Page 34 of Curvy Cabin Fever

ARIA

I find the rental car paperwork in the bottom of my duffel bag, crumpled and creased, shoved between a rolled-up hoodie and the unopened book I thought I’d read when I got here.

I don’t even remember packing it.

But there it is. And at the top of the page, in bold type:

Return Date: Two Weeks From Pickup–Feb. 12th

Tomorrow—Tomorrow is Day Fourteen.

I sit on the edge of the bed, holding the paper like it might burst into flames if I look at it too long.

I’d forgotten, honestly. Or maybe I let myself pretend I had more time.

But now the snow is melting, the roads are open, and the town is spinning back to life, one coffee shop and delivery truck at a time.

The world beyond our little snow globe is waiting expectantly, demanding my return to reality after this brief respite from everything I was running from.

And I have to go.

Right?

When I walk into the kitchen, the coffee’s already brewed, and the guys are scattered throughout the space, each absorbed in their morning routine that has somehow become comfortingly familiar in such a short time.

Morgan’s barefoot in one of Rhett’s old t-shirts, humming something off-key while he stacks pancakes on a plate by the stove.

The domesticity of it catches in my throat—how easily he’s slipped into this role, how natural it feels to watch him move through this kitchen as though he’s always belonged here.

Rhett leans back in his chair, barefoot, silent, tapping his fingers against his coffee cup like it’s ticking out a countdown only he can hear. His hair falls across his forehead, still damp from the shower.

Damien’s at the window, watching the snow drip from the trees, creating tiny rivers down the glass panes that catch the morning light.

He’s always watching, always noticing everything.

I wonder what he sees when he looks at me—if he can read the conflict written across my face or sense the heaviness of the paper I’ve left crumpled on the bed upstairs.

I pour myself a cup of coffee and hold it between both hands, letting the warmth seep into my palms, hoping it might somehow prepare me for what comes next.

The liquid swirls dark and fragrant, promising comfort I’m not sure I deserve.

Taking a deep breath that doesn’t quite fill my lungs, I gather my courage.

And then I say it. “I have to take the rental car back tomorrow.”

The words fall into the room like a grenade. No one moves.

The kitchen freezes in a state of domestic bliss interrupted—Morgan with the spatula half-raised, Rhett with his coffee cup hovering near his lips, Damien turned halfway from the window, his expression unreadable.

Morgan’s the first to break the silence. He doesn’t look up from the skillet where pancake batter has begun to bubble at the edges. “That’s fine,” he says, too quickly, his voice unnaturally bright as he flips a pancake with practiced ease. “We’ll go with you. Make a day of it.”

“No,” I respond, quieter than I intended, my voice barely carrying across the kitchen. “I mean...I have to take it back. As in...return it and leave here.” The latter words hang in the air between us, impossible to take back once spoken.

This time, they all freeze. The mood shifts, like a sudden drop in atmospheric pressure before a storm.

Rhett sets his mug down with enough force that coffee sloshes over the rim, spreading in a dark puddle across the wooden table.

Morgan stops humming, his shoulders tensing beneath the worn cotton of his borrowed shirt.

Damien finally turns fully from the window, his expression sharpening as he focuses entirely on me.

“I was only supposed to stay for two weeks,” I continue, trying to keep my voice level despite the tightness in my throat. “I told myself this was temporary. That I’d come here to...disappear for a little while. Breathe and reset. Figure out what comes next after everything fell apart back home.”

“You can breathe here,” Damien interjects.

His voice is calm, but I can see the tension in his jaw, the slight narrowing of his eyes that betrays his concern.

The morning light catches the angles of his face, highlighting the stubble along his jawline that I’ve traced with my fingertips in the darkness of our shared bed.

“Yeah,” I whisper, looking down at the swirling coffee in my mug.

“That’s the problem.” The admission costs me something to voice aloud—the acknowledgment that breathing has become easier here, with them, than it ever was before.

That leaving might mean returning to that feeling of suffocation I’d grown so accustomed to that I hardly noticed it anymore.

Morgan walks over and takes the coffee from my hands, setting it down on the counter with careful precision.

Then he pulls me close, wrapping his arms around my waist and resting his forehead against mine in a gesture so intimate it makes my heart ache and my lower lip wobble.

“Don’t do that,” he murmurs, his breath warm against my face, eyes searching mine with an intensity that makes it impossible to look away.

“Don’t start saying goodbye before we even ask you to stay.

That’s not how this works.” His hands are steady on my waist, anchoring me when I feel like I might drift away on the current of my own uncertainty.

“I’m not saying goodbye,” I whisper back, my hands finding purchase on his shoulders, feeling the solid warmth of him beneath my palms. “I’m just...trying to figure out what comes next. What happens when the snow melts completely and we all have to go back to our real lives?”

“Then let us help you figure it out,” he suggests with that quiet confidence that drew me to him from the beginning. “You don’t have to decide everything alone anymore.”

I turn to Rhett, who hasn’t moved from his position at the table.

His arms are folded defensively across his chest, creating a barrier between himself and whatever emotions are threatening to break through.

He’s staring at the table like it personally betrayed him, jaw working as he grinds his teeth in the way he does when he’s processing something difficult.

“Rhett,” I say softly, needing to hear from him, too.

He exhales sharply, nostrils flaring as he finally looks up. The vulnerability in his expression nearly undoes me—Rhett, who has spent so long hiding behind walls of sarcasm and indifference, now looking at me with everything laid bare in his eyes.

“I don’t know what this looks like outside of here,” he confesses, his voice rough with emotion he’s still learning how to express. “I barely know what it looks like in here. This wasn’t supposed to happen. None of it was.”

“But you want it,” I counter.

It’s not a question.

He lifts his eyes to mine, and everything is there, written in the depths of his gaze. All the pain, the heat, the confusion. The want that terrifies him even as it draws him forward.

“I want you ,” he states simply, the admission costing him visibly. Then, with even greater effort, he adds, “And him.”

He doesn’t look at Morgan when he says it. But Morgan hears it. I feel it in the way his body tenses against mine, the slight intake of breath that betrays his surprise at hearing Rhett acknowledge what has been growing between them.

“No offence taken,” Damien snorts, and I can’t help but laugh.

I fucking love Damien.

Rhett swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

“I’ve spent my whole life trying not to be this —to not want this.

And now I do, and I don’t know how to fucking be myself without breaking something.

” The rawness in his voice fills the kitchen, honest and terrified and brave all at once.

“You’re not breaking anything,” Morgan says, his voice quiet but sure as he keeps one arm around me but extends his other hand toward Rhett. “You’re building something. We all are. Something that didn’t exist before, that we’re figuring out as we go.”

Damien walks over and folds his arms across his chest, his presence solid and grounding as always. He looks between the three of us, his expression thoughtful rather than troubled. “What do you want, Aria?” he asks, cutting through the emotional tangle with his characteristic directness.

I blink, momentarily thrown by the simplicity of the question. “What?”

“We know what we want,” he says, gesturing to include Morgan and Rhett in his statement. “We want you, all of us do. Even if it’s messy or complicated. So what do you want?”

Well. It’s not that I don’t know. It’s that saying it out loud makes it real. It makes it something I can lose, something that can hurt me when it inevitably falls apart, as everything in my life eventually has.

But I do it anyway.

“I want all of you.”

The words come out like a prayer. Like a confession.

Like a fucking war cry against every doubt and fear that’s tried to convince me I’m asking for too much, wanting something impossible.

“I want this. I want us . I just don’t know what that looks like when we’re not trapped in a cabin with snow piling up around us.

When the real world comes crashing back in with all its judgments and expectations. ”

Morgan presses a kiss to my temple, his lips lingering against my skin. “Then let’s figure it out. Together. One step at a time.”

Damien nods, the corner of his mouth lifting in that barely-there smile that I’ve learned to recognize as genuine happiness. “We’ve got time.”

Rhett rubs a hand over his face, exhaling slowly. “I feel like I should panic,” he mutters, though there’s a hint of wry humor beneath the words now.

“You are panicking,” Morgan points out, grinning a little. “But we love you, anyway.”

Rhett shoots him a look, but it’s less defensive than usual. There’s something like wonder in his eyes, as though he’s still adjusting to the idea of who he truly is—and not being rejected for it.

And for the first time in days, I feel like I’m not drowning in the unknown. The future still stretches before us, uncharted and uncertain, but at least we’re navigating it together rather than me trying to find my way alone.

It’s a nice feeling.

We sit around the table for the next hour, tossing out ideas between bites of Morgan’s pancakes and refills of coffee. The conversation flows naturally, punctuated by laughter and serious moments in equal measure.

Could we live in town?

Could I stay at the cabin and they commute?

Do we tell people?

What do we tell people?

How do we structure our days, our nights, our lives around this unconventional arrangement we’re all still learning to define?

Morgan jokes about renting a house big enough to fit four bedrooms for appearances and one massive bed we’d actually use.

Rhett suggests they rotate nights, his practical mind already working through logistics.

Damien just says, “She’s not going anywhere,” with such certainty that it settles something restless inside me.

And maybe that’s all I really needed to hear. That whatever shape this takes, whatever challenges we face, they’re committed to making room for me in their real lives. Not as a temporary diversion during a snowstorm.

When the talk winds down, Rhett clears his throat, setting his empty mug on the table with deliberate care. “I’ll drive you to return the car tomorrow,” he says, avoiding my gaze.

Damien steps forward, resting his hand on Rhett’s shoulder in a gesture of solidarity. “We’ll all go,” he corrects, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Morgan smirks, his eyes dancing with mischief. “Family road trip?” he suggests, wiggling his eyebrows in a way that breaks the remaining tension.

Rhett groans, but there’s no real annoyance behind it. “You’re ridiculous,” he mutters.

I laugh, the sound bubbling up from somewhere deep inside me, somewhere that had been silent for too long before I found myself stranded with these three men who have somehow become essential to my happiness.

And something inside me settles. Because I’m not alone—Not anymore. Whatever tomorrow brings—rental car returns, decisions about where to live, how to tell the world about us, how to navigate the complexity of loving three different men in three different ways—I don’t have to face it by myself.

We’ll figure it out together, one step at a time.