Page 26 of The Honor of Being Hers (Terms of Devotion #1)

The fire pit had been lit before sunset, even though the air was still warm. Lauren could feel the heat radiating against her shins as she approached, the dry warmth cutting through the evening’s gentle humidity.

As Lauren stepped onto the flagstone terrace barefoot, she could feel the radiating heat from the stones seeping into her.

Long summer nights like this were bliss, especially with a glass of something citrus-bright in your hands.

The long table had been moved to the edge of the garden, its surface scattered with open dishes, half-folded napkins, and the kind of glassware no one was bothering to match.

Crumbs dotted the wooden surface, and rings from abandoned drinks had left their marks, evidence of a meal shared without ceremony or pretense.

Someone had brought lanterns and strung them overhead between the terrace posts.

They swayed lightly with the evening breeze, throwing slow-moving light over the curve of someone’s laugh.

Justin had already kicked his shoes off and was lying in the grass with his head in Rachel’s lap, one hand twirling a half-eaten breadstick like it was a cigar.

His dark hair was perfectly tousled despite the evening breeze, and his sharp cheekbones caught the firelight.

There was something peaceful about seeing him so unguarded, the fierce perfectionist finally allowing himself to simply exist.

The leather of his discarded loafers gleamed in the firelight, and grass stains were already marking his expensive trousers. Sarah was sitting cross-legged on a blanket nearby, brushing dandelion fluff off her sleeves between bites of sticky lemon tart.

Samantha stood near the trellis wall, watching the group from the edges the way she always did, quiet, alert, more present than she ever let on.

Her phone sat silent beside her wine glass for once—no family crisis manufactured for tonight, Lauren noted with relief.

There were still shadows under her eyes, but for the first time in weeks, Samantha looked like she was truly present instead of bracing for the next demand on her time.

Lauren took it in slowly, letting the scene settle around her like the warmth of the fire.

No one had made a speech. No one had declared it a party.

It just… happened. It happened the way people gather when a storm has passed, and they find themselves still standing.

It was only a pity that Kyle hadn’t returned yet; he’d checked in regularly after her personal information had been leaked, but assured that her Alphas had it covered, he’d stayed away on his business trip to do his job.

She hadn’t realized she’d stopped walking until Ryan touched her shoulder.

His palm was warm through the thin fabric of her shirt, and she could feel the calluses at the base of his fingers, familiar textures that grounded her in the moment.

The man’s presence, whose mere mention had caused her anxiety only weeks ago, now only offered her peace and comfort.

He stepped in behind her, his hand firm and warm, the way it always was when he asked permission without words.

She leaned back against his chest and let herself feel the full breadth of him for a moment, the solidity, the calm.

Tyler appeared on her other side, slipping her glass from her fingers only to top it off with a little more before handing it back.

William arrived last, silent, and held out a plate in her direction with something buttery, folded, and still steaming. She smiled at him, soft and real.

“Why don’t you eat something,” he said, "I don’t think you’ve had something yet.”

She hadn't, so she reached out and nibbled at the offering.

Later, she sat between Tyler and Sarah on the wide bench someone had pulled from the dining room, her legs tucked beneath her and her back pressed to Tyler’s side.

The wood was smooth beneath her thighs, worn soft by years of use, and Tyler’s shirt was cotton-soft against her shoulders.

Ryan and William sat nearby, close enough to touch but not closing in.

Rachel had somehow ended up deep in conversation with Ryan about challenges omegas face, and Justin was orchestrating a doomed plan to roast figs over the fire without a skewer.

Samantha sat on the low wall, nursing a glass of dark red wine, saying little, but watching everything.

Lauren caught her eye.

Samantha’s expression didn’t change, but she lifted her glass slightly, a quiet acknowledgment.

Lauren excused herself gently and crossed the space between them, perching beside her on the cool stone.

“Did you eat?” Lauren asked.

“Enough,” Samantha said. “I’m not hungry.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Samantha glanced sideways at her, one corner of her mouth lifting in something close to fondness. “Yes,” she said. “I’ve eaten.”

They sat like that for a while, shoulders brushing, neither trying to pull words that didn’t need saying.

“Thank you for being here,” Lauren said finally.

Samantha’s voice was soft. “You didn’t have to thank me.”

“I know,” Lauren said. “But I wanted to.”

Samantha nodded once. “I’m glad you asked us.

I think… I needed to see this. Someone getting to have it.

” Her fingers traced patterns in the condensation on her wine glass, leaving temporary marks that caught the firelight before evaporating.

“My family called three times today. I turned my phone off.” The admission was quiet, but significant.

Lauren looked at her more fully then, studying the fine edges of her restraint. Not closed off. Just bracing. She wanted to ask, but not tonight. Tonight was for celebration.

“You will find this too,” Lauren said instead. “When you’re ready,” Lauren continued gently. “When you decide your own needs matter as much as everyone else’s emergencies.” She watched Samantha’s fingers still on the glass, the words landing exactly where they needed to.

Samantha didn’t agree, but she didn’t argue either.

When Lauren returned to the bench, Tyler pulled her in without needing to be asked. He tucked her beneath his arm, her head finding the perfect hollow of his shoulder, while William’s hand slid over her shin and rested there, thumb tracing slow circles against the bone.

Ryan caught her gaze from across the fire and smiled in that quiet way he had, no teeth, no performance, just a man watching the person he wanted live a moment he hoped she’d remember.

She didn’t speak again that night. She didn’t need to.

She belonged here. The fire crackled softly, sending sparks up into the darkening sky, and she watched them dance until they disappeared into the vast expanse above.

And for the first time, the world had finally settled around her without asking her to shrink.