"Building diplomatic relations," Remy corrected, sketching a mock bow in Gumbo's direction, one hand pressed to his chest in exaggerated formality. "We have an understanding, him and me." His amber eyes sparkled with mischief.
Gumbo's tail thumped once against the floor—whether in agreement or warning, it was hard to say. His ancient yellow eyes tracked Remy's movements with unblinking intensity.
Eventually, we managed to get food on plates and ourselves seated around my small kitchen table. Knees bumped under the surface, elbows jostled for space. Harper's thigh pressed warm against mine on one side, Silas's knee brushing my calf on the other. Remy had somehow ended up with two plates in front of him and no shame whatsoever. It should have been uncomfortable. It was perfect.
"So," Remy said around a mouthful of pancake, gesturing with his fork so that a droplet of syrup went flying, "now that we're officially official?—"
"Chew your food," Harper said, his dark brows drawing together in disapproval. He reached over to wipe the syrup off the table with his napkin, shooting Remy a look that would have withered a lesser man.
Remy made a show of chewing thoroughly, his cheeks bulging like a chipmunk, then swallowing with an exaggerated gulp and dabbing at his mouth with a napkin. "As I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted?—"
"You were talking with your mouth full." Harper's voice was flat, but his eyes held a glimmer of amusement, crinkling slightly at the corners.
"—now that we're officially a pack, where do we start?" Remy's eyes were bright, but there was something serious underneath the playfulness, his usual mask slipping just a little. He set down his fork, his fingers drumming restlessly against the table. "We've got a lot of plans. Pack house, dealing with the Crescent Holdings mess. What's first?"
The mood at the table shifted—not quite somber, but more grounded. The easy laughter faded into something more thoughtful. Harper set down his fork, his dark eyes finding mine, searching. Silas went still in that way he had, all his attention focused, his jaw tight.
"The lawyer's handling the Crescent Holdings situation," Harper said quietly, his voice thoughtful. "Not much we can do there except wait and document any more harassment. So that's on hold."
"Pack house will take time to plan and build," Silas added, his fingers wrapped around his coffee mug, pale gaze distant like he was already sketching blueprints in his head. "Need permits. Materials. Have to clear the site first."
"So what do we do in the meantime?" I asked, looking around at each of them. "Besides drive each other crazy in my tiny cabin?"
"We could start with the basics," Harper said, leaning back in his chair, the wood creaking under his weight. "Telling people. Making it official in town. The gossip's already spreading—might as well get ahead of it."
"Miss Mae first," Silas said firmly. "She'll be offended if she hears from anyone else." His mouth twitched with something like fondness. "More offended than she already is that I didn't tell her the moment it happened."
"She probably already knows," Remy pointed out, snagging another piece of bacon. "That woman has supernatural information-gathering abilities. I'm convinced she's got the whole bayou bugged."
"She texted me at six this morning," Silas admitted, the tips of his ears going pink. "Demanded details. I told her she'd have to wait."
I laughed, imagining the tiny, fierce woman's reaction to being told to wait for anything. "So lunch at Miss Mae's. What else?"
"I want to walk the property," Silas said, his pale eyes brightening with quiet excitement. "Start figuring out where to put the house. There's that rise near the old oak—good drainage, nice view of the water. Close enough to your cabin for now, far enough for privacy later."
"You've already been scouting locations?" I asked, warmth blooming in my chest.
"Been thinking about it for a while." He ducked his head, but I caught the soft curve of his smile. "Just... hoping."
Remy clutched his chest dramatically. "That's adorable. Terrifying and adorable." He dodged the piece of bacon Silas flicked at him, cackling.
"What about the music room situation?" Remy continued, undeterred. "I need to know if I should start designing or if I'm going to have to wage a campaign of persistence."
"There's not going to be a music room," Harper said, though his lips twitched and the corners of his eyes crinkled with suppressed amusement. He took a sip of his coffee, hiding his expression behind the mug.
"There's absolutely going to be a music room. I've already started a Pinterest board." Remy's hands were already moving, sketching invisible blueprints in the air, his fork forgotten beside his plate. "Soundproofing, good acoustics, maybe a little recording nook?—"
"No stage," Harper said firmly.
"A small stage. Tiny. You'll barely notice it." Remy held his thumb and forefinger an inch apart, his grin infectious, dimples carving deep grooves in his cheeks. "For intimate performances. Serenading my pack. Very romantic."
"You can serenade us without a stage," I pointed out.
"But can I serenade youdramaticallywithout a stage?" He pressed a hand to his heart. "Art requires proper presentation, cher." I laughed, watching them argue, warmth spreading through my chest. This was real. This was happening. We were building something together—not just a relationship, but a life. Step by step. Starting today.
"More coffee?" I stood, grabbing the pot from the counter. I made rounds, topping off Harper's mug first, then Silas's, pressing a kiss to the top of Harper's head as I passed, feeling the soft strands of his dark hair against my lips. Then Remy's cheek, smooth except for the faint rasp of morning stubble. Then the curve of Silas's shoulder, warm through his thin shirt. Three quick touches, casual and easy, like I'd been doing it my whole life. Like breathing.
Harper caught my hand as I set down the coffee pot, his thumb brushing across my knuckles, his dark eyes finding mine. The morning light caught the flecks of gold in his irises that I'd never noticed before. "Hey."
