Page 92 of Knot Her Beta

“It was the size of your head.” Leif bumps her shoulder with his. “And you dropped it on my foot.”

“You have big feet.”

“Because I’m tall.”

She peers down at her small sneakers with a dubious frown. “I don’t have big feet, but Grandma Wright said I’m going to be tall.”

Chloe snorts into her mug. “Everyone is tall compared to Grandma Wright.”

I remember meeting the older woman at Chloe’s wedding and have to agree. Holden’s mother is five feet tall, without an inch to spare.

Holden turns from the stove, a wooden spoon held aloft. “Grady, come try this for me. It’s a wild mushroom and thyme cream reduction.”

I limp over and lean in for a bite. Garlic, thyme, butter, and an earthy flavor I can’t place bloom across my tongue. My stomach growls in approval.

“That’s the vote I was looking for.” He turns back to the stove, satisfied. “Dinner will be ready as soon as the pasta is done cooking.”

“I could have been your official sampler,” Blake pouts.

Holden swats his hand away from the pan. “You’ve sampled enough already. Go sit. All of you.”

“Yes, sir. Come on, princess.” Blake gives his bondmate a scruffy nuzzle before grabbing his niece under one arm and heading into the dining room, the little girl giggling the entire way.

Nathaniel helps Chloe down from her stool, and the rest of us migrate to the dining table. Quinn claims the seat beside her with the speed of a child who has already figured out who gets served dessert first. Jared drops into the chair across from me with the tired eagerness of someone who’s spent the day lifting heavy things and is now being fed.

Emily takes the seat to my right, her shoulder brushing mine as she settles. Leif sits beside Jared, and the Wright Alphas fill in the remaining spaces with the ease of men who’ve shared a table for years.

Holden brings the pot to the table himself, steam rising in a fragrant cloud, and ladles mushroom pasta onto each plate with the efficiency of a chef who’s done this a thousand times. The breadbasket gets passed around the table, and Dominic pours wine while Nathaniel handles the sparkling cider.

“So,” Chloe says, twirling pasta around her fork, “we’ve been talking about hosting a spring bonfire to kick off the new hiking season and draw people to the island.”

Blake rubs his hands together. “And a firework display.”

“Which is illegal,” Dominic reminds.

Blake smirks. “What are the police going to do? Hop on their boat to come out here and fine us?”

“Yes,” Chloe and Dominic answer in unison.

“I love fireworks!” Quinn announces around a mouthful of pasta. “They go boom, and Sprinkles barks, and it’s the best day ever.”

“We’ll figure it out.” Chloe waves her fork. “The point is, we’re doing it. So everyone is expected to attend.”

I catch the look she throws my way and roll my eyes. Of course I’ll attend. This is my new home, and if I take them up on their offer, my new family.

I wait for a pang of sadness, but it never arrives. Anticipation hums beneath my ribs instead. I love my parents, but I don’t love their life or their strict expectations. I could never relax in my childhood home. It was only after meeting Chloe, and then the Wrights, that I learned what it was like to truly unwind.

I peek over at Emily, whose attention drifts from person to person with a tinge of uncertainty. Is she, too, thinking about how her life will change if she joins the Wright Pack?

I turn back to watch the way Blake’s hand finds Chloe’s shoulder when she shifts in her chair, his thumb rubbing a small circle over her sweater. The way Nathaniel focuses on Dominic as his bondmate speaks, attentive in that quiet, unwavering way that says more than words. And the way Holden flits around them all, ensuring no one’s glass goes empty.

I still don’t really understand what it would mean to join their pack, but the easy affection between them fills me with a deep longing for the same kind of connection.

And I stop second-guessing my decision to walk out of my dad’s study and hop on a plane to return here.

“We should put Quinn to bed.” Nathaniel collects the last of the plates from the table. “It’s past eight, and someone has a history of turning into a gremlin after nine.”

“I’m not a gremlin!” Quinn protests from the floor where she’s sprawled beside Sprinkles, her head on his massive flank. “I’m a princess.”