"Once a year." Kol rolled his eyes dramatically, his fork waving in the air for emphasis, syrup dripping onto the table. His voice was fond despite the teasing, affection bleeding through every word. "On his birthday. The rest of the time, he lives on coffee and stubbornness."
"Works fine." Reid didn't look up from his papers, but there was a definite smile playing at the corners of his mouth now, softening the hard lines of his weathered face. His voice was a low rumble, dry with quiet amusement. "Haven't died yet."
"The bar is underground." Nolan's voice was mild, but his green eyes were dancing with humor as he reached for the coffee pot, refilling his mug with practiced ease. His lips twitched, fighting a smile. "Your survival instincts are not something to aspire to."
I watched them, something aching in my chest. This was what it was like, I realized. A pack. A family. The easy rhythm of people who knew each other, who cared about each other, who had built something together over years.
They wanted me to be part of it.The thought was overwhelming. Terrifying. But also— Also wonderful.
"You're quiet." Reid's voice cut through my thoughts, and I looked up to find his dark eyes on me, steady and patient. He'd set his papers aside, pushing them to the edge of the table, his full attention focused on me now. His expression was calm, but there was a question in his gaze, a gentle concern creasing the lines around his eyes. "Too much?"
I shook my head, then paused, reconsidering.
"A little." My voice came out rough, honest, barely above a murmur. I wrapped my hands around my coffee mug, letting the warmth seep into my palms, grounding myself. My eyes droppedto the dark liquid, then forced themselves back up to meet his. "I've never—this is new. All of it."
"We know." Nolan's voice was soft beside me, and his hand came to rest on the table near mine—not touching, just present, his fingers inches from my own. His green eyes were gentle, patient, filled with an understanding that made my throat tight. "Take your time. There's no rush."
"If you need space, just say so." Kol's usual bouncing energy had gentled, his amber eyes serious for once, his body going still in a way I hadn't seen before. He leaned forward on his elbows, his voice softer, earnest. "We can be a lot. I know I can be a lot. If it's too much, just tell me to shut up. Reid does it all the time."
"Because you never stop talking." Reid's voice was dry, but warm with obvious fondness, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners. He reached across the table and cuffed Kol gently on the back of the head, a gesture that spoke of years of easy affection. His attention returned to me, steady and sure. "But he's right. You set the pace. Always."
Sawyer didn't say anything, but he caught my eye from his end of the table and nodded—that short, sharp gesture that I was learning meant more than words from him. His pale blue eyes held mine for a long moment, something unspoken passing between us. Understanding. Patience. I see you.
I took a breath. Then another.
"I don't need space right now." The words came out steadier than I expected, surprising even me. I looked around the table at all of them—Reid's calm authority, Nolan's gentle warmth, Kol's bright energy, Sawyer's quiet strength. Four Alphas, all watching me with varying degrees of patience and hope. "I just need... time. To learn how this works. How to be part of something."
"You're already part of it." Reid's voice was simple, certain, carrying the weight of absolute conviction. He held my gaze, his dark eyes intense but kind, his jaw set with quiet determination.His scent wrapped around me—whiskey and woodsmoke—steady and grounding. "The rest is just details."
Something in my chest cracked open at his words. Not breaking—blooming. Like a flower that had been waiting for sunlight without knowing what it was waiting for.
Kol ruined the moment by knocking over the syrup.
"Shit—sorry—" He was scrambling for napkins, syrup spreading across the table in a sticky amber flood, his face flushing red with embarrassment. His hands flailed uselessly at the mess, making it worse. "I didn't—my elbow?—"
"Every time." Nolan was already up, grabbing a dish towel from the counter, his voice caught somewhere between exasperation and deep, abiding affection. He started mopping up the mess with practiced efficiency, bumping Kol's hands out of the way with his hip. "Every single time, Kol."
"It's a curse." Kol's voice was mournful, his shoulders slumping dramatically, but his amber eyes were dancing with self-deprecating humor as he watched Nolan clean up his disaster. He clutched his chest like he'd been wounded. "A terrible, syrupy curse."
Sawyer snorted—an actual sound of amusement, rough and unexpected—and even Reid was shaking his head, a real smile breaking across his weathered face, transforming his stern features into something almost boyish.
I laughed.
The sound surprised me—I couldn't remember the last time I'd laughed like that, genuine and startled and warm. But watching Kol frantically trying to help while Nolan shooed him away with the dish towel, watching Reid's fond exasperation and Sawyer's quiet amusement?—
It was chaos. It was ridiculous. It was perfect.
The rest of breakfast passed in a blur of conversation and laughter and stolen glances. Kol told a story about the timehe'd accidentally released all the chickens and spent three hours chasing them around the property, his hands waving wildly as he acted out the most dramatic moments. Nolan corrected every exaggeration with dry precision, which only made the story funnier. Sawyer contributed exactly four words"That's not what happened"but his timing was perfect, delivered with a deadpan expression that made Kol squawk in outrage. Reid watched it all with that quiet authority, occasionally steering the conversation, making sure everyone was eating.
Making sure I was eating. I noticed the way they moved around each other—the silent communication, the easy rhythm. Nolan refilled coffee without being asked, reaching for Reid's mug before it was empty. Kol passed the butter before Reid reached for it, anticipating the movement. Sawyer cleared plates when people finished, stacking them silently by the sink. Small things, but they painted a picture of a group that had learned each other over years.
The way they included me—passing dishes, making space, angling their bodies so I was part of the circle rather than outside it—felt deliberate. Intentional. Like they were showing me where I fit.
After breakfast, Reid stood, gathering his papers into a neat stack.
"I've got to handle some things in town." His voice was calm, matter-of-fact, but his dark eyes lingered on me, warm and steady. He paused beside my chair, his large hand coming to rest briefly on my shoulder—a light touch, barely there, asking permission even in the gesture. His thumb brushed against my collarbone through my shirt, gentle and grounding. "You'll be alright here?"
I nodded, not trusting my voice, leaning slightly into the warmth of his palm. He squeezed once, then let go, heading for the door. Sawyer followed without a word, grabbing his hat fromthe hook by the entrance—they had work to do, fence repairs, something about the north pasture. Normal ranch things. Normal life.
