Page 22 of Knot Her Beta

Now, with a pup on the way, that world is expanding, while mine has stalled. A fact that the party threw into sharp relief, making my family’s demands feel inevitable.

I turn my head to stare at the cane propped against the desk and flex my knee, waiting for the ache to fade. The familiar tightness remains. I need to accept this as my new reality.

I don’t want to keep hoping things will go back to normal.

I need to start moving forward again, which means no more running away from my obligations.

I don’t know how long I sit there before a light knock comes from the door, and Chloe lets herself in, bringing with her a gust of cold and the brief whiff of snow-melt and cedar. A beanie covers her pink hair, and her cheeks are flushed from the short walk from the Homestead.

“Oh, sure, come right in,” I grumble. “Not like I might be working or anything.”

“Then you should respond to my text messages.” She waddles closer, one hand on her belly. “Forcing a pregnant woman to brave the cold to see you. For shame, Grady Finch.”

I sniff and lift my chin. “You should have taken my silence as I’m busy.”

“Uh huh. I see how busy you are.” Her pink eyes flick to the screen before she sets a white bakery box on the coffee table. “Since you’re not actually working, I want to show you something.”

I eye the gray sky through the window. “How slushy is the path?”

Her hands move to her hips. “If I can waddle my way here without being able to see the ground, you’ll be fine.”

“Ugh. You’re so annoying.” I shut my laptop and grab my cane to lever myself up.

The knee protests but holds, and she shifts with impatience as I pull on my jacket and scarf.

I step outside and squint, the bright air a shock after the cabin’s gloom. Snow has melted to muddy patches in the shadows of the trees, and the central path is a mess of gray slush churned up by resort handcarts. The woods blunt the wind off the water, but a chill still cuts through my jacket, and I immediately regret leaving my gloves behind.

Chloe leads me along the path, her boots leaving prints in the packed dirt.

I limp around a slushy puddle. “Do I get a hint about this big surprise?”

“Nope.”

The path turns, following the shoulder of a rise, and I use the pause in the climb to take in the new cabins.

They’re set back from the Homestead, with real porches and unfinished decking. Leif’s cabin is among these, though I haven’t been over to visit yet.

He moved to the island in early January, but I’ve never seen the inside of it, because he’s never offered, and I’ve never found a way to ask without reopening an old wound.

Last summer, our friendship was an easy weekend ritual at the Saturday Market. But then he pulled back without explanation, and even after the truth about Carson came out, we never got back to that easy companionship.

Now, I look at his cabin as we pass. Firewood is stacked neatly on the side, and he’s finally hung some curtains.

At the end of the row, a more substantial structure sits back from the lane, with a wide covered porch and the suggestion of a second floor in the roofline.

Chloe heads for that one and stops at the steps.

“They just finished installing the solar panels,” she says, and gestures up. “You can see them from here.”

I spot a row of panels set flush with the southern pitch of the roof, the black rectangles bright with condensation. The porch planks creak underfoot as we step up to the door. She holds it open for me and follows behind.

Light comes through the bare windows, with the ones at the back offering an unobstructed view of the tree line and, farther off, the hint of water.

There’s no furniture yet, just bare walls, raw pine floors, and the smell of sawdust clinging to unfinished wood.

The living space is open concept, with a kitchen counter along one wall and two wide doorways leading off in either direction.

Chloe doesn’t say anything at first. She waits, hands in her coat pockets, her focus on me instead of the room.