I stood there for a moment, my breath misting in the cool air, trying to work up the courage to walk to the main house. Reid had said they'd be expecting me for breakfast. That I was welcome anytime. That I was part of this now.
Part of them.
My feet started moving before I made the conscious decision, carrying me across the yard toward the main house. The windows were lit up, warm and golden against the gray morning, and I could smell something cooking—bacon, coffee, something sweet.
My stomach growled. I hadn't eaten dinner last night, too overwhelmed by everything that had happened to think about food. I climbed the porch steps and raised my hand to knock, then hesitated. Did I knock? Did I just walk in? What were the rules here? I didn't know how to do this—didn't know how to be part of something.
The door swung open before I could decide, and Kol was standing there, his honey-blond hair sleep-mussed and sticking up in about seventeen different directions, his amber eyes bright despite the early hour. He was wearing a faded t-shirt and sweats that hung low on his hips, looking soft and rumpled and entirely too happy for six in the morning.
"You came!" The words burst out of him like he couldn't contain them, his whole face lighting up with a smile so wide it crinkled the corners of his eyes and showed all his teeth. He stepped back immediately to give me space, his bare feet padding on the wooden floor, one hand gesturing eagerly toward the interior of the house. His scent—orange blossoms and warmhoney—washed over me, bright and welcoming. "I told Reid you'd come. He said to give you space, let you decide, but I knew you'd come. Come in, come in—Nolan made pancakes."
He was already turning away, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet, words tumbling out of him in an excited rush that made my lips twitch despite my nerves.
I stepped inside.
The main house was warm, filled with the smell of breakfast and coffee and something underneath—their scents, all four of them, layered and intertwined until it was hard to tell where one ended and another began. Whiskey and woodsmoke. Eucalyptus and honey. Sun-baked grass. Orange blossoms. It wrapped around me like a blanket, and I felt something in my chest loosen.
The kitchen was chaos.
Nolan was at the stove, flipping pancakes with practiced ease, his sandy blond hair falling across his forehead and a dish towel thrown over one shoulder. He wore a soft henley with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, revealing freckled forearms. He looked up when I entered, and his green eyes warmed immediately, crinkling at the corners with a gentle smile.
"Morning." His voice was soft, calm, that familiar steadiness that always seemed to settle something inside me. He gestured toward the table with his spatula, the movement easy and unhurried, his attention warm but not overwhelming. "Coffee's fresh. Sit anywhere you like."
Reid was already at the table, a mug of coffee cradled in his large hands, papers spread out in front of him. He wore a worn flannel over a white t-shirt, his dark hair still damp from a shower, the silver at his temples catching the morning light. He looked up when I walked in, his dark eyes finding mine immediately, and something passed between us—anacknowledgment, a warmth, a promise. The corner of his mouth curved up slightly, deepening the lines around his eyes.
"Aster." My name in his voice was low and rough with sleep, carrying a warmth that made my cheeks heat. He tilted his head toward the chair beside him, his broad shoulders shifting as he set down his coffee mug. His dark eyes held mine, steady and patient, offering rather than commanding. "Sit."
It wasn't a command. It was an invitation. I could feel the difference now—the way he offered rather than demanded, the way he left space for me to choose.
I sat.
Sawyer was leaning against the counter near the window, a mug of coffee cradled in his calloused hands, his pale blue eyes tracking my movement across the room. He wore a simple black t-shirt that stretched across his broad shoulders, his auburn hair still mussed from sleep, copper stubble shadowing his strong jaw. He didn't say anything—that wasn't his way—but he nodded when our eyes met, a short, sharp dip of his chin, and something in his posture relaxed. His scent drifted toward me—sun-baked grass and wind—steady and grounding.
"Told you she'd come." Kol dropped into the chair across from me, the wood creaking slightly under his sudden weight, his body practically vibrating with energy even while seated. His amber eyes danced with warmth as he grinned at Sawyer, one hand already reaching for the coffee pot in the center of the table. He poured me a cup without asking, the dark liquid steaming as he slid it across the worn wood toward me. "Sawyer bet me five dollars you wouldn't."
"Didn't bet." Sawyer's voice was a low rumble, gravel scraping over stone, but there was something almost like amusement lurking in the pale depths of his eyes. He lifted his mug to his lips and took a slow sip, his gaze flicking to meand away, a hint of warmth softening his sharp features. "Said I wouldn't be surprised. Different thing."
"Same thing." Kol waved a dismissive hand, nearly knocking over the sugar bowl, his grin widening to show the dimple in his left cheek. He leaned forward on his elbows, his whole body angled toward me like a plant toward sunlight, his amber eyes bright with interest. "You want cream? Sugar? Nolan makes his coffee strong enough to strip paint, so fair warning."
"I heard that." Nolan's voice drifted over from the stove, dry and amused, his attention still on the pancakes as he flipped another one with a practiced flick of his wrist. A stack was growing on the plate beside him, golden and perfect. His shoulders shook slightly with a silent chuckle. "My coffee is perfectly reasonable."
"Your coffee is a war crime." Kol's voice was cheerful, utterly unrepentant, his amber eyes sparkling with mischief as he shot a grin toward Nolan's back. He grabbed the sugar bowl and set it pointedly in front of me, raising his eyebrows in exaggerated warning. "Reid's the only one who drinks it straight. The rest of us have evolved taste buds."
"Says the man who puts four sugars in his." Reid's voice was dry as dust, his dark eyes still on his papers, but the corner of his mouth was definitely twitching now, fighting a smile. His broad shoulders relaxed, his presence at the head of the table calm and grounding, anchoring the chaos around him. "That's not coffee. That's syrup."
"It's delicious is what it is." Kol was undeterred, pushing the sugar bowl closer to me with an encouraging nod, his honey-blond hair flopping across his forehead. His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, loud enough for everyone to hear. "Trust me. You want at least two."
I found myself smiling despite the nerves still fluttering in my stomach. The banter was easy, familiar—the kind of rhythmthat came from years of living together, of knowing each other's habits and preferences and quirks. It should have made me feel like an outsider, but somehow it didn't. Somehow, it felt like being let in on a secret.
I added two sugars to my coffee. Kol beamed like I'd given him a gift, his whole face lighting up with triumph. Nolan appeared at the table with a platter of pancakes, setting them in the center with a practiced motion that spoke of countless mornings just like this one. He slid into the chair on my other side—the one between me and Sawyer—and his knee brushed against mine under the table. The warmth of the contact made my breath catch, and I couldn't tell if it was intentional or not.
"Eat." His voice was gentle, an offering rather than an order, his green eyes soft as they met mine. He pushed the platter toward me, the pancakes steaming and golden, his freckled hand lingering near the edge of the plate. "You missed dinner last night. You need food."
I hadn't told him I'd missed dinner. But of course he knew. Nolan noticed everything. I took two pancakes, suddenly aware of how hungry I was. The first bite was perfect—fluffy, sweet, just the right amount of crisp at the edges—and I made a small sound of appreciation before I could stop myself.
"Good, right?" Kol was already piling his own plate high, stacking pancakes like he was building a tower, his movements quick and eager. He grabbed the syrup and doused his pancakes until they were practically swimming, a river of amber pooling on his plate. His amber eyes found mine across the table, warm and delighted. "Nolan's the only one who can cook. The rest of us would burn water."
"That's not true." Sawyer had moved from the counter to the table, settling into the chair at the end with quiet, deliberate movements that barely made a sound. He took three pancakes and ate them plain, no syrup, no butter, his pale blue eyesmeeting mine briefly. Something warm flickered in their icy depths, there and gone. "Reid makes decent chili."
