There’s a low whistle that travels across the kitchen right before Dean leans over the counter with a grin. “If this is the welcome package, I’mneverleaving.”
My lip quirks. “You’re more than welcome to take however many you want.”
“Don’t encourage him,” Callum warns. “He’ll eat the entire tray if you let him.”
Dean plucks a cookie off the tray, ignoring the heat, and bites in. He chews slowly, eyes flicking to me. “You bake often?”
“Sometimes,” I say, trying not to fidget under his stare.
Callum takes one next, blowing on it first like a normal person. As soon as he takes a bite, he nods. “Best thing I’ve tasted all week.”
The kitchen soon fills with the kind of easy chatter.
Low voices rumbling over one another as they trade teasing jabs, laughter spilling out in short, rich bursts that have my stomach flipping.
It’s the sound of history, of years spent side by side in places I’ll never know, each story they leave half-finished only to circle back around later to include me in on the punchline.
I lean against the counter, watching them move around the space that suddenly doesn’t feel quite like my childhood kitchen anymore.
They open cabinets like they belong here, crack beers from the fridge like it’s another Friday night, and share looks and smirks I can’t decipher.
I’m caught somewhere between amusement at how seamlessly they fit themselves into this house and something else I can’t quite name.
Or maybe because I don’t want to.
Not yet, at least.
Later, after everyone’s settled, we gather in the living room.
The fire Grant started crackles in the hearth, throwing shadows across the room.
I curl up in the corner of the couch with a blanket draped over as much of my body as possible, my legs tucked under me, pretending to scroll my phone while watching them from the corner of my eye gather their things and bring them up to the bedrooms upstairs.
For some reason, I’m finding their energy completely intoxicating.
They’re attractive—undeniablyso—each in his own way.
Dean with that silver-tongued charm, eyes always glinting like he’s seconds from dropping another wise-cracked joke.
Grant who carries himself like he commands the room, his presence overwhelming every nook and cranny of this house.
And Callum, the quiet one, with his steadiness that fascinates me the most.
The awareness of having them around me prickles like static in the air, dangerous and distracting, and almost impossible to ignore.
I swallow hard and try to tell myself it’s nothing. They’re just Dad’s friends.
Men who’ve come to celebrate his birthday with him for the weekend before returning to whatever state they came from.
I’m only letting it affect me because I’ve been so buried in my studies the past few weeks, I’ve barely had any socialization.
But deep down, I know better.
Itisn’tnothing.
It’s something I shouldn’t even be thinking about at all.
2
