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I leaned into his touch, overwhelmed by the trust he was placing in me. "Miles," I whispered, covering his hand with mine as it cupped my face. "I don't know what I did to deserve this—to deserve you. Any of you."

His eyes softened, that familiar warmth spreading across his features. "You existed, Lili. You chose to be brave when it would have been easier to stay small. You chose us when you could have chosen safety."

Before I could respond, he leaned down and pressed his lips to mine in a kiss that was different from the night before—less desperate, more reverent. Like he was trying to pour all his unspoken feelings into the gentle pressure of his mouth against mine.

When we broke apart, both slightly breathless, Miles rested his forehead against mine. "Come on," he murmured, his voice rough. "Let me show you the rest."

He led me through the small kitchen with its vintage appliances and cheerful yellow curtains, then out the back door onto a screened porch that overlooked rolling fields dotted with wildflowers. In the distance, I could hear the gentle babble of water over stones.

"The creek?" I asked.

"Runs right along the back of the property," Miles confirmed, guiding me down wooden steps that had been worn smooth by weather and use. "That's where I set up camp if you're up for staying out there."

We walked across the field hand in hand, wildflowers brushing against our legs as we made our way toward the sound of running water.

The creek came into view through a cluster of willow trees—clear water dancing over smooth stones, creating a gentle melody that seemed to harmonize with the rustle of leaves overhead.

"Oh, Miles," I breathed, stopping short at the sight before me.

He'd already set up a campsite in a clearing beside the water—a canvas tent in deep forest green, a ring of stones circling what would become our fire pit, and a wooden picnic table that looked like it had been crafted by hand.

Camping chairs faced the creek, positioned perfectly to catch both the water's music and the dappled sunlight filtering through the canopy.

"When did you have time to do all this?" I asked, spinning in a slow circle to take it all in.

"I may have started yesterday before I asked you on the date…” He trailed off, his cheeks going a bit red as I kept my eyes on him.

I laughed, the sound bright and clear in the morning air. "So you were that confident I'd say yes?"

Miles's cheeks flushed slightly, a boyish grin spreading across his face. "Maybe. Or maybe I was just hoping really, really hard."

"Well, your confidence was justified," I said, moving closer to examine the tent. The fabric was sturdy but elegant, and I could see sleeping bags and pillows arranged inside through the open flap. "This looks incredibly comfortable for camping."

"Julian's contribution," Miles admitted with a chuckle. "Apparently regular camping gear wasn't good enough. This tent probably costs more than some people's monthly rent."

I ran my fingers along the tent's edge, marveling at the quality. "It's beautiful. All of this is beautiful." I turned back to face him, overwhelmed by the thoughtfulness of every detail.

Miles stepped closer, his hands finding my waist as he pulled me gently against him.

"I wanted everything to be perfect for you," he said softly, his green eyes holding mine with an intensity that made my heart race.

"You deserve to experience things that are beautiful, peaceful.

Things that have nothing to do with expectations or performance. "

"You're going to make me cry," I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. No one had ever put this much thought into making me happy—not because they wanted something from me, but simply because they wanted to see me smile.

"Happy tears, I hope," Miles murmured, his thumb tracing along my cheekbone. "Because we haven't even gotten to the best part yet."

"There's more?" I asked, incredulous.

His grin was answer enough. He took my hand and led me to the picnic table, where I noticed for the first time a wicker basket I hadn't seen before, its contents hidden beneath a checkered cloth.

"Christopher's masterpiece," Miles said, lifting the cloth with a flourish to reveal an array of carefully packed foods.

Glass containers held what looked like homemade pasta salad, fresh bread wrapped in linen, and berries that gleamed like jewels in the morning light.

There were mason jars filled with what I assumed was lemonade, wedges of cheese, and small containers of spreads and dips I couldn't identify but that smelled incredible.

"He made all of this?" I asked, picking up one of the containers to examine the perfectly arranged contents.

"He was up at dawn," Miles confirmed, his voice warm with affection for his friend. "Muttering about 'proper picnic food' and 'first camping experiences.' I think he packed enough for a week."

I laughed, imagining Christopher fussing over every detail in the kitchen, determined to make my first camping experience perfect. "That sounds exactly like him," I said, warmth spreading through my chest at the thought of all three of them conspiring to make this day special for me.

"And Nicolaus?" I asked, curious about the fourth member of our unconventional family. "What was his contribution?"

Miles reached into the basket and pulled out a small leather journal with my initials embossed on the cover in elegant gold lettering. "He thought you might want to pick some of the wildflowers and press them into the book. Also said you could use it to write down your thoughts if you wanted to.”

I ran my fingers over the embossed leather, touched by Nicolaus's thoughtfulness. Even in his absence, he'd found a way to be present, to add something meaningful to this experience.

"That's so like him," I murmured, opening the journal to find creamy blank pages waiting for my thoughts. "Practical but sentimental in his own quiet way."

Miles smiled, watching me trace the pages. "He researched which wildflowers grow in this area at this time of year. There's a guide in the back for identifying them."

Of course he had. That meticulous attention to detail was so perfectly Nicolaus.

"So," Miles said, settling onto the picnic bench and patting the space beside him. "What would you like to do first? We could explore the creek, start a fire, or just sit and enjoy the quiet. Your choice.”

I settled beside him, our shoulders brushing as I considered the options. The freedom of choice felt luxurious after a lifetime of structured days.

"Let's explore the creek first," I decided, drawn to the sparkling water. "I've never gone wading before."

Miles's eyebrows rose. "Never? Not even as a child?"

I shook my head. "Water activities were limited to proper swimming lessons with instructors. My mother worried about waterborne parasites in natural bodies of water."

He laughed, the sound warm and incredulous. "Well, I can promise this creek is parasite-free. My grandmother had it tested regularly for the farm."

"Then let's go," I said, already unlacing my boots. The excitement bubbling through me felt childlike and pure.

Miles removed his shoes and socks as well, rolling up his jeans to mid-calf.

I followed suit with my jeans, trying not to feel self-conscious about my pale legs as we made our way to the water's edge.

The grass was soft and cool beneath my bare feet, and I could already feel the mist from the creek kissing my ankles.

"Careful," Miles warned gently, taking my hand as we approached the bank. "The stones can be slippery."

The first touch of water against my toes made me gasp—not from cold, but from the unexpected sensation of smooth pebbles and gentle current. It was nothing like the chlorinated pools I was accustomed to, nothing like the sterile environment my mother had always insisted upon.

"It's perfect," I breathed, taking another tentative step into the creek. The water swirled around my calves, clear enough that I could see minnows darting between the rocks like tiny silver arrows.

Miles watched me with a tenderness that made my heart swell. He stood ankle-deep beside me, his hand still firmly holding mine as I found my balance on the creek bed.

"Look down," he said softly, pointing with his free hand. "See the little crayfish hiding under that rock?"

I followed his gaze to spot a tiny crustacean, its claws raised defensively as it peered out from its shelter. "It's adorable," I whispered, fascinated by the miniature creature.

"My grandmother used to tell me they were the guardians of the creek," Miles said, his voice warm with memory. "That they kept the water clean and the bad spirits away."

I glanced up at him, charmed by this glimpse into his childhood. "Did you believe her?"

"Every word," he admitted with a soft laugh. "I used to leave little offerings for them—acorns and smooth pebbles I thought they might like. Once I even tried to build them a tiny castle out of twigs and leaves."

My heart melted at the image of a young Miles carefully constructing a home for creek creatures. "That's the sweetest thing I've ever heard."

He shrugged, though his cheeks colored slightly. "I was an imaginative kid. Grandmother encouraged it—said imagination was more valuable than any education money could buy….which my mother and her side of the family favored."

"She sounds wonderful," I said, carefully taking another step deeper into the creek. The water now reached just below my knees, cool and refreshing against my skin.

"She was," Miles agreed, his voice soft with reverence. "She would have adored you, you know. She always had a soft spot for people who were finding their way."

I looked down at our joined hands, at the clear water swirling around our legs, at this moment I felt at peace. These men were letting me grow into a new person and I was loving it…and couldn’t help but grow, with them by my side.