Page 43 of Knotting on Heaven's Door

Ricky’s eyes sparkled. “Mmhmm. And she’s aZeta. Can you believe the audacity? She didn’t claim him. Honestly, it’s the best drama we’ve had in ages. Pack hierarchy be damned.”

I shook my head, amused.

But then Ricky leaned forward, voice low and teasing. “Oh, and apparently—there’s astrangerin town. Has thesegorgeousblue eyes. Rumor has it, he’s secretly dating the hot realtor.”

“We’re not on a date, Ricky.” I nearly choked on my coffee. “This is a—”

He laughed, smug as hell. “Okay, okay. But if things don’t work out with Ada,promiseyou’ll give me a call.”

I went still. No smirk. No comeback.

Ricky tilted his head knowingly, smile sharpening. “No alpha wants to know that much about a woman if he’snotinterested.”

I exhaled slowly. “Fair play.”

After we finished our coffee, Ricky gave me a dramatic air kiss goodbye and vanished into his too-shiny convertible, probably off to terrorize some poor newly-mated couple trying to pick between two-bedroom units with “character.”

I, on the other hand, walked.

The keys to my new place sat warm and heavy in my pocket. A tiny symbol of independence. Of rebuilding. Of starting over, even if it was with peeling paint and a fridge that hummed like it had asthma.

I should’ve felt proud. Or at least relieved.

Instead, my thoughts were full ofher.

Ada.

Her name was a constant echo now. Soft and sharp at once. Even the keys in my hand reminded me of her—the way she clutched her clipboard like a weapon, the way she saidnowith enough force to break a man’s ego, the way she kissed like her world would end if she let go.

But now, after what Ricky had told me…

I saw more.

The cracks beneath her polish. The pain she didn’t talk about. The grief that still shadowed her, years later.

Hospital. Exhaustion. A mate she nearly followed into the grave.

Fuck.

CHAPTER 10

Ada

The morning of the charity event started with sunshine, birdsong, and a full French press of my favorite coffee. I should’ve known that was the universe’s way of buttering me up before setting my entire day on fire.

By ten a.m., everything went to shit.

The event organizer—bless her clueless, overly optimistic heart—hadgrosslyunderestimated the turnout. What was supposed to be a cozy little garden fundraiser with seventy guests quickly turned into an open-invite feeding frenzy. People swarmed the venue like it was the last brunch before the apocalypse.

By noon, my kitchen was a warzone.

“Mia,” I barked as I flew through the doors, tying my apron over my dress shirt, “how many are we at now?”

She didn’t even look up from her clipboard. “Final estimate—two hundred. Possibly more. Someone livestreamed the guest speaker and now half the town’s here.”

“Of course they are.” I grabbed a towel and swept it over a counter dusted in flour. “Tell me we have backup supplies.”

“I called two vendors already. One’s sending more greens and bulk rolls in an hour. The other’s threatening to block my number.”

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