Page 48 of Theirs to Hunt (Girls Like Us #1)

Chapter forty-eight

T he kitchen is warm in a way I didn’t expect. Sunlight slants through tall windows, gleaming off polished wood and black marble. Large windows overlook the side yard, the cobblestone patio, and an outdoor kitchen before everything unfolds into a quiet, park-like setting.

It smells like coffee and butter and something faintly sweet.

Brooks moves comfortably in his space. Sleeves rolled up, bare feet on tile, flipping pancakes with the confidence of someone who doesn’t need to prove anything.

He doesn’t ask how I take my coffee. He just makes it. Cream, no sugar. Exactly right.

Grayson leans against the counter, still in yesterday’s slacks and a half-buttoned shirt, sleeves pushed to his elbows. His tie is missing. His eyes never leave me. Not in a creepy way. Just watching. Tracking. Like he’s memorizing this version of me too.

There isn’t tension in the air, but it’s full of possibility .

I’m usually self-reliant and grounded, but these two light something up in me. A hope I’ve never let myself want. It makes me feel too much, too soon.

I’m barefoot in Grayson’s shirt, one leg swinging as I perch on a barstool that’s more comfortable than it should be. Brooks slides a plate in front of me. Pancakes, scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, fresh strawberries on the side.

“If you don’t like it, you’re wrong,” he says flatly.

Despite myself, I smile. “Cocky much?”

“Confident,” he corrects. “Try the pancakes.”

Grayson smirks into his coffee. “He cooks when he’s trying to impress someone.”

Brooks gives him a look. “You’re not helping.”

“I’m not trying to,” Grayson says. “She should know what she’s walking into.”

“And what exactly am I walking into?” I ask. I pick up my fork, but don’t look at either of them.

The silence stretches. Then Brooks answers, softer than I expect. “Something real. We’re not playing.”

Grayson sets his mug down. “This isn’t about one night or power games. We’re not fighting over you.”

“Then what are you doing?”

“Offering you something most people never get,” Brooks says. “Two men who don’t lie to each other. Who both want you. Not just in our beds. In our lives.”

I blink. “You’re talking about sharing me?”

Grayson’s voice is calm and sure. “We already are. The only question is whether you’ll accept it.”

My heart pounds, but it’s not from fear. It’s something louder. Something that already says yes, even though my brain hasn’t caught up.

“And you’re both okay with this?”

Brooks leans on the counter. “Grayson thinks long term. He always has. He won’t be seventy chasing you around. But I will.”

Grayson’s jaw ticks. “And if you want children someday, they’d be ours. No tests. No questions. No doubt.”

My stomach flips. Children. I’ve known them a week.

But I’ve never felt this alive. Bobbie is my rock, and I love our time together. But this? This is momentum. This is something to look forward to.

I’ve lived more in this week than I have in twenty-eight years. And I don’t want to lose it. Which means I don’t want to lose them.

Brooks adds, “We’d marry you. Legally, it’d be me. But this,” he gestures between us, “this is all of us. You’d never go to bed alone unless you asked to.”

“There’s a reason we renovated the primary suite the way we did,” Grayson says. “Adjoining bedrooms. Walk-in closets with a laundry room between them. Shared space. Divided when needed. No secrets.”

I look at them both. Fork still in hand. Pancakes untouched.

“You’ve really thought this through.”

Grayson meets my eyes. “We think about you, and how to be what you need.”

Brooks nudges the plate closer. “Eat, Bambi. We’ll go slow. But you’ll need to say it if this is what you want.”

I don’t answer right away. I pick up the fork. Take a bite.

The pancakes are perfect. Of course they are.

I should stop. Ask more questions. Demand time. But my body already knows.

And maybe that’s the answer.

Not logic. Not plans. Just this feeling I don’t want to lose.

I think I’ve already said yes.