Page 131 of Knot Her Beta

Now, he reads it a second time, his thumb brushing over the embossed logo at the top.

“Well?” Chloe demands, his best friend showing far less patience than I. “What does it say?”

He sets the letter down with a quiet exhale and closes the laptop.

Oh, no.

That isn’t the reaction I’d hoped for.

I start to rise, but then Quinn appears from the front room in a yellow dress, her long brown hair tied in a lopsided ponytail. Sprinkles pads behind her, the big Newfoundland’s paws heavy on the hardwood, his nose nudging a crumpled onesie across the floor as if it’s a treasure he’s discovered.

“What are you guys all doing in here?” she demands, but doesn’t give us time to respond before she hurries forward to grip the edge of Grady’s desk and points to the letter. “What’s that?”

“Quinn—” I start.

“Someone wants to publish my book.”

I freeze before a grin spreads across my face, and Chloe lets out a high-pitched squeal that startles her pup, who whimpers before she calms him.

“A book?” Quinn’s eyes go wide. “Like Aunt Chloe writes? Are you famous, too?”

Grady gives a short laugh. “Not even a little bit, princess.”

“Give it time,” I say, my hand finding the armrest, fingers digging into the upholstery. “The book is good.”

At the desk, he wrestles with the compliment before speaking. “I don’t need fame, Em.”

“Stop downplaying the accomplishment,” I tell him. “You spent months working on it. Let yourself have the win.”

He takes a deep breath. “You’re right.”

“Congratulations, Grady,” I want to leap up to hug him, but I’m not as fast as I used to be. “I’m so proud of you.”

A faint blush stains his cheeks. “Thank you.”

Chloe shifts the pup to her other breast beneath the cover. “You should call your mother, Grady. She’ll want to know.”

Grady’s thumb finds the edge of the cream paper and creases the corner. He hasn’t spoken to his father since Connecticut. His mother, though, calls once a week, every Sunday evening. The calls are careful, but she doesn’t stop, both of them working on building a better relationship.

Some evenings, he sits on the porch talking about the island, the book, articles, and things that shouldn’t matter but do.

“She’s right,” I encourage. “You shouldn’t keep this for Sunday. Call now.”

Grady picks up his phone from the desk, unlocks it, and scrolls through his contacts with his thumb. He hesitates when he finds her name before finally calling.

The phone rings once. Twice. Grady stands from the chair, cane in hand, and moves toward the hallway, the call connecting as he disappears around the corner.

His soft murmur carries back. “Hey, Mom. Yeah, I’m good. I got some news today.”

I brace my hands on the couch cushion and lever myself to my feet. The movement requires more effort than it used to now that my center of gravity is somewhere in my lower abdomen, a solid, insistent presence that reminds me of its existence every time I move.

One hand finds my belly, fingers spreading across its curve. The pup kicks, a hard jab into my palm, and I suck in a breath.

Chloe gives me the sympathetic look of a woman who has very recently been where I am. “Where’s Jared? He’s supposed to be taking care of you.”

“He’s looking after Leif.” I waddle toward the door. “Leif’s having a rough afternoon.”

“You’re eight months pregnant, Em. He’s not the only one having it rough.”