“Good.” I squeeze his hand. “Definitely good.”
Milo’s truck pulls in beside us. Through the window, I see him sitting behind the wheel, watching me with those dark eyes that always seem to see too much. The bartender who handed me a drink three years ago and somehow knew exactly what I needed before I did.
And inside the house, Elijah. The quiet woodworker who built me a nesting bench and never mentioned it. Who shows love through creation because words don’t come easy for him.
Three alphas. Three completely different men. And I love all of them.
The realization doesn’t hit me like lightning. It settles into my bones like it’s been there all along, just waiting for me to notice.
I love them. All of them. And I’m done pretending I don’t.
Milo opens my door before I can reach for the handle. His scent wraps around me. Dark chocolate and amber, rich and warm. The tension in my shoulders eases.
“Hey yourself.” He pulls me close, pressing his forehead to mine. “You sure about this?”
“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
His breath catches. I feel the tremor in his hands where they rest on my waist. Milo Stone, the smoothest man I’ve ever met, is nervous.
That makes two of us.
Elijah opens the front door before we reach the porch. He doesn’t speak—he rarely does—but his eyes track me as I pass, and I feel the weight of his attention like a physical touch. His scent reaches me next. Cedarwood and honey, grounding and sweet.
The house is warm. A fire crackles in the massive stone fireplace, casting dancing shadows across the exposed beams. Everything in here is handmade—I recognize Elijah’s work in every carved detail, every perfectly joined seam. The coffee table with legs shaped like tree branches. The bookshelves built into the walls. The oversized sectional arranged around the hearth.
He built this place with his own hands. Built it bigger than one person needs.
Built it for a pack.
My throat tightens.
“Wine?” Milo asks, already heading for the kitchen. The normalcy of the question grounds me.
“Please.”
Ben’s hand finds the small of my back, warm and steady. “Breathe, Tessa.”
“I’m breathing.”
“You’re planning. I can see it on your face.” His thumb traces circles through my dress. “This isn’t an event. You don’t need a schedule.”
He’s right. Of course he’s right. Even now, my brain is trying to organize this into something manageable. Step one: have wine. Step two: discuss expectations. Step three: proceed in orderly fashion to...
No.
This isn’t a town meeting. This is my life. My heart. My future.
Milo returns with glasses and a bottle of red. We settle onto the sectional, me in the middle, Ben on my left, Milo on myright. Elijah takes the armchair closest to the fire, his amber eyes watching me in that quiet, intent way of his.
Four of us. Together. Finally.
The fire pops and hisses. Someone hands me wine I don’t taste. My heart beats so loud I’m sure they can all hear it.
“So,” Milo starts, ever the one to fill silences. “We should probably talk about...”
“I love you.”
The words fall out before I can stop them. Before I can organize them into something prettier, something more planned.
