Then the women strut in, freezing at the doorway like they’ve walked into a crime scene—spa-soft and glowing, shopping bags hanging from their arms, the scent of lotions and perfume colliding violently with the smell of burnt… something.
Kate’s eyes sweep the kitchen—the smoke, the mess, Beck swearing under his breath, Jace glaring at a pan like it betrayed him—and then she laughs. Full-bodied, head-tilting-back laughter that hits me square in the chest.
“What happened here?” Quinn asks, mirth all over her face. “Did you try to cook, or summon help?”
Beck straightens, smiling sheepishly. “We tried to cook.”
Ava steps forward, lips twitching. “Why is there a fire extinguisher on the counter?”
“That,” Beck coughs, “is called preparedness.”
Tessa’s eyes flick to Jace. “You burned water, didn’t you?”
Jace exhales. “No.”
“That pause was suspicious,” Ella mutters.
Kate’s gaze finds me the way she always does. I’m still holding the knife as she crosses the space without hesitation and curls into my side like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“You okay?” she murmurs, soft enough that only I hear it.
“Yeah,” I nod. “Just… trying.”
She smiles up at me, eyes gentle. “You’re doing great.”
Beck makes a gagging noise. “Disgusting. Someone stop them.”
Ella shoots him a look. “Leave them alone.”
Kate’s mother, ever the mama bear, walks up to the stoves and switches them off. Margaret Ellington is smaller than Kate, softer around the edges, but her eyes are sharp in a way that tells me exactly where Kate got her spine. She’s been at the ranch for about two weeks now, ever since I asked her to come.
After everything that went down, Kate needed her mom, but she was too afraid to call her herself, so I stepped up. She didn’targue when I called; she just… arrived, suitcase in hand, tears she tried to hide, and went straight for Julian like he was the only thing holding her heart together.
Addison breezes in last, sunglasses still perched on her head like she forgot to take them off indoors. She pauses, takes in the chaos, then bursts out laughing. “This is domestic warfare. I’ve been in Mogadishu during active negotiations, and it was calmer than this kitchen.”
Quinn drops her bags onto the counter. “I knew it! I knew something was wrong when Beck texted me an SOS and three crying emojis.”
Beck lifts his chin in defiance when we all turn to glare at him for his betrayal. “That was strategic.”
“That was panic,” Quinn corrects.
Cole clears his throat loudly. “I told them not to use five pans.”
Zane scowls at him. “It’s called multitasking.”
“It’s called chaos,” Cole replies.
Dad hums into his coffee, satisfied, and for the first time in my life, surrounded by noise, people, and love I didn’t earn but was given anyway, I realize something quietly terrifying: this feels like home, and I don’t mind it,not one bit.
Dinner happens anyway. We crowd around the table later with plates that don’t match and food that doesn’t fully make sense. Slightly overcooked pasta, a salad that’s mostly strawberries because I got carried away, and pizza boxes open like salvation, but no one complains.
Julian is passed from arm to arm like precious cargo. Tessa holds him first, cooing softly, then Margaret takes him, tears gathering as she presses a kiss to his hair.
“My grandson,” she whispers, voice thick.
Addison leans toward me, elbow on the table. “So,” she starts, eyes sharp with humor, “how does it feel being domesticated?”
“Haven’t you overstayed your welcome?” I bite back.
