Page 99 of Down Knot Out
I grin at her unwavering confidence.
“Of course you can.” I hold out my free hand, palm up. “Want to be my trail guide?”
Without any hesitation, her small fingers wrap around mine and she tugs me toward the door, as if I really do need her to lead the way.
I look back at Holden, “See you soon. Love you!”
He hurries forward to catch the door before it can swing back on him. “I love you, too! Both of you!”
When we step out of the Homestead, the morning air carries the sharp bite of early spring, and the pine trees rustle. The scent of sap and fresh pine chips drifts on the breeze, mixed with the salt tang of the ocean beyond the treeline.
“Come on!” Quinn tugs on my hand, pullingme toward the path that leads down to the docks. “Uncle Blake gets grumpy when he’s hungry!”
As we walk, her chatter fills the air, bright as birdsong. She points out squirrels, sunlit patterns on the forest floor, and mushrooms growing in perfect fairy rings. Each time, she steps into one with her breath held, convinced a fairy prince might appear and whisk her away.
The trees begin to thin as we approach the construction site, and the sounds of work drift through the remaining branches. Hammers ring on nails in a steady rhythm, punctuated by the high whine of power saws and the rumble of heavy equipment. Voices call back and forth, coordinating deliveries and discussing measurements.
We emerge from the forest into bright sunlight that has me squinting after the dappled shade of the trees. The construction site spreads before us in a controlled chaos of activity. The cabins look almost done, and stonework is going in around them for the fireplaces and sitting areas.
Blake braces a carved stone block with both hands as another worker levels the base beneath it. Sweat darkens the shoulders of his flannel, and his bun has mostly given up, curls plastered to his jaw as he shifts the weight with practiced ease.
Emily stands near the far wall, a tape measure stretched between her hands as she calls measurements to a worker with a clipboard. Her steel-gray hair catches the sunlight, and her broad shoulders move with the easy confidence of someone who’s spent years building things with her hands.
Nathaniel moves between the various workstations, his tablet tucked under one arm as he gestures toward different areas of the construction. Sweat beads at his temples despite the cool breeze coming off the ocean, and sawdust clings to the knees of his khakis.
The sight of them all working together, building something lasting and beautiful, fills me with bone-deep satisfaction. This is what we’re working toward. Not just cabins for guests, but the base of the life we’ll share.
“Uncle Blake!” Quinn drops my hand to wave with both arms above her head. “We brought lunch!”
Blake's head turns toward us, sweat gleaming on his skin as he straightens. His flannel is soaked through at the collar, and more curls escape what’s left of his bun to stick to his jaw. But the second he spots us, his entire face lights up with a grin so warm it sends my heart racing.
Emily spots us and lets out an earsplitting whistle. “Break for thirty!”
“Perfect timing.” Blake waits for the worker’s nod before he releases the heavy stone and dusts his hands on his jeans as he steps away from the fire pit structure. “What treats did Holden put together for us today?”
“Come see!” Quinn skips ahead toward the canvas tent that has been designated as the break area and set up near the tree line.
I follow, ready to empty the heavy basket.
As the crew trickles in and washes up at the pump, I set the basket on the food table to unload the containers of fruit and sandwiches while Quinn arranges the perfect triangles of napkins. Steam still rises from the thermos of soup Holden insisted on including, and I pour it into paper cups, which Quinn drops spoons into.
Workers come by, gathering paper plates and loading them up with murmurs of appreciation directed at Quinn and dips of their chins for me.
Blake joins us, wiping his hands on a dusty rag.
“Here, Uncle Blake!” Quinn grabs a roast beef sandwich with his name on it. “Holden made this one special!”
“Extra horseradish,” I add. “Enough to burn your nose hairs, he said.”
“Much appreciated.” He gives me a sweaty kiss, his beard tickling, and accepts the sandwich from Quinn. “Thank you, princess.”
He unwraps the parchment, and the first bite draws a groan of appreciation from his throat, and his shoulders relax as he chews.
“Holden always outdoes himself,” he says around another bite. “That man could turn cardboard into a gourmet meal.”
Emily approaches, her work boots covered in dirt, and I pass her a BLT with her name on it.
“Much appreciated.” She settles into a chair at the nearest table. “Cabin three’s down to final touches on the inside.”
