My heart does a ridiculous flip. I can’t stop smiling. I love this—the way they fold Finn in without hesitation, the way the edges between all of us blur and soften until I can’t tell where one connection ends and the next begins.
By the time we sit down to eat, it’s chaos in the best way. Graham steals breadsticks off Finn’s plate. Hunter flicks water at Carson when he makes another cocky joke about my “happy food noises.” Landon pretends to be scandalized when Knox texts me a picture of the team holding our Nationals trophy with the caption Pack Girl.
And through it all, I just…glow.
Because this is home. This is family. This is mine.
CHAPTER 83
Willow
By the timethe plates are cleared, I’m full in a way that has nothing to do with food.
Landon insisted on doing the dishes—“Kitchen law. Cooks don’t clean.” Carson loudly disagreed, so now the two of them are shoulder-to-shoulder at the sink, flicking suds at each other while they work. Finn leans against the counter, sketchbook open, capturing the moment with quick, precise strokes, pausing only to smirk at their antics.
Hunter stretches, runs a hand down my arm, and murmurs in my ear, “Come on, princess. Couch.”
I let him lead me, my feet dragging slightly because I’m so warm and heavy-limbed. The living room glows with soft lamplight. The faint smell of tomato and garlic clings to the air, mixing with their musks, and it feels like home in a way that makes my chest ache.
Graham is already on the couch, one broad arm thrown across the back, waiting for me. I crawl into the space between him and Hunter without hesitation. Graham’s arm folds around me instantly, warm and heavy, pulling me inuntil my back rests against his chest and his chin settles on the top of my head.
“You smell happy,” he rumbles, and I can feel the vibration in my spine.
“I am happy,” I whisper.
Carson and Landon join us a moment later, the sound of running water shutting off in the kitchen. Carson flops down on the other side of Hunter and immediately drags my legs into his lap. He starts rubbing my calves absentmindedly, thumbs pressing in small, soothing circles that make me want to melt into a puddle.
Landon, still a little damp from the sink, crouches in front of me, hands braced on my knees. “Comfortable?”
I nod, and he leans in and kisses my cheek, his lips lingering.
Then Finn arrives last, sketchbook under his arm. He hesitates, calculating the safest place to fit, and before I can even gesture, Hunter reaches out, grabs his wrist, and hauls him down onto the pile of bodies. Finn lands half on Carson, half against me, and laughs under his breath.
“This feels dangerous,” he murmurs, but he doesn’t move away.
“Shh,” Carson says. “You’re part of the pack now. Couch tax is mandatory.”
Finn laughs softly and lets himself sink in. Hunter tilts his head, studying Finn for a long moment, then leans in and kisses the curve of his jaw. Finn’s eyes flutter shut, and I swear the room hums with happiness for a few minutes.
“You’re a menace with a knife,” Carson says, breaking the silence, pointing a chip at Landon. “I had to rescue that poor bell pepper from your abuse.”
Landon rolls his eyes, leaning against the arm of the couch. “They tasted fine, didn’t they?”
“They tasted rescued,” Carson deadpans.
Finn has pulled out his sketch book and is sketching, his shoulder against Carson’s chest, knees up, pencil moving quickly over the page. He hasn’t even looked up as he says, “For the record, I’d trust Landon with a knife before Carson. Carson gets distracted.”
“Excuse me?” Carson squawks. “I was multitasking!”
“Drooling over Willow while chopping onions isn’t multitasking,” Finn replies, serene as ever.
Hunter barks out a laugh and reaches over to tilt Finn’s chin toward him. “You’re trouble, you know that?”
Finn’s lips curve into a wicked smile, and Hunter kisses him as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. My heart trips over itself. God, I love watching them soften for each other.
Landon’s gaze flicks to me, a hint of awe in his eyes. He’s still half apart from us, half in. He kneels in front of the couch like he isn’t sure he belongs in the warm pile of limbs and affection.
Graham notices before I can say anything. He makes a soft sound in his chest and jerks his chin. “Don’t hover, man. You’re pack. Get up here.”
