“We like everything. Gender is a construct,” Elio said, as if Enzo was ancient for even hinting at a preference.
Seven snickered as the car rolled to a stop, squeezing Enzo’s hand once more. It was a small thing—that squeeze—but it felt like a silent promise, an I’ve-got-you amid the madness. Every time Seven did it, Enzo swore he could breathe again. Seven had leaned on him for weeks, trusting him to save his mother with his legal knowledge, but now that he’d done that, he felt a bit out of his element. He wasn’t opposed to murder if it was justified, but he had never been an active participant. Now, he was playing in Seven’s wheelhouse.
On the porch, a battered laptop played gardening blogs while, off to one side, a travel router and a compact antenna sat casually on a stack of seed catalogs. A “broken” lantern hid a discreet cable where a brand-new conduit snaked into the wall. Calliope hadn’t built a homestead; she’d built the world’s most discreet fortress.
She beamed at them as they made their way onto the porch. “Come on in. I made cookies.”
Enzo rolled his eyes as his brothers practically fell all over themselves at the idea that this mythical digital goddess had made them a treat.
The inside of the house was beautiful, every inch remodeled, but in a way that honored the bones of the place instead of erasing them. The air smelled of coffee and something tart. Jam or jelly, maybe? His question was answered when she led them into a large country kitchen.
“You caught us on prep day,” she said, gesturing to the clearly lived-in space. Something bubbled in a pan, a large pot of water boiled beside it, jars were lined up on the counter, and a loaf of bread still steamed on the cooling rack.
Enzo pinched the bridge of his nose as his brothers started peeking into every nook and cranny.
“Are you making strawberry jam?” Elio asked.
Calliope smiled in a way that reminded Enzo of his mother. “No, strawberry simple syrup. I sell it at the farmer’s market. It’s healthier than the stuff you buy at the store. I make chocolate syrup, too.”
Calliope was a fascinating creature. Quirky, and so terrifyingly smart, the government had given her open access to their systems rather than try to outsmart her. Yet, she loved animals and her son and son-in-law, had a wife, a quiet home and—apparently—a side gig at the farmer’s market. Enzo felt like he really didn’t know anything about making the most of his days.
“How do you have time to hack the planetandmake syrup? And bread?” Ansel asked, giving voice to Enzo’s thoughts as he hovered over the loaf, inhaling deeply.
Calliope sighed wistfully. “There’s surprisingly little to do lately. Arsen has taken over some of the digital heavy lifting with Jericho’s interests. Thomas has slowed down since Noah took over. Idle hands and all that.”
She offered them a plate of chocolate chip cookies, seemingly pleased when the teens began to gobble them up like uncultured gremlins. His mother would have been mortified.
“You have quite the security set-up here,” Enzo said.
She grinned. “Well, shit. You noticed that, huh?”
“I’m trained to notice things like that,” Enzo countered. “It’s good that you keep yourself safe out here.”
Her smile became a smirk, her tone edged with something sharp. “I’m always safe. The other measures are to give whoever’s stupid enough to come after me a chance to change their minds before they ruin their own lives.”
“You’re so cool,” Elio whispered around a mouthful of cookie.
Enzo sighed, covering his face with his hand. He felt the gentle slide of arms around his waist—Seven, always there,grounding him. The soft press of a cheek to his back made him smile despite himself. It wasn’t just comfort; it was possession wrapped in affection, a quiet way of sayingI’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.
There was the sound of footsteps on the wooden stairs that Enzo only just noticed past a door off the kitchen. A woman—clearly Calliope’s wife, Lola—appeared, her hair in braids decorated with gold beads that swung past her shoulders. She wore black leggings, an oversized chambray shirt, and bright red rain boots.
She smiled when she saw the group in her kitchen, then leaned in to kiss Calliope’s cheek. “Oh, we have a full house. You must be in your bliss,” she said to her wife.
“I do love company,” Calliope agreed.
Enzo had to fight back a laugh when Ansel rushed to say, “Our mom does, too.”
Seven’s hand found his again, lacing their fingers together in a silent echo of the domestic ease around them. It hit Enzo then—the rare feeling that this, the chaos and warmth and family, would be just how his home with Seven would feel someday. Surrounded by kids and chaos and more nosy family members than they knew what to do with.
“Everyone, this is my wife, Lola,” Calliope said, gesturing to the other woman like she was unveiling a rare art exhibit. “You know Seven. This is his boyfriend, Enzo, and Enzo’s brothers…Elio and Ansel, wasn’t it?”
His brothers nodded like bobbleheads.
“I’m Ansel,” Ansel said. “That’s Elio.”
“Nice to meet all of you,” Lola murmured, peering over the edge of the bubbling pan. As they watched, she took the wooden spoon, pushing around the mass of macerated strawberries and sugar. “I got this if you want to go work.”
Calliope hesitated, glancing around the kitchen before nodding. “The jars are sterilized, the next loaf is proofing, and the dehydrator has twenty more minutes before we need to put in the next batch.”
