“Nonsense. You’re family.” She looks at the men standing at a respectful distance. “All of you are.”
Tommy runs back to the ducks, and we stand there watching him. The late-afternoon sun catches in his hair, turning it almost golden. He’s happy. Safe. Mine.
“He’s going to have a good life,” Dorothy says quietly. “With all of you.”
“I hope so.”
“I know so.” She squeezes my hand once, then heads toward her car. “I’ll see you Sunday for dinner. Don’t forget it’s your turn to bring dessert.”
Three months later
The town gossip about us peaks around week two and dies down by week six.
At first, people stare when we go to the grocery store as a family unit. Me, Tommy, and whichever combination of men happens to be free. Mrs. Patterson at the bakery raises her eyebrows. The church ladies whisper behind their hands. Someone leaves a passive-aggressive note on our windshield about “setting a good example for children.”
But then they see Tommy.
They see him running between Cole and Theo at the park, laughing as they chase him. They see Marco helping him with his backpack at school pickup. They see all three men at his kindergarten play, sitting in the front row, cheering louder than anyone else when Tommy forgets his line and just waves at the audience instead.
They see a kid who’s thriving.
And slowly, grudgingly, the town adjusts.
We still get looks. Emma from the café—now working at the diner—hugs me every time I come in, but her boss watches us with pursed lips. The hardware store owner is friendly to the men but cool to me.
But more people smile than frown. More people say hello than turn away. And when Tommy runs up to Cole in the middle ofMain Street, yelling “Dad!” at the top of his lungs, most people smile at the kid’s enthusiasm instead of clutching their pearls.
It’s not perfect. But it’s ours.
My event planning business is actually working. Dorothy was my first client—a birthday party for her eightieth that turned into the social event of the season. From there, word spread. I’ve done three weddings, five corporate events, and a surprise anniversary party that made the local paper.
The pay isn’t consistent yet, but it’s mine. I built it. And the men never once made me feel like I needed to rush or prove myself.
Tommy calls all three of them Dad now, but with qualifiers. “Dad Cole” when he needs someone steady. “Dad Theo” when he wants to play. “Dad Marco” when he has a question that needs a serious answer.
Jake’s back from Alaska, sunburned and full of stories about tracking endangered fish populations. He brings Tommy a stuffed salmon that makes absolutely no sense as a toy, but Tommy loves it anyway.
We're having dinner at the house—spaghetti and meatballs that Cole insisted on making from scratch, garlic bread that Theo nearly burned, and the salad Marco assembled without a single leaf out of place. All of us crowded around the table: me, the three men, Jake, Dorothy, and Tommy chattering about his day at school between bites.
It's loud and chaotic and perfect.
I'm reaching for more garlic bread when Theo catches my eye across the table. He's got that look. The one that says he's planning something.
"What?" I ask.
"Nothing." But he's grinning.
After dinner, Cole suggests a walk by the lake. It’s October now, the air crisp with the promise of winter, leaves turning gold and red on the trees.
“I’ll stay with Tommy,” Dorothy says immediately, which is suspicious because she usually insists on coming along.
Jake also volunteers to stay behind, which is even more suspicious.
“What’s going on?” I look between the men.
“Just a walk.” Marco hands me my jacket. “Trust us.”
We drive to the north shore, the quiet part where locals go when they want to avoid tourists. The sun is setting, painting the lake in shades of orange and pink. The exact spot where Theo and I first kissed months ago. Where Cole and I came that afternoon after the fire, where Marco found me crying one night and just sat with me until I felt human again.
