Page 87 of Knot Her Beta

I grab my box from the porch and carry it inside. ‘Kitchen’ is scrawled across the side in black marker, the letters slanting where Grady must have written it one-handed, balancing on his cane. The box is heavier than I expect, clanking with what sounds like pots.

“You’re blocking the doorway,” Nathaniel says from behind me, and I jump out of the way.

He carries a stack of framed photos, his tall frame navigating around the chaos with the grace of someone used to moving through crowded rooms.

Quinn appears at the top of the staircase, Sprinkles at her heels, both of them panting. “Uncle Jared! Did you bring the frog?”

“There’s no frog in the kitchen box, princess.”

Her face falls. “But you promised!”

“I promised to look for frogs while I helped unload the barge. Not to bring them inside.” I set the box on the dining table. “Where’s your Uncle Grady?”

She points toward the back of the cabin, then bolts toward the side of the stairs, Sprinkles thundering after her.

“No playing on the elevator!” Blake bellows. “Leif! A little help?”

Leif appears from the hallway, his mauve hair damp at the temples from exertion, sleeves rolled to his elbows. He scoops Quinn up under one arm mid-stride, her legs kicking, and hoists her onto his hip with the ease of a man who’s been catching seven-year-olds for months.

“Time-out, kiddo.” He sets her on the arm of the sofa. “Five minutes of sitting still. Can you do that?”

She pouts. “But Sprinkles wants to play.”

“Sprinkles can sit with you.” He pats the cushion, and the Newfoundland flops down, his massive head landing on Quinn’s lap.

I’m halfway to the kitchen with the box when I spot Grady limping across the room with another box balanced on his hip, his cane in his left hand doing more work as a decoration than to support.

The hitch in his gait is pronounced, but before I can set my box down, Emily crosses the floor, closing the distance between herself and Grady in three long strides.

She holds out her hands for the box in Grady’s arms.

“I’ve got it,” he protests.

She takes the box anyway, sets it on the floor beside the sofa, and turns back to him.

With one arm behind his knees and the other supporting his back, Grady is airborne. His cane clatters to the floor, and his arms flail for a second before they find her shoulders. Emily carries him as if he weighs nothing and deposits him on the kitchen counter with the care of someone setting down a breakable object.

“Sit,” she growls, the word pitched for only Grady’s and my ears. “Stay.”

His face goes bright pink from collar to hairline, and his hazel eyes widen behind his glasses.

Emily cups his jaw with one calloused hand, tilts his chin up, and kisses him. When she pulls back, Grady’s lips are parted, and the flush has deepened to red.

From her spot on the sofa, Quinn giggles.

Ignoring their audience, Emily turns and walks back to the pile of boxes by the door, grabbing two at once and heading for the bedroom without breaking stride.

I can’t help but smile.

This is Emily at her best. Not the superintendent barking orders at a job site, nor the woman who rebuilt her life after betrayal, but the Alpha who takes care of what’s hers and doesn’t apologize for it.

And Grady, for all his stubborn independence, lets her. He sits on that counter with his legs dangling, his cane on the floor where it fell, and he doesn’t argue. His gaze follows her across the room, and the look on his face is downright smitten.

I pick up my kitchen box and carry it to the counter where Grady perches. “Comfortable up there?”

He adjusts his glasses. “It never hurts to take a break.”

“Just checking.” I plunk the box down beside his thigh. “We’ve got dishes to unpack. You can be useful without hauling things around.”