Page 43 of Knot Her Beta

I shake my head before I can second-guess it. “I’m making dinner back at my place. Need to break in my new kitchen.”

Holden lifts a brow, but he doesn’t push as he reaches down to scratch Sprinkles behind the ears, his fingers disappearing into the dog’s thick fur. “Okay. Let us know if you end up staying late and need somewhere to crash.”

Surprised by the easy acceptance, I return Quinn’s hug when she races down the steps to take her backpack from me. Then Holden grabs his kitchen timer and ushers Quinn inside, Sprinkles padding after them, his nails clicking on the hardwood. The door closes behind them.

Embarrassed by my impulse to stake a claim on Emily and Jared, I motion for them to follow me around the porch to the path behind it that leads to the smaller cabins.

They fall into step behind me, their footsteps matched to mine and muffled by the hay over the path.

It’s a short walk, without enough time for the silence to grow awkward. Jared hums under his breath, a tune I don’t recognize, and Emily walks with her hands in her jacket pockets.

I pull my keys out and unlock the door when we reach it. I step inside first, giving them room to follow, and the warmth of the cabin wraps around us.

The lamp on the side table that I left on so I wouldn’t return to a dark house warms the room, and I take off my shoes at the rack near the door. The bookcase along the far wall is filled now, spines stacked in no particular order except for height, and the sight of it still gives me a quiet satisfaction every time I walk in.

Emily and Jared take off their muddy boots and meander through the space, taking it all in, as small as it is.

“The furniture really turns this place into a real home,” Jared says, settling his lanky frame on the couch in front of the TV. “I won’t lie. I’m a little jealous that as soon as you drop Quinn off, you only have a two-minute walk home.”

Emily flicks his shoulder. “Are you saying the cottage is too far away?”

He catches her hand and brings it to his lips. “If we could pick it up and put it down on the island, I wouldn’t say no, and neither would you.”

She hums noncommittally. “It’s hard to make a beer run on the island.”

“That is a downside.” He leans his head back onto the cushions. “A beer sounds amazing right now.”

Seeing them interacting so casually in my space fills me with a deep sense of contentment, and my mind starts working on how to make this happen more often.

But first, I can prove I’m capable of taking care of these two Alphas.

“You’re in luck. I picked up a new micro beer to try the last time I ordered groceries.” I turn toward the kitchen and open the fridge, only to come up short as my mind blanks.

The plan made perfect sense on the dock. Pasta, maybe. Something with the tomatoes I picked up yesterday. But the only things in my fridge are beer and eggs.

I puff out a breath, drag a hand through my hair, and turn back to face them.

“I didn’t think this through.” The admission costs me more than it should. “We can head back to the Homestead⁠—”

“No.” Emily cuts me off, already moving past me into the kitchen.

She pulls open cabinet doors to scan the contents of the shelves, her fingers tapping the wood as she inventories.

“You’ve got enough here,” she says, peering back at Jared. “We’ll figure it out.”

Jared hums in agreement and drags himself off the couch. He joins us in the kitchen and reaches past me for the loaf of bread on the counter behind me. His arm brushes my shoulder, and I step aside on instinct, then stop myself and step back in, crowding into the space instead of yielding it.

When Emily turns and extends the knife, I take it. Her fingers linger on mine for half a heartbeat before she moves away.

“Dice,” she says, and points to the onion now sitting on the cutting board.

I obey, the knife finding a rhythm on the board as Emily pulls a pot from the lower cabinet and fills it at the sink. Jared rummages through the refrigerator, emerging with butter, and finds the garlic and onion powder in my small spice rack.

The kitchen is too small for three people, shoulders knocking and hands reaching for the same things, overlapping without apology.

At one point, Emily leans past me to grab something from the far end of the counter, her hand settling on my lower back to steady herself. It lingers there, her palm warm through the thin cotton of my shirt, and I don’t move away or react beyond the slight catch in my breath that I keep to myself.

And for the first time in a long while, I can imagine this working.