“Don’t.” Ford’s voice is pure warning.
Hayes grins. “…snuggling.”
I snort. “That’s… honestly worse than what I thought you were gonna say.”
Ford clears his throat and gestures toward the kitchen. “Come on. Before he starts naming the couch.”
The kitchen is made of dreams. White cabinets, black countertops, a giant farmhouse sink, and an island that could host a cooking competition.
“Oh my god,” I whisper.
Ford ducks his head, rubbing the back of his neck. “Figured you’d want space. For… baking with me. And stuff.”
My heart squeezes so hard I swear it’s bruised. “I love it.”
Beck slips an arm around my waist and murmurs, “Want to see the rest?”
Next stop: the library.
“Holy…” I gasp as we step into a room lined with dark wood shelves from floor to ceiling. There’s a ladder. An actual ladder on wheels, like inBeauty and the Beast.
Hayes grins. “Your castle, milady.”
“This is mine?”
Beck squeezes my hip. “For you.”
Ford gestures toward a cozy nook with pillows. “And for nights you want to read without us bothering you.”
Hayes leans in, smirking. “Or nights you want us to bother you while you’re reading.”
“Hayes,” Beck warns, his tone all Alpha steel, and wow, that does things to me.
We breeze through a sunroom that Hayes declares as “Perfect for plotting world domination or drinking wine at noon,” a gym (which Ford apparently demanded), and a den Hayes insists is the “man cave,” complete with a dartboard and a giant pool table.
And then Beck stops in front of a door at the end of the hall.
“This one’s yours,” he says quietly.
He opens it, and I swear the air goes out of my lungs.
It’s soft and warm and everything I didn’t know I wanted. A massive bed piled high with blankets and pillows, the light low and golden. The walls are painted in calm, earthy tones. It feels… safe. Nesting safe.
My knees wobble.
“You… you made me a nest room?”
Beck’s jaw tightens, bracing for me to hate it, but his eyes burn steady. “You deserve a place to feel comfortable. To feel… yours.”
Hayes grins. “Translation: we’re never getting you out of here.”
“Is it okay?” Ford asks.
I can’t answer. Not right away. Because my throat is tight, and my vision’s blurry, and my whole chest might explode.
Finally, I whisper, “It’s perfect.”
Beck steps close, his hand finding mine. Hayes leans against the doorframe, hiding something tender behind all that bravado. Ford just beams.
