Page 29

I sit frozen at the table as the reality settles over me. Alone with three alphas whose combined scents are already making my head spin and my body respond in ways I absolutely cannot acknowledge.

"Well," Dean says after a moment, his voice carrying easy confidence. "Guess it's just us for dinner."

They load their plates with practiced efficiency, passing dishes and making casual conversation about the food. But there's an undercurrent to everything—a heightened awareness that makes every interaction feel charged.

"This smells incredible," Julian says, cutting into his chicken. "Maeve's outdone herself."

"She always does when there's company," Dean agrees, then glances at me with a grin. "Especially pretty company she wants to impress."

The casual compliment makes heat creep up my neck, and I focus intently on my potatoes to avoid meeting his eyes.

As we eat, the atmosphere begins to change. Their scents mingle in the warm air. Dean's toasted marshmallow and campfire, Callum's grounding cedar, Julian's sophisticated bergamot blend. The combination creates something intoxicating that makes my pulse quicken and my skin feel too warm.

"So," Dean says around a bite of vegetables, "how's the furniture settling in? That reading chair living up to expectations?"

"It's perfect," I admit, grateful for the safe topic. "I spent last night curled up in it with the poetry book Julian brought."

"The one with the marked page?" Julian asks, his attention sharpening.

"About building something beautiful from broken pieces," I say, noting how his expression warms. "It felt... relevant."

"Important words," Julian says quietly, his dark gaze holding mine. "Sometimes we need reminding that broken doesn't mean worthless."

The way he says it, like he sees those qualities in me, makes my chest tight with something I can't name.

"Good foundation," Callum adds, his deep voice rumbling with approval. "Makes everything else possible."

The easy conversation should help me relax, but I'm becoming increasingly aware of how their scents are affecting me.

Heat builds beneath my skin, starting low and spreading outward with each breath.

The slick that's been gathering since this afternoon intensifies, making me shift uncomfortably in my chair.

"Any other repairs needed this week?" Callum asks, his voice sending unexpected shivers down my spine. "Anything that needs attention?"

"I think everything's functional," I manage, trying to ignore how his steady gaze makes me want to invent problems just to have him in my space again.

"Call me if you find anything," he says simply. "I'll come over."

The quiet certainty in his voice does something devastating to my composure.

"I could bring more books," Julian offers, his voice intimate and soft. "Build a proper library for that chair."

"I'd like that," I admit, the words coming out more breathless than intended.

The way his expression warms at my response makes heat pool low in my belly.

As the meal progresses, I become painfully aware of every small interaction.

When Dean reaches for the salt and his fingers brush mine, electricity shoots up my arm.

When Callum asks me to pass the bread and our hands touch during the exchange, my scent flares involuntarily.

When Julian leans closer to hear something I've said, his proximity makes my breath catch audibly.

My body is responding despite every effort to remain composed. Slick gathers between my thighs, warm and slippery, and I have to press my legs together to contain the evidence of my growing arousal. My scent is blooming sweeter, richer, advertising exactly how affected I am by their attention.

All three of them notice. I can see it in the way Dean's easy smile takes on a sharper edge, how Callum's shoulders tense slightly, the way Julian's dark gaze seems to track every breath I take.

"We should probably clean up," Dean says eventually, his voice rougher than it was at the start of dinner.

"I can help," I say quickly, starting to rise from my chair, but Julian's hand touches my wrist with gentle authority.

"Stay," he says quietly, his fingers warm against my skin. "Let us take care of this."

The simple command shouldn't affect me as much as it does, but something about his tone, gentle but firm makes my knees weak and my scent spike with something that definitely isn't just gratitude.

They clear the table with easy efficiency, Dean and Callum working in sync while Julian retrieves glasses from Maeve's cabinet.

"We should open that wine," Dean says, holding up the bottle I brought. "Seems like the perfect time."

Julian uncorks it smoothly while Callum produces what looks like leftover cake from Maeve's bakery, chocolate with thick frosting that makes my mouth water despite how full I still am from dinner.

"Maeve's famous chocolate cake," Dean explains, cutting generous slices. "She always keeps some hidden for special occasions."

Special occasions. The words make something flutter dangerously in my chest.

Julian pours wine into four glasses with careful attention. When he hands me mine, our fingers brush and I have to fight not to gasp at the contact.

"To new neighbors," Dean says, raising his glass with that easy smile that doesn't quite hide the heat in his eyes.

"To new beginnings," Julian adds quietly, his dark gaze holding mine.

"To good foundations," Callum rumbles, and the way he says it makes it clear we're not talking about construction anymore.

We clink glasses and I take a sip, the wine warming my throat and settling into my already overheated system like liquid courage I absolutely don't need right now.

Dean and Callum lean against the counter, close enough that I can see the way Dean's t-shirt clings to his chest, how Callum's forearms flex as he cuts cake.

Julian slides onto the stool beside me at the island, close enough that his thigh almost brushes mine, close enough that his scent wraps around me like a physical caress.

"This is incredible," I manage, taking a bite of cake that's probably amazing but tastes like sawdust because all my attention is focused on the heat radiating from Julian's body.

"Maeve's secret weapon," Dean says, his voice rougher than before. I can see his nostrils flare slightly as he catches my scent.

The wine is making everything more intense, their scents stronger, my skin more sensitive, the ache between my thighs more persistent. When Julian shifts slightly and his leg finally does brush mine, I have to bite back a whimper.

The thought is so vivid, so overwhelming, that slick floods between my thighs and my scent spikes sweet and needy. All three of them go still.

Dean's breathing becomes audible. Callum's knuckles are white where he grips the counter. Julian's hand moves toward my thigh before he catches himself, his fingers curling into a fist on the marble surface.

"Lila," Julian says, his voice strained. "Your scent?—"

"I know," I whisper, mortified. I can smell myself, how obvious my arousal is, how desperately my body wants theirs.

Callum pushes away from the counter abruptly, running a hand through his hair. "I need air," he mutters, but doesn't actually leave. Just stands there breathing hard, looking like he's fighting every instinct he has.

"Lila," Dean says carefully, setting down his wine glass. His voice is gentle but serious. "We need you to know something."

Oh God. Heat floods my cheeks and I grip my wine glass tighter. "You don't need to?—"

"Yes, we do," Julian says quietly, his hand finding mine on the counter. "We're interested in you. All of us."

The words hit me like a physical blow, confirming what I've been trying so hard to deny. "I can't," I whisper, my voice barely audible.

"We're not asking for anything right now," Dean says gently. "Just want you to know that if you ever decide you're ready... we'll be here."

"When you're ready," Callum adds simply, his deep voice making my knees weak.

"All of us," Dean confirms, and there's something in his tone that suggests they've already discussed this.

The implication makes my head spin and my body respond in ways that should terrify me. The thought of all three of them, together, focused on me... it's everything I swore I didn't want and exactly what my omega instincts are screaming for.

"I should go," I say quickly, standing up so fast the stool nearly tips over. "Thank you for dinner, for the wine, for?—"

"Lila," Julian starts, but I'm already backing toward the door.

"I can't do this," I say, my voice cracking. "I came here to be alone. I don't want—I can't?—"

But my scent betrays me, blooming sweet and interested and completely contradicting every word coming out of my mouth.

"It's okay," Dean says gently, not moving closer despite the obvious effort it takes to stay still. "Take all the time you need."

"We're not going anywhere," Callum adds, his steady presence somehow both comforting and terrifying.

I grab my purse and escape to my car before I can do something stupid like ask them to follow me home.

Before I can acknowledge that the growing ache between my thighs has nothing to do with the uncomfortable dinner chair and everything to do with three alphas whose attention makes me feel claimed in ways I'm not ready to examine.

The drive home passes in a blur of unfamiliar streets and mounting internal chaos. My hands shake slightly on the steering wheel, and I can feel slick gathering heavier between my thighs with each breath that still carries traces of their scents.

I'm fine, I tell myself firmly as I turn onto my street. I don't need this. I'm not going into heat. I'm fine.

But my body hums with certainty. You want them.

The thought follows me into my house, up the stairs to where my nest waits surrounded by their scents, into sleep that's filled with dreams of strong hands and warm voices and the kind of claiming that has nothing to do with force and everything to do with choice.

Dreams where I choose them back.

And in the morning, when I wake up tangled in sheets that smell like green apple and white musk and three different kinds of want, I'm no longer sure that fine is what I'm aiming for.

Maybe fine is overrated.