They can make their own damn dinner, Abigail.
I could turn around right now. Walk back to the guesthouse. Heat up something easy and pretend I don’t hate the quiet when I’m alone with my thoughts.
Shifting the bags in my arms, I exhale slowly. “Good Christ. You’re being ridiculous,” I murmur to myself.
My knuckles lift toward the door, but before I can knock—or chicken out again—the door swings open.
Jasper stands there, filling the doorway. Baseball cap pushed back, black hair curling at the edges, bright green eyes already smiling like he caught me doing something adorable. “Well?” he says, grin spreading wider. “You gonna knock, or were you just plannin’ on standin’ out here all night in the cold?”
I blink. “I—umm—”
Smooth, Abigail. Very smooth.
“I just… didn’t want to sit in the guesthouse alone tonight,” I finally work up the courage to say, the words tumbling out softer than I meant them to. “And I was thinking that, after everything, you guys have been so good to me. I thought maybe instead of you cooking for yourselves, I could make Sunday dinner?”
I hold up the bags like a buffoon, and for half a second, something unreadable flickers across his face. Then his smile softens into something warm. “Yeah,” he says easily, stepping back. “Come on in.”
As I pass him, he leans down and presses a quick kiss to my lips. It’s brief, but confident. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
And I freeze.
Just for a beat.
Then a small laugh bubbles up as I look up at him, and he winks like he knows exactly what he’s done.
The living room opens up in front of me, fire crackling low in the hearth. Beau is sprawled on the couch, feet kicked up, and hands behind his head.
“Hey, Darlin’,” he says easily, dimples flashing like he didn’t just witness one of his best friends kissing me. “How you feelin’?”
“I’m better,” I answer honestly. I’m not going to pretend this morning didn’t jar me. But after a slow day inside my house spent taking a hot shower, snacking, and watching movies, the heartbreak of not finding my sister in that alleyway feels slightly less jarring. “I just wanted some company for the night if you guys don’t mind.”
“Not one bit,” he replies before footsteps sound behind me.
Lawson comes down the stairs, makes his way directly to me, and presses a gentle kiss to my cheek. “Hey,” he murmurs.
“Hi,” I say breathlessly. For a second, I want to do a double-take of the room to make sure I’m not in some sort of twilight zone, but the confidence pouring from one of his rare but genuine smiles tells me I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
Lincoln follows his brother a moment later but stops short. His smile is slower but genuine nevertheless. “You cookin’ us dinner, Sweetheart?”
“If that’s alright with all of you?”
“Well,” Lincoln says. “This just became my favorite night of the week.”
I explain myself again—about town, about yesterday, about not wanting to sit alone with everything spinning in my head. And no one interrupts. No one questions it. They give me space to say whatever it is I want to say.
Lucy barrels through the room like she’s been waiting for me specifically, tail wagging hard enough I’m surprised she doesn’t take flight. She circles my legs before plopping down right next to my foot.
“Well, guess my day of being her favorite is over,” Beau grumbles.
Laughing, I make my way to the kitchen and start cooking, all while the prettiest girl in the world sticks to me like glue. Lawson chops vegetables beside me while Jasper leans against the counter, stealing bites when he thinks I’m not looking. Their arms occasionally brush mine and wandering hands land briefly at my waist to pass behind me. Neither of them shies away from showing me physical affection around the other. It’s different from anything I’ve ever experienced, but it’s easy. Comfortable.
Glancing over my shoulder, I catch Beau and Lincoln talking quietly from their spots in the living room, glasses of whiskey in hand.
But Lincoln isn’t really listening.
His eyes are on me.
His stare isn’t annoyed or angry. It’s as if he were studying me.
