Page 62 of Knot Her Beta

She flings both arms open, and Sprinkles lunges forward to lick her face, sending her toppling backward with a shriek that rattles the window glass.

Dominic winces, one hand rising to cover his ear. “I second the loud thing.”

“I want to stay with Miss Emily and Uncle Jared.” Quinn scrambles to her feet, one hand tangled in Sprinkles’s fur. “We haven’t even finished the game yet, and I was winning.”

“You were not winning.” Nathaniel folds a throw blanket and sets it on the sofa. “You landed on Boardwalk four times. With hotels.”

“That’s bad?”

The five Wright Alphas exchange looks over her head.

“Besides,” Holden adds. “You stopped playing the game to build a fort. Which is why Mr. Leif is putting the game away.”

“But I didn’t say I was done!”

I crouch in front of her. “Next time, princess. We’ll finish the game when you come back.”

Her lower lip juts out. “Promise?”

My heart does the stupid soft thing it always does for this kid. “Promise.”

Blake scoops her up under one arm, her legs kicking. “It’s time to go, princess. Aunt Chloe needs to put her feet up, and Uncle Kyle will be at the docks soon to pick us up.”

“Thank Emily for hosting us,” Holden says, dropping his mug in the sink.

“Thank you, Ms. Emily,” Quinn parrots.

“It’s always a pleasure,” I say as I collect glasses from the coffee table.

My living room is a disaster, with cushions upended, game pieces scattered under the couch, and a half-eaten plate of cookies balanced on the arm of the reading chair.

Chloe waddles toward me, one hand braced on her lower back, the other clutching her phone. Her pink hair is a mess, and her quartz-colored eyes are bright with the exhaustion of a woman three weeks from delivery.

“Thank you, Em.” She pulls me into a hug, or as close as she can get with her belly between us.

The baby shifts, a hard ridge rolling beneath the fabric of her sweater, and I jerk back.

“Sorry.” She pats her stomach. “Baby thinks it’s exercise time.”

Nathaniel brings her coat from the hook by the door. “Good food. Good company. See you next week.”

“Count on it.”

Dominic slips past him, carrying Sprinkles’s leash. “Time to go, buddy.”

The Newfoundland trots over and sits in front of Dominic, holding still while he clips on the leash.

Holden stops in the doorway, his golden-brown curls catching the last of the afternoon light. “The sourdough starter’s in your fridge. Feed it weekly, and it will give you the best loaves.”

He had brought over a container of the one he uses at the Homestead that is far more sour than the one I already have.

“I know how to feed a starter, Holden.”

“Do you, though?”

I throw a dish towel at him. He catches it, laughing, and disappears after the others.

The front door closes, and car doors thump outside. Quinn chatters, and Blake’s rumbled reply carries back to us. Sprinkles barks once, and then the engine of Blake’s SUV turns over.