I flick open the app on my tablet to shoot off a direct message to my foreman.
Emily
Cabin One is OFF LIMITS to all Alphas. Tell the crew.
The reply pings back before my finger leaves the screen.
Clint
Got it, Boss.
Nathaniel lifts a brow in question, and I lift mine right back. He’s not the only one who can worry about an unattached Omega.
“Leif’s a good fit for Quinn,” Blake says, oblivious to our silent conversation. “She needs gentle guidance right now.”
A pang goes through me. Quinn Patel wasn’t dealt the best hand in the world, but her Uncle Blake is fixing that.
As we continue our walk, Blake brushes close to his bondmate with an elbow nudge here and there or a hand steadying the edge of Nathaniel’s blueprints when the wind catches them. Nathaniel’s quieter, more restrained, but he leans into the contact each time, a fractional shift that says he welcomes it. Their bond has a practiced rhythm, every small gesture layered with years of familiarity, nothing wasted, nothing for show.
The easy intimacy tugs at my heart. Not with envy, but with the ghost of what I once mistook for love. Auren was all about gestures, but underneath it was a hunger that never filled, no matter how much of myself I poured in.
Upstairs, we check the north-wing drywall, where it’s started to go up, and I flag a spot by the stairwell where the mud is already cracking.
“Slow the cure time or do a better job taping seams,” I tell the team lead.
We’re almost finished when the radio crackles at my hip, the squawk of the site walkie breaking through the routine. “Boss, there’s a situation at the docks.”
I pull it from my belt to respond. “What’s up?”
Static, then: “Delivery’s here, but the guy’s pissed. Says no one’s ready at the dock.”
Nathaniel grimaces. “That’ll be Holden’s fancy new range. Heavy thing. If a forklift isn’t waiting, the barge crew throws a fit.”
“I’ll handle it.” I’m already headed for the stairs.
I take them two at a time, the noise of the site chasing me down into the cooler shadows of the first floor. The scent of cut pine fades, replaced by the tang of machine oil as I cross into the garage. Tools hang in careful rows along the wall, sunlight slanting through the open doors.
The air in the garage is thick with oil and salt as I swing a leg over the three-wheeler. It’s faster than the golf cart and doesn’t mind a little rough handling. The engine coughs once, then snarls awake, and I zip out of the enclosed area. Gravel spits under the tires as I gun it down the path toward the water. Branches whip past, sunlightstrobing between them, and the heat bakes through my shirt.
As the dock comes into view, raised voices echo off the pilings. The barge squats in the water, a blocky pallet load swaddled in shrink-wrap strapped down on its deck. The delivery guy, an Alpha with a square jaw and a broom of a mustache, is red-faced and waving his clipboard at Jared.
Poor kid’s posture says he’d rather melt into the boards, and Kyle’s nowhere in sight.
I kill the engine, boots striking the planks with enough force to draw both men’s attention. Jared turns toward me, guilt written across his face.
“What’s the issue here?” I keep my tone flat, my hands easy at my sides, every inch the site boss.
The delivery guy jabs a thumb at the range. “Five hundred pounds of steel, and no offload rig ready. I don’t get paid to stand around while your crew scrambles. You want it off my barge, you’d better come up with a plan fast.”
He tries to pin the mess on Jared, but I move to stand in front of the younger Alpha, leveling the angry man with a flat stare. “This is my site. My crew. My rules.” I step in close enough that he has to shift his weight. “You’ll wait while we rig it, andyou’ll do it without yelling at my people. Understood?”
His jaw works, but the fight drains out of him. “Fine.”
I turn to Jared, who stands staring like a deer in the headlights. “I’ll show you where the equipment is and how to handle deliveries. And next time you’re left hanging, you call me, understand?”
“Okay.” Relief loosens Jared’s shoulders, but his attention lingers on me.
A flush rises high on his cheekbones, the kind of embarrassed pink that has nothing to do with the sun. For a beat too long, he stands there, his focus dipping from my mouth to my face and back again. A shift in the breeze carries his pheromones straight toward me, young, unguarded, and full of interest.