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Either way, he fits.

He fits so well.

I hang back a little as they walk the fence line, talking about gate repairs and water systems and which section of the field would be best for a proper garden.

I watch them move. Dean gesturing with his hands, Evan nodding as he listens, Wade taking everything in, one hand resting on the fence like he’s already claimed the whole damn landscape.

And I can’t help it.

My brain’s not built for subtlety.

All I can think is that’s mine. That’s mine. Also mine.

And holy hell, the threesome potential of this dynamic is off the charts.

Evan’s the slow burn. Dean’s the firecracker. Wade’s the slow pour of honey that melts you from the inside out.

I should be paying attention to farming logistics, but all I’m doing is imagining getting railed by all three of them in that field during a rainstorm while the goats respectfully look away.

“Maple,” Wade says, calling over his shoulder. “You good back there?”

“Yup,” I chirp. “Just enjoying the view.”

Dean smirks. Evan glances back and knows. He always knows. Wade? He just chuckles and shakes his head.

God, I love him already.

After we make our way back inside, the kitchen’s full of noise and testosterone and the smell of roasted vegetables, and honestly? If I could bottle this moment and sniff it like a candle for the rest of my life, I would.

Dean’s at the stove, shirtless, again, because apparently cooking oil is no match for his bare chest and raging ego. He’s got a spatula in one hand and his other one on my ass like I’m part of the countertop. Wade’s rolling out biscuit dough like it personally wronged him, sleeves pushed up, forearms flexing. And Evan?

Evan’s chopping onions like he’s performing surgery, quietly judging everyone but still handing Dean the salt when he asks for it.

It’s all so… normal.

Except for the fact that every time I walk past Dean he tries to lick something off my neck. And Wade keeps touching my lower back like he’s claiming the real estate.

“You’re out of garlic,” Evan says flatly. “Which seems like an oversight for someone who prepped for the end of civilization.”

“I have garlic,” I say, opening the drawer beside him and pulling out a whole bag.

He stares at it, then back at me. “That’s ginger.”

I pause. Stare at the bulb. “Shit.”

Dean snorts. “We forgive you, sweetheart. You’re still the hottest warlord-slash-grocery hoarder we’ve ever met.”

“Truly an inspiration,” Evan mutters, sliding chopped onions into the pan.

Wade chuckles from the far side of the table. “You boys always this mouthy in the kitchen?”

Dean grins and bumps his hip against Evan’s. “You’ve known us for twelve hours. Yes.”

“You should’ve seen them with the chickens,” I say, grabbing a tray of vegetables to roast. “It was like watching two men lose a war to sentient feathered demons.”

“I won,” Dean argues.

“You got pecked in the face and nearly cried,” Evan deadpans.