Quinn barrels across the lobby in a whirl of sparkles, Sprinkles trotting alongside her in a service vest adorned with a small bow tie. She clutches the skirt of her purple sequined dress with both hands to keep from tripping.
I crouch to her level as she reaches me, her cheeks flushed with excitement. “You came!”
“I promised I would, didn’t I?” The tightness in my chest eases at her presence. Quinn grounds me in ways she’ll never understand.
Sprinkles nudges my hand with his wet nose, and I scratch behind his ears. The crowd has Quinn on edge, but she’s still coping. Progress.
“Aunt Chloe says there’s going to be a chocolate fountain. And ice sculptures.” Quinn bounces on her toes, sequins catching the light. “You have to come see!”
Behind her, Blake comes up with a rueful lift of his brows. “Sorry about the escape artist. She was supposed to stay with Holden while I checked on the dessert table.”
“She’s fine.” I rise to my full height, my knees cracking. “Just sharing the excitement.”
A grin splits Blake’s beard, which winks with sparkles. “Glad you made it. Remember you’re here as a guest tonight, so no thoughts of work.”
“I’ll do my best.” I wink at Quinn. “But if there’s dancing, I don’t know if I can resist.”
Quinn giggles and fluffs her skirt.
“Good.” Blake ruffles his niece’s hair. “You deserve to celebrate, too. Your work with Quinn this summer has been invaluable.”
Before I can deflect the praise, Quinn tugs at my sleeve. “Are you coming in or not?”
The question hangs between us, simple yet loaded with meaning. Am I entering the ballroom or retreating to safety? Am I choosing to participate or observe from a distance?
“Yes.” I squeeze her small hand. “I’m coming in.”
Blake holds out a hand, revealing nails painted the same purple as Quinn’s dress. “Come on, princess. Holden is setting up the chocolate fountain.”
I follow them through the doorway, and the noise rises around me, conversations layering over music. Expensive perfume mingles with pheromones and the salt air drifting through open balcony doors.
For the first time in weeks, my breathing evens out, my pulse steadies. The room is full of people who have worked side by side to build tangible results, and the sense of shared effort settles over me.
This space is safe.
I’m allowed to be here.
I could belong.
The last thought catches me by surprise with its simplicity. I couldbelonghere.
I weave between clusters of people, accepting calls of greeting from those who know me as Quinn’s nanny.
The resort crew dominates the center of the room, their laughter louder than the string quartet, their postures relaxed after months of tension. And at their center, drawing my attention despite my efforts to focus elsewhere, stands Emily.
Each time I turn my focus away, it drifts back to her, drawn by a gravity I can’t dismiss as simple curiosity.
She stands with her back to the windows, the harbor lights silhouetting her tall frame. The midnight blue dress she wears falls to her knees, its structured lines not attempting to hide her muscular shoulders or the strength in her arms, developed from years of physical labor.
Her steel-gray hair, which she wears pulled back on the island, has been styled in a way that emphasizes her high cheekbones and strong jawline.
Unlike many female Alphas who attempt to soften themselves in formal settings, Emily is unapologetic in a modern dress, accepting congratulations from her crew with the same authority she displays on the construction site.
And my mouth goes dry at the sight of her. The desire to move closer wars with the instinct to maintain distance, leaving me suspended between opposing forces.
She laughs at Clint’s antics, the sound carrying across the room to where I stand, and my heart rate increases.
The logical side of my brain compiles reasons to approach her. She had offered woodworking lessons, and with Quinn starting school, I’ll have more free time. Or I could thank her for all her hard work on the Homestead renovation.