I stare at the message like it's written in code. Jessica looks over and grins. I put my phone face down on my desk with intense focus.
By the time I'm driving to the Burnside house after work, I've given up the charade. The roads wind through Pine Hollow like they're in no particular hurry, past houses with smoke curling from chimneys and yards full of bare trees. Someone has put up Christmas lights already even though it's barely past Thanksgiving. They blink red and green in the growing darkness.
The sky is turning that particular shade of purple that happens right before dark, the mountains going black against it. The air smells like wood smoke and cold when I crack mywindow, and I can taste winter on the back of my tongue, sharp and clean.
I pull into the driveway and sit there for a moment with my hands on the steering wheel. The house glows warm from inside, light spilling out onto the porch. I can see movement through the windows, shapes passing by.
I knock even though I know they heard the car. Pine told me the door was unlocked but knocking feels safer somehow, like I'm not just walking into their space uninvited. My knuckles rap against the solid wood door twice, and I can hear footsteps on hardwood getting closer.
Cassian opens the door with that easy grin that melts my bones a little. "There she is."
It is deeply unfair that alphas get to look like that while I look like I've survived three emotional hurricanes in a trench coat. Nobody should have eyes that color. It's excessive.
The house smells warm. Safe. Like sandalwood and something sweet baking and whatever cologne Jett pretends he doesn't wear. The scent hits me the second I step inside, wrapping around me like a blanket I didn't know I needed. There's vanilla in there too, and brown sugar, and underneath it all that distinct alpha scent that makes my hindbrain purr like a cat in a sunbeam.
I walk in and Cassian takes my bag like it's a natural instinct. His fingers brush mine when he lifts the strap off my shoulder and I pretend that doesn't send a little spark up my arm. The entryway is neat but lived in, with shoes lined up by the door and jackets hanging on hooks. There's a small table with keys scattered across it and a lamp that casts warm yellow light across the walls.
Jett pokes his head over the back of the couch with a smirk. His dark hair falls across his forehead and he's got that look inhis eyes like he's about to say something that will make me want to throw a pillow at him.
"You brought work?" he asks, spotting my folders before Cassian even has a chance to set my bag down.
“Feels like it,” I say, toeing off my shoes and lining them up next to theirs.
I roll my eyes and walk toward the couch. The living room is warm and slightly dimmed, the overhead lights off in favor of a few lamps scattered around the space. The cushions are soft and well worn, the kind that sink in just right when you sit down. There's a throw blanket draped over the arm, cream colored and impossibly soft when I brush my fingers against it without thinking.
Before I can get comfortable, Pine walks in from the hallway. His footsteps are quiet against the floor, and he's carrying something folded in his hands. He doesn't say anything. He just hands me one of his hoodies like it belongs to me and not to him.
The fabric is navy blue and worn soft with washing. It smells like him, like pine and something clean and comforting that I can't quite name but that my brain immediately files under "safe."
I don't even think. I just slip it on.
The sleeves are too long, and I have to roll them up twice. The hem falls past my hips and covers half my thighs. The second it's over my shoulders, all three of them look ten percent calmer. Their postures shift just slightly, the tension in their shoulders easing like someone turned down a dial I didn't know was running.
I pretend I don't notice, but I notice everything. The way Cassian's grin goes softer around the edges. The way Jett's smirk turns into something warmer, less teasing. The way Pine's eyes track over me like he's confirming something to himself, like he's checking off a box that says "safe" and "here" and "ours."
I sit down and tuck my legs under me. The couch makes a soft sound when I settle in. Cassian drops down next to me close enough that his thigh presses against mine, and I can feel the warmth of him through my jeans. Jett shifts over to make more room, and Pine claims the other side, his arm coming up to rest along the back of the couch behind my shoulders.
We end up watching a movie I don't fully follow because I'm too aware of Pine's thigh brushing mine and Cassian's warmth seeping through the fabric of my jeans like a slow burn. The television flickers with car chases and explosions I barely register. Someone is trying to save the world or destroy it, I'm not entirely sure which.
Jett keeps stealing popcorn out of the bowl in my lap, which should be annoying but somehow is not. His fingers brush against mine every few kernels and the contact sends little sparks up my arm that I am absolutely not thinking about. The popcorn is buttery and still warm, and I eat it without really tasting it.
The living room is dim except for the glow from the screen. There are pictures on the walls I can barely make out in the low light, frames that probably hold memories I don't know yet. A bookshelf in the corner overflows with paperbacks and hardcovers stacked horizontally on top of the vertical rows. The coffee table has water rings on it that someone tried to polish out but gave up halfway through.
At some point I lean my head against Pine. His shoulder is solid and warm and smells like safety. He shifts slightly to make room for me, his arm coming down from the back of the couch to wrap around my shoulders. At no point does anyone comment on it.
The movie ends and another one starts. We don't move. Cassian gets up at some point and comes back with water glasses and a plate of cookies that taste like chocolate and somethingelse I can't identify. Maybe espresso. I eat three of them and Jett eats five.
When I leave that night, Pine walks me out and kisses my cheek like it's the most natural thing in the world. His lips linger just a fraction of a second too long, warm and soft against my skin. My knees remind me that gravity exists and I am subject to its laws.
The night air is cold against my face after the warmth of the house. The porch light casts long shadows across the driveway and my breath comes out in small clouds. I can hear crickets somewhere in the distance even though it's too cold for them, and the wind rustles through the trees that surround the property.
"Drive safe," he says, his hands in his pockets, his eyes soft in the dim light.
"Always do," I say, which is a lie. I'm a decent driver but not a particularly careful one.
He grins like he knows. "Text me when you're back at the hotel."
I promise I will and I mean it. I get in my car, and he waits on the porch until I'm pulling out of the driveway. I watch him in the rearview mirror until I turn onto the main road and he disappears from view.
