crayon.
She gasps in delight. “Yes! Tall ones, all along this wall. With a ladder!” She draws a series of horizontal lines stacked from floor to ceiling. “And shelves for all my wooden animals.”
The box of carved creatures sits nearby, her collection growing with each gift from Blake, every piece shaped with careful attention to detail.
“And a night light shaped like the moon,” she adds, sketching a circle in the corner. “Because sometimes the dark is too dark.”
“That’s a perfect addition.” A pang fills me as I study her drawing. “Your room at the Homestead will be wonderful.”
Quinn beams and grabs a fresh sheet of paper. “Now, let’s draw your room!”
My hand freezes mid-reach for a crayon. The casual statement hits me with unexpected force, stopping my breath somewhere between my lungs and throat.
“My room?” I manage to ask.
“Yeah.” Quinn sketches with a blue crayon. “Aunt Chloe drew her room, and my uncles brought it to life. So we need to draw your bedroom at the Homestead. It should be next to mine so you can help if I have bad dreams.”
As she draws, a hollowness grows in my chest. Of course, Quinn assumes I’ll be moving into the Homestead with her andthe Wright Pack. Why wouldn’t she? Our days have revolved around each other for months now, with shared meals, lessons, and morning, afternoon, and evening walks with Sprinkles. I’ve become a constant in her world, a steadiness she leans on without question.
But constancy isn’t the same as belonging.
“See, here’s where your bookshelves go,” Quinn continues, oblivious to my silence. “You need lots of shelves because you always stop at the book cart at the market. And a desk right here by the window for all your teaching stuff.”
She sketches a rectangle for a window and adds a small square on top. “This is your tea mug. The blue one you always use in the morning.”
My throat tightens.
With the Homestead renovation finished, Quinn and the Wright Pack will move into the family suite together. A family, a pack. And me, no matter how long I’ll be here, no matter how much space I take up in Quinn’s life, will be reassigned to the staff cabins at the back of the property.
“And this door,” Quinn says, drawing a small rectangle between two larger ones, “connects our rooms. So if I have a nightmare or can’t sleep, I can come find you without going into the hall and waking up everyone.”
The connecting door. Such a small detail, yet it pierces through my heart. In Quinn’s imagined future, I remain within reach, a constant source of safety she can access whenever fear finds her in the dark.
“What do you think?” She holds up the drawing, pride radiating from her. “Is it right? Did I forget anything?”
I swallow hard past the tightness in my throat. “It looks perfect.”
“Your room is blue because that’s your favorite color,” she explains, pointing to the walls she’s colored to match my shirt.“And here’s a chair for reading, like the one you told me about from your old apartment.”
Each careful detail is an invitation I don’t deserve. I open my mouth to stop her, to say something neutral or temporary, but nothing comes out. Correcting her would mean taking something from her before she is ready to lose it.
Still, I can’t deny the ache as she fills the page with shelves and light and small, thoughtful details.
Not because I want the room, but because I realize how long it’s been since I allowed myself to choose anything at all.
Chapter Three
Grady
The path to Cabin One slopes downward in a way my left leg never appreciates. Each step sends pinpricks of discomfort from ankle to hip, the damp morning air settling into the metal pins holding my bones together.
My cane finds soft earth, gravel, and soft earth again as I navigate the familiar trail. Sleep abandoned me around five this morning, leaving me alert but exhausted while I waited for Kyle to rise for his first shift of the day. I stayed as quiet as possible so I wouldn’t disturb the man I’ve been mooching off of for months now.
As soon as he left, I started my morning ritual of cleaning the cabin for him, which doesn’t take long. Kyle is a simple man with a singular obsession, fishing and floating around on the water.
I feel guilty about how the cabin now holds more of my stuff than his, though I try to keep it contained to a small area, out of his way.