It’s nice.
I could get used to this.
“Okay,” I say, swallowing around the lump in my throat. “Confess. Who came up with this whole romantic-comedy picnic scene in the middle of winter?”
All three point at each other. At the same time.
I bark out a laugh. “You’re kidding.”
“It was Beck’s idea,” Hayes sing-songs.
“Shut up,” Beck growls.
Ford clears his throat. “Technically, Hayes suggested the lights.”
“And I suggested stealing your nest pillows,” Hayes adds proudly.
Beck’s scowl deepens. “Which was stupid. She needs those.”
Hayes scoffs. “They’re pillows, man. We put them back once we’re done.”
I watch them bicker, warmth pooling in my chest until it’s almost unbearable. Me. Sitting here in Honeysuckle Grove with three men who should’ve been nothing more than childhood footnotes. Me, an Omega who swore she’d never let anyone in again, being fed strawberries and grapes and bread and honey under twinkling string lights.
My laugh comes out shaky. “You’re all idiots.”
“Maybe,” Hayes says, rolling onto his side to look at me, expression soft and sincere. “But we’reyouridiots.”
Oh.
Oh no.
Because my chest does this fluttery thing, my throat burns, and for once, I don’t have a snarky comeback ready.
So I simply take another piece of fruit from Ford’s fingers and pretend I’m not on the verge of combusting. I let myself enjoy it.
But just when I almost forget everything that happened before my heat completely, my phone buzzes in the pocket of my sundress.
I ignore it at first because pillows, bread, honey, and hunks. Because Beck’s arm is brushing against mine. Because Hayes ishumming softly in my ear and Ford is slipping me the last piece of cheese.
But it buzzes again. Longer this time.
I groan as I yank my phone out, ready to turn it off. But then the screen lights up.
Unknown Number.
Shit.
Dylan.
My stomach drops so hard it’s a miracle I don’t throw up the food I just consumed.
My thumb hovers, shaking, before I finally swipe it open.
Unknown Number:You think you’re cute, but you’re about to get what’s coming to you.
My chest constricts. The honey in my mouth turns bitter.
I shouldn’t let them see. Ican’tlet them see. Not when they’ve done all of this for me. But Ford notices instantly. His hand stills on mine, thumb no longer tracing lazy circles.
