Chapter 6 Beth
Beth
I'm wedged beside Arthur in the backseat of Mason's truck, the space beside me completely surrendered to a stack of construction gear, with the rest crammed into the bed.
The car smells like coffee and a bit of sawdust, which I've come to associate with Mason.
Knox, who's riding shotgun, looks back. "Okay," he says finally. "So let's make sure everything is clear—"
"No rules for when to hold hands, and any other type of physical contact," I say, catching his eye in the mirror. "We just use our best judgment in the moment."
"And that doesn't mean in any way you can tackle people, Mason," Arthur adds with a dry chuckle.
Mason just grunts in response.
Knox clears his throat. "Yes. And on a more serious note, the only thing left is to agree on answers to potential questions. How long have you been together, how did it start... the usual."
"What do you suggest we say?" I ask.
"The truth. Mostly." Knox shifts so he's half-facing us.
"We say that after everything that happened these last few months, we started gravitating toward each other.
Naturally, organically. And then, when we were helping Harper and Ben at their engagement party—closing up the venue, specifically—that's when it clicked. "
"Works for me," Arthur says. "Close enough to real that we won't trip over it."
True. And judging by the single, sharp nod I catch Mason giving his own reflection in the rearview mirror, the vote is unanimous.
"And here's our neutralizing line," Knox adds. "If someone pushes, gets too specific, asks something we don't have an answer for. Just say 'We're all just really happy right now.' That's our exit. Don't elaborate. Redirect."
I chuckle. That's actually a good smokescreen.
"By the way," Knox turns to me. "Did Harper reply?"
"Yeah." I pull out my phone, scrolling to the thread. "She's in. Gave us her full blessing to, and I quote, 'fake the ever-loving hell out of it.'"
Arthur snorts.
"What about Luna and Maren?" Knox asks.
"Also in," I smirk. "Both responded with enthusiasm and a different version of 'I'm going to need a LOT more details, but count me in."
"And they all deleted the evidence?" Knox asks, his fingers drumming a nervous, staccato rhythm against his knee.
"They all confirmed it in their reply, yes."
Knox nods. Satisfied. "Good. And what's our safe word?"
"Foxglove," I say.
Arthur's head turns toward me, looking amused.
"What? Do I have something on my face?" I pull up my front-facing camera, tilting my phone to check for stray mascara or a smudge.
"You just have the face of a kid really proud to show their drawing," he replies.
"I mean, yeah. Foxgloves are flowers. I'm a florist. It'll be perfectly inconspicuous." I cross my arms. "And it's specific enough that no one would accidentally say it in conversation."
Knox nods. "Indeed. So foxglove means abort. If someone says it, we disengage and regroup. Bathroom, garden path, car—whatever exit makes sense."
Mason's eyes flick to the rearview mirror, catching mine for half a second. "We should probably also come up with a signal," he says.
"Not a bad idea," Knox agrees. "In case it gets loud and we can't hear each other, or if someone can't find a natural way to drop the word foxglove into conversation."
"Yep, fair point," Arthur concedes.
"How about a double-squeeze?" Knox suggests. "Hand, arm, shoulder, whatever you can reach. Two squeezes means get me out."
“As long as you don’t try to squeeze my boobs,” I say, deadpan.
Arthur lets out a sudden, violent burst of laughter that catches me by surprise, and a low, gravelly huff escapes Mason from the driver's seat.
Knox, though, looks mildly horrified. “I—yes. No. Of course not.”
I snort. “I'm just kidding.”
"Oh," Knox blinks. “Yes, of course. Sorry. Good one."
"So, that's the playbook?" Arthur asks once he’s wrestled his laughter back down to a lingering, mischievous grin.
"Yes," Knox clears his throat, his voice recovering its usual composure. "It's simple and effective. That's all we need."
Then Arthur's hand lands on my thigh and squeezes twice. His palm is wide and steady, his heat soaking through the fabric of my pants, and something in my chest does a small, traitorous flip.
"That was a test," he says, grinning.
"Mm-hm," I manage, praying my voice doesn't sound as breathless as I suddenly feel.
***
Mason's truck slows as he takes a right turn. I see the house ahead, with at least twenty cars lining the street on both sides.
My stomach does a slow, heavy roll.
Arthur's hand presses against my hand.
"You good?" he asks, voice low.
I take a breath. Let it out. "Maybe?"
Knox turns in his seat. His expression is serious, but not unkind. "Just remember—" He pauses. "We're in this together."
The words somehow settle into some warm, protected spot beneath my ribs as Mason kills the engine.
The walk from the truck to the garden gate takes approximately forty-five seconds, and we spend it in silence, focusing on our choreography. Arthur on my left, Knox on my right, Mason a half-step behind. We move like a unit, which is the point, and it weirdly doesn't feel completely like acting.
We open the gate and see white tables under string lights, a gift table weighed down with pastel packages (where I spot the gift we dropped off yesterday), a small drinks station in the corner.
Harper's threaded baby's breath through the lattice above the entrance, and I make a mental note to compliment her on it later.
Heads turn. People who were mid-conversation pause.
Oh god. This is happening.
Harper spots us from across the lawn and breaks into a beeline, her denim jacket open over a floral midi dress. Ben follows a few steps behind, looking amused. She reaches me in approximately six seconds flat and pulls me into a hug that lifts my heels off the grass.
"You made it," she says into my hair.
"Of course, I wouldn't miss your couples shower," I say, smiling.
"I know, but—" She pulls back, hands on my shoulders, and her eyes flick to Arthur, then Mason, then Knox, who's standing beside me. Her smile softens into the glowing delight of a woman thrilled to see her best friend finally packed up. She plays it perfectly. "You're all here. Together."
Ben reaches us and goes straight into a back-clapping bro hug with Arthur. He does the same with Mason, who absorbs the impact like a load-bearing wall, and with Knox. "Look at you guys," Ben says, grinning. "Only took my couples shower to get you to show up."
"You say that like we didn't help repaint your house two weeks ago," Arthur retorts.
"And to finally reward you for your efforts," Ben starts, laughing, "bar's that way. Food's that way. And—"
"Oh, my stars."
Mrs. Patterson materializes like she's been waiting in the hedgerow.
She's in a quilted vest over a turtleneck with a brooch pinned to the lapel.
Harper gives my hand a quick squeeze and she and Ben drift toward the drinks station with the smooth, practiced exit of two people who've already survived this kind of conversation once today.
"Beth, darling. And the boys." She clasps her hands together. "I am so pleased for you."
"Thank you, Mrs. Patterson. That's—"
"You know, I had a hunch." She lowers her voice conspiratorially. "For months, I've had a feeling. There was something brewing between you four. A mother knows."
I'm not sure what motherhood has to do with it, but I smile. "You've really got excellent instincts, Mrs. Patterson."
"I do, don't I?" She looks at Arthur, then Mason, then Knox, each in turn, like she's inspecting produce at a stand where everything is surprisingly ripe. "Well, I won't keep you. But I expect to hear details soon. Soon."
She pats my arm and sweeps away toward her next target while I decide I probably don't want to know what kind of details she's expecting.
Arthur waits until she's out of earshot. "She had a hunch."
"For months," Mason says flatly.
Knox's mouth twitches.
We go from group to group for a while, accepting congratulations from here and there, and then the alphas spot a cluster of their friends near the far end of the garden just as I spot Luna and Maren arriving together.
"Seems like you're eager to confer," Arthur says, smiling. "We're going to go talk to the guys over there."
I wink. "See you later, Honeys."
Knox hesitates for a fraction of a second then nods. "We'll be in visual range."
The alphas peel away, and for a moment I feel like stepping out of a warm room into open air. But Luna spots me before I can think about it too hard, and she crosses the lawn with Maren in tow.
Luna grabs my arm. "Okay," she says, voice low and urgent. "Okay."
"Okay what?"
"I didn't know what to do when I heard you tell Jessica earlier.
I was just standing there like a prop." She glances around, making sure no one's in earshot.
"I wasn't sure how it would turn out. But—" She looks across the garden at the alphas, then back at me.
"This has a real shot. From what I've been hearing, Lakeview's buying it. This is becoming the new reality."
"That's the plan," I say, trying to sound confident.
Maren shakes her head, eyes wide. "I cannot believe I missed this much in a single day. One day!" She drops her voice and does a quick paranoid scan of the surrounding area. "I need the full story, when we're in a safe space."
"Agreed," Luna says. "We need a proper debrief. All of us."
"Name the day," I say. "I'll bring rosé. Or Moscato. Possibly both."
Luna practically vibrates. "I am so holding you to that. The library is excruciatingly slow right now and I need to get out. Last Friday, I reorganized the periodicals section by color because I had nothing else to do."
"By color?" Maren says.
"You should swing by and see it, honestly. It looks fantastic." She pauses. "You'd need to get there before Monday morning, though. Before my boss catches it and I have to undo the whole thing."