Page 105 of Knotting With A Stranger

I hesitate, suddenly faced with a reality I’ve been avoiding. The storm is over. The roads will be clearing. My heat has mostly subsided. There’s no reason for me to stay here anymore, right?

Except for the three Alphas…

The thought of leaving—of being separated from James, Hunter, and Archer—feels like someone’s reaching into my chest and squeezing my heart. But what exactly are we to each other now? We haven’t actually discussed what happens next.

“Maybe… that would be great,” I say, the words leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. “I need to arrange to have my car towed from where I crashed it, anyway.” I give her the address, remembering it from when Archer relayed it to the emergency services during our radio call days ago.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Hannah asks, her voice softening with concern. “The bakery wasn’t that busy during the storm, but I really need you back. And I want to make sure you’re all right. God, Lily, you’ve been staying with total strangers. They treated you okay?”

“More than okay,” I admit, feeling heat rise to my cheeks as memories of the past few days flash through my mind. “They’ve been... incredible.”

“Incredible, how?” Hannah asks, suspicion creeping into her tone. “You’re being weird.”

“I’m not,” I protest, though my voice comes out higher than normal. “Just tired. It’s been a long few days.”

“Uh-huh,” she says, clearly not believing me. “Well, I’ll close the shop early and come get you this afternoon. That work?”

“Perfect,” I agree, ignoring the hollow feeling in my chest. “I’ve missed you, Han.”

“Missed you too,” she says, her tone softening. “You sure you’re okay? You sound... different.”

“I promise I’m fine. Better than fine. See you soon.” She gives her farewell, and I hang up.

Archer returns with the iPad, settling beside me on the couch, with Thor on the other. “Everything good with your sister?”

“Great,” I say, forcing brightness into my voice, unsure if I’m ready to deal with telling everything or the awkwardness that I will need to leave, I guess.

“What’s the nursing home’s number?”

I give him Pine Grove’s information, and he dials it on the iPad. The call connects to an audio-only line, and I explain to the receptionist that I’d like to video chat with my grandmother, Margaret Parker, in room 214.

“It might take a few minutes,” I tell Archer as we wait. “They have to set up the iPad in her room and help her figure it out.”

“No rush,” he says, sliding closer until our thighs press together. His fingers dance along my side, finding the strip of exposed skin at my waist and tickling lightly.

I squirm, laughter bubbling up despite my attempt to maintain composure. “Stop that! I need to be serious when?—”

The screen suddenly illuminates, showing my grandmother’s face, peering curiously at the camera. Her silver hair is styled in the soft curls she’s worn for as long as I can remember, barely reaching her shoulders. Her bright hazel eyes—the same ones I inherited—are magnified slightly by reading glasses perched onher nose. Despite being in her eighties, her skin is remarkably smooth, with fine lines at the corners of her eyes. She’s wearing her favorite lavender cardigan, a strand of pearls visible at the neckline.

A nurse hovers in the background, giving her instructions.

“I can manage it myself, dear,” she tells the nurse firmly before turning her attention back to the screen. “Lily! Oh, darling, I’ve missed you so much. I hope you and Hannah are safe after that terrible storm.”

The sight of her familiar face fills me with warmth. “We’re fine, Grandma. How are you doing?”

Her eyes shift from me to Archer, who hasn’t moved from my side, and a slow, knowing smile spreads across her face. “Lily, please tell me you have good news, and you’ve found your Alpha because that man by your side is gorgeous for you.”

Heat floods my cheeks instantly. “Grandma!”

But Archer merely leans closer to the screen, his most charming smile in place. “Mrs. Parker, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Archer Sterling, and I can assure you that I absolutely adore your granddaughter.”

I elbow him gently but can’t help admiring the way he speaks to her—respectful but warm, genuinely engaging rather than humoring an elderly woman the way some might.

“Call me Margaret, dear,” my grandmother insists, practically beaming at him. “Any man who looks at my Lily the way you just did has earned first-name privileges.”

“You’re too kind, Margaret,” Archer replies smoothly. “Lily tells me you’re the one who taught her to bake. I have to thank you—her cinnamon rolls are life-changing.”

I roll my eyes at his shameless charm offensive, but my grandmother is clearly delighted.

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