Page 24 of Knot Her Beta

There, I find more bedrooms, far more than I need, and an open loft space that could serve as a family room, but I can already picture myself in the suite on the ground floor. No reason to take a longer trip when it’s just me here.

I ride back downstairs and settle on the bottom step, my bad leg stretched out until the tension in my knee eases. I listen to the quiet. The insulation is effective here, and the cabins are set apart from the primary walking trails, so I wouldn’t be disrupted by visitors to the island.

This is a place to work, to live, to build a life.

I take in the space one more time. Nothing can be decided today. But this option, this possibility of living here not as a guest but as a part of what Chloe and the Wrights are building, loosens a knot of unease I’ve been carrying for a long time.

I could walk out tomorrow and tell them yes, and they’d make space for me, not because they needed to, but because they wanted to.

I push myself up, collect the donut box, and head back outside, where the cold bites deeper, and I have to grip the railing to keep from slipping on the icy step. Here, the air carries the scent of pine needles and wood smoke.

I glance back once more at the house and feel the smallest tug behind my ribs, a thread I didn’t realize was tied to anything.

I walk the long way back to Kyle’s cabin, imagining this as my life from now on. Misty Pines has seen so many changes in my life, and it feels somehow fitting for it to bear witness to this next chapter, whether a new beginning or an end.

Back inside Kyle’s cabin, I shiver despite the warmth, a chill settled deep in my bones that the heated air can’t touch.

I find a clear spot on the kitchen counter for the donut box and limp to my temporary desk to open my laptop.

The flight confirmation is still pulled up. One future, contained and predictable. I think of the empty cabin, the space waiting to be filled.

My fingers hover over the trackpad. A few clicks could cancel the ticket. I could walk to the Homestead and tell Chloe yes.

Instead, I open my email, attach the file, and send the itinerary to my parents.

The click of the trackpad is the only sound in the room.

Chapter Seven

Emily

“Is that burning?” Jared asks, leaning over my shoulder to sniff the stew pot.

I elbow him aside without looking up from the simmering broth. “No. And stop hovering. The table’s not going to set itself.”

“Already done.” He steps back with a flourish, arms wide to reveal the handmade wooden table, set with three custom-carved bowls, the spoons I coaxed out of him during that disastrous January whittling crash-course, and blue napkins folded into wobbly little triangles. “See? Professional.”

I snort and give the stew another stir, releasing the aroma of rosemary, sweet carrots, and savory beef. “Lucky for you, I’m not grading on presentation.”

“Hush, or you won’t get any of my masterpiece.” He sashays past to fetch the proofing basket, flipping the dough onto the baking peel.

“Your masterpiece is just flour and water I mixed this morning.”

“Details.” He slides the loaf onto the hot baking steel in the oven and closes the door with a flourish.

A knock comes from the front door at six o’clock on the dot.

Jared straightens. “That’s probably Grady.”

I roll my eyes and keep stirring. “I can tell the time.”

“Don’t be grumpy just because you’re nervous.” Jared’s arms come around me, one hand splaying over my stomach. “Only positive thoughts, remember?”

I put my free hand over his for just a second. There’s so much hope in that touch, so much certainty, and I feel the familiar ache of wanting to be certain, too.

Then the knock comes again, and Jared drops a quick kiss to the side of my throat before he lopes off to answer it.

It opens, letting in a rush of cold air that carries the scent of fresh linen and sun-warmed cedar. My skin prickles at the familiar scent, and heat curls in my stomach.