Page 2 of Knot Her Beta

Jared leans down, and I turn my face up without thinking, the motion as easy as breathing now. His lips find mine, his hand warm on my jaw, and the scent of salt air and driftwood rises from him.

I flatten my palm over his chest, feeling his heartbeat steady beneath my fingers.

This is what I spent the last half a year trying to remember was possible.

He pulls back an inch. “Ready to head out?”

“Just give me a minute, and I’ll meet you at the truck,” I say.

The corner of his mouth curves. “I’ll get the cab warmed up for you.”

When he disappears, I study the billing folder in my hands, the receipt tucked inside. Then I take in the desk, the crammed surface of invoices and estimates, and the small carved paperweight that Leif made in my workshop back in October, which I keep meaning to put away and keep not putting away.

The cottage is mine. Paid for by my own hands, built from money that nobody gave me, and nobody can it take away.

I pick up my pen and start filling out the invoice.

Jared takes the curves in the road with one hand on the wheel, the other on the gear shift, and the greasy waxed paper from his breakfast sandwich on the bench between us.

Outside the window, the February trees stand bare and gray beneath a sky the color of old pewter, the undersides of the clouds bruised with the possibility of rain or sleet.

The docks appear below us as we crest the hill, the harbor stretching out in a wash of cold silver light. Fishing boats and pleasure crafts sit at their moorings, their hulls rocking in the gentle swell. The water taxi idles at the main dock, Kyle’s silhouette visible at the helm.

Jared curses under his breath. “Kyle’s going to give me an earful.”

“We’re not late,” I point out.

Jared pulls into the lot and cuts the engine. “Get out of the truck, woman, before we are.”

I arch one eyebrow at him. “Do I need to remind you who your Alpha is?”

He leans across the bench seat. “Do I need to remind you who your Alpha is?”

Touché. He’s gaining more and more confidence every day.

He smirks. “Keep giving me that look, and we’re going to be very late.”

Warmth stains my cheeks, and I climb out of the truck, gravel crunching beneath my boots. As I gather my tool bag, I scan the parking lot, searching for a head of mauve hair before I catch myself.

Leif lives on the island now. The Omega isn’t here, waiting for the morning boat to arrive.

Instead, my crew mills near the gangway, hard hats under arms and tool bags in hand as they grumble about the earliness of the hour. Jared veers off toward the helm, and Kyle breaks into an easy grin when he spots his cousin.

“About time.” Kyle steps out of the covered area to clasp Jared’s hand. “Thought you were going to keep me waiting.”

“We’re two minutes early.” Jared pulls him in for a shoulder-knock. “Your watch is wrong.”

“My watch is never wrong.” Kyle tips his scally cap, the brim catching the thin morning light while the saltwater and coconut of his cologne drift my way. “Morning, Em.”

“Kyle,” I greet him. “How are the tides?”

“Cooperative.” He jerks his chin toward the gangway. “She’s fueled and ready.”

I step aboard and nearly walk into one of my crew, a big man with tan lines around his eyes despite the winter gloom.

“Got a minute to talk cabinet finishes?” He falls into step beside me as we find space near the starboard rail. “The supplier came back with the wrong door profiles on that final cabinet order.”

“What did they send?”