Page 40 of Knot Her Beta

My phone feels heavy in my pocket. Three thousand miles west, Emily is probably sliding the lasagna into the oven to bake, and Mixie is demanding kibbles. Jared is likely doing dishes in that chaotic, cheerful way of his, water everywhere, humming off-key. Leif is going over Quinn’s homework at the Homestead, and Chloe is consuming her weight in baked goods under the excuse of pregnancy.

None of them fit on this path. None of them has a place in this dining room, at this table, or in this conversation.

As dessert arrives, Caroline murmurs in appreciation over the chocolate torte with a crown of vanilla bean ice cream without touching her fork.

Instead, she turns to engage with me again. “When are you planning to move back home?”

Home. This mansion stopped being that for me a long time ago.

My father’s hand stills on his wine glass, the crystal catching the candlelight, holding it for one suspended second before his fingers tighten around the stem.

My mother’s attention sharpens mid-sip, and everyone waits in expectation of hearing a date.

The answer forms in my mouth without effort. The easy one. The expected one. I could say a week, ten days, through the weekend, time frames that would settle the table back into its rhythm, that would let my father return to his acquisition timelines and my mother to her property questions and Caroline to whatever comes next in the script they’ve all been following.

I don’t say any of it.

I pick up my wine glass, take a sip, and let the wine sit on my tongue before I swallow. “I still have obligations in Pinecrest, so I can’t commit to a timeline as of right now.”

My father’s jaw tightens by a fraction, the muscle along his cheekbone flexing, and he sets his glass down without drinking.

My mother covers the pause with practiced ease. “Caroline, that property on Whitney Avenue… Did you decide to purchase it, or was that just under consideration?”

Caroline’s attention stays on me for another beat, her expression shifting. Not disappointment. Not quite. A reassessment, maybe, recalculating a variable she hadn’t accounted for.

Then she turns to my mother. “We made an offer, but someone came in above asking price the same day. However, the seller’s agent reached out last week to let me know that it’s back on the market.”

The conversation finds its footing again, my father asking about interest rates, my mother mentioning a charity gala in April. Caroline engages with both, her composure intact.

But the question hasn’t gone anywhere. It sits at the table with all of us, unanswered, taking up space all the way to the end of the meal.

Chapter Eleven

Leif

The boat bumps against the dock, and Quinn lets go of the railing before the line’s even tied. Sprinkles strains forward, the leash pulling taut through my fingers, his massive black paws skidding on wet planks.

“Hold up, buddy.” I tighten my grip. “Wait for Kyle.”

Quinn bounces on her toes, one small hand fisted in the Newfoundland’s fur. “Sprinkles spotted a squirrel.”

“Sprinkles always spots a squirrel.” I reach past her to grab the backpack she left on the bench, slinging it over one shoulder. “Same squirrels, different Tuesday.”

As she giggles, the sound carries over the water. “Mr. Leif, I played too hard at recess today. Will you carry me up the hill?”

“How about I carry you partway, then we can take breaks the rest of the way up?”

Her little face scrunches before she raises her arms. I scoop her up, settling her on my hip, and pick my way down the gangplank. She clings, her cheek nestled against the collar of my jacket.

As I wait for Sprinkles to join us, I spot Emily and Jared, still in their work clothes, boots caked with the kind of mud that only comes from a half-finished construction site in March.

They move with the same unhurried grace, drawing my attention without trying. Emily’s long stride eats up the dock, Jared keeping pace behind her left shoulder.

My first instinct is to let them pass with only a casual greeting. Saturday dinner had been a quiet affair without Grady there, his absence ringing through the small cottage. Emily is clearly upset by his leaving, and Jared has been in protective mode.

But Quinn spots them, and her hand shoots up before I can caution her to leave them be, and her whole arm waves. “Miss Emily! Jared!”

Emily raises her head, and our eyes meet across thirty feet of salt-crusted planks. The last of the evening light glimmers in her gray irises, and a flutter takes flight behind my ribs, the bond reaching for my Alpha despite all my cautions to take things slow and win back her trust.