“Morning,” I murmur.
He doesn’t say anything. Just leans in and kisses my forehead, soft and sweet, before sliding out of bed.
“What time is it?” Theo mumbles against my shoulder.
“Seven.”
“Too early.” His arm tightens around me. “Five more minutes.”
“You said that twenty minutes ago.”
“Five more minutes after that.”
Lucas stirs, his hand flexing in my hair. “Some of us have patients.”
“Some of us have a grandmother coming for dinner and a meal to prepare,” Theo counters. “Which means I need to go to the store. Which means I need coffee. Which means?—”
“Five more minutes,” I finish for him.
“Exactly.”
From somewhere in the house, I hear the coffee maker start. Nate, already one step ahead. The smell reaches us a minute later—rich and dark, mixing with the cedar and bergamot and pine that’s seeped into every surface of this farmhouse.
Pack scent.Ourscent.
I still can’t believe this is my life.
By eight,we’re all in the kitchen, and Mr. Darcy is judging us from his perch on the windowsill.
During my heat, Nate was the only one who could slip away to feed him. Mr. Darcy wouldn’t let Theo or Lucas anywhere near his food bowl, but he’d wind around Nate’s ankles and purr while Nate filled the dish. Now he’s claimed the sunniest spot in the farmhouse and acts like Nate is his personal property.
“He’s staring at me again,” Nate says, but there’s no real complaint in it. He reaches over to scratch behind Mr. Darcy’s ears, and the cat’s purr kicks up a notch.
“He loves you,” I tell him. “It’s disgusting.”
Nate just shrugs, the corner of his mouth twitching.
“He still won’t let me pet him,” Lucas observes, looking up from his tablet. “Hisses every time I try. But with Nate? Nothing. Just purring.”
“Traitor cat,” Theo calls from the stove, where he’s making eggs. “I’m the one who bought him the fancy food, and he acts like I’m a stranger.”
“Maybe he can sense your chaotic energy,” I offer.
“I don’t have chaotic energy. I haveenthusiasticenergy.”
“You brought home four new plants last week. We’re running out of windowsills.”
“Plants need homes, Cara.”
“That’s called a problem,” Lucas says mildly.
Through the bond, I feel all three of them—Theo’s bright amusement, Lucas’s quiet contentment, Nate’s steady warmth.
After breakfast,I need to go into town for supplies. Theo’s making his grandmother’s roast chicken recipe for Grandma Eileen, and apparently we’re missing half the ingredients.
“I can go,” Lucas offers, but he’s already checking his watch. Morning clinic starts in forty minutes.
“I’ve got it.” I grab my keys from the hook by the door—my keys, on a hook that Theo installed specifically for me. “I need to stop by the bakery anyway. Maeve’s been texting me about the book club.”
