"Savannah," he says, and my name on his lips sounds different somehow. More intimate. More weighted with possibility and things I don't dare hope for.
"Yeah?" The word comes out barely above a whisper because apparently my vocal cords have completely abandoned me when I need them most.
Instead of answering, he reaches over and cups my face in his hand, his thumb tracing the line of my cheekbone with gentle precision that makes my brain completely short-circuit. "I need you to know something."
My heart hammers against my ribs like it's trying to escape. "Okay."
"The pillows weren't just practical. Picking you up wasn't just convenient. None of this is just anything." His thumb tracesacross my lower lip, and I completely forget how to breathe like a normal human being. "I'm falling for you, Savannah. We all are. And I need you to know that before..."
"Before what?"
He leans in close, his breath warm against my skin. “Finally,” he mutters, voice low and rough. His hand cups my cheek, fingers brushing lightly over my jaw. I shiver under his touch.
His mouth presses against mine, slow at first, like he’s tasting me for the first time all over again. He growls softly, a sound that rumbles through his chest and vibrates against my lips. His tongue traces the curve of my mouth, gentle but insistent, asking for permission without needing to hear it.
I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him closer. His hand slides into my hair, fingers threading through the strands as he deepens the kiss. He holds me like I’m the only thing that matters in the room, like he’s been waiting for this moment forever.
His lips part slightly, his tongue slipping inside to explore, warm and demanding. I taste him: salt, something woodsy, a hint of mint that makes my head spin. He murmurs my name between kisses, each one slow, deliberate, claiming. His hands never stop moving, stroking my face, tracing the line of my neck, anchoring me to him.
I’m lost in the feel of him, in the heat of his mouth and the strength of his hands.
When we finally break apart, both of us breathing hard enough to fog the windows, he rests his forehead against mine.
As we drive through the quiet streets toward home, toward Logan's steady presence and Griff's gruff affection and the life we're building together one awkward conversation at a time, Emma's words keep echoing in my head. About grabbing happiness with both hands. About finally being ready to want something just because I want it. About going home to threemen who buy me pillows and pick me up from friend dates and kiss me like I'm precious and worth fighting for.
I’m finally ready to believe I deserve good things. Emma’s wedding is two days away, and everything is falling into place like puzzle pieces that actually give a damn.
It’s my turn now. The universe must have gotten bored, and decided to cut me some slack. I belong here with them in this perfectly messy, beautifully chaotic life that finally makes sense.
It’s about time, universe. Thanks for finally showing up with my happy ever after.
28
SAVANNAH
If I'm honest with myself, it never really fit. Not unless I held in my stomach and lay down on the floor, which I absolutely did when I first tried it on.
Now, the silk dress I'd bought specifically for Emma's wedding sits crumpled on the resort suite floor like a failed dream. I've been staring at it for the past twenty minutes, holding my breath and trying to convince myself that the zipper will magically close if I just believe hard enough.
It won't.
Three months of stress eating have caught up with me in the cruelest possible way. Gas station donuts during late nights coordinating the resort renovation. Chinese takeout while reviewing emergency contractor permits. Wine and pizza during Emma's increasingly frantic planning sessions as we watched Xavier, Griff, and Logan attempt the impossible. The dress that once fit, even if just barely, now gapes open at the back like a mocking smile. The zipper stops a good three inches short of where it needs to be.
"Shit, shit, shit," I mutter, twisting in front of the hotel mirror and trying to see if there's any possible way to make thiswork. Maybe a strategic safety pin? A cardigan to cover the gap? A miracle?
My phone buzzes on the dresser.
Emma: Where are you?? We need you at the venue like NOW. Everything is falling apart!!!
Fuckshit!
I close my eyes and take a deep breath that does nothing to calm the anxiety clawing at my chest. Grab my backup dress. A simple black number that's comfortable but makes me look like I'm attending a funeral instead of a celebration. Tell myself that nobody will be looking at me anyway.
I borrow Emma’s car, so I can make the twenty-minute drive up the winding roads that should have been peaceful. Pine forests dusted with early morning frost, the kind of alpine scenery that belongs on postcards. Instead, I spend it mentally reviewing my seventeen different checklists and trying not to think about the fact that I'll be spending the entire day in the same space as the three men who used to make my heart race and my knees weak.
Three alphas who I let get close enough to hurt me. Three alphas who I've been successfully avoiding for years until Emma asked me to coordinate her celebration and I couldn't say no to my best friend. Three alphas who somehow managed to turn a condemned ski resort into a functional venue in weeks.
The Snowpeak Resort comes into view as I round the final curve, and my breath catches despite myself. They actually did it. The impossible, crazy, insane plan they'd pitched with such confidence actually worked.
