“Morning,” Beau says softy.
Lawson presses another kiss to my hair. “How’re you feelin’?”
I smile. “Sore. Warm. Good. So sogood.”
“That’s a win,” Beau says as he runs his hand along my thigh beneath the covers.
Eventually they convince themselves to get out of bed. Beau heads to his room to get dressed, and Lawson disappears briefly to what I’m assuming is the laundry room before returning with one of his favorite T-shirts and a pair of thick wool socks.
I pull them on and sit cross-legged on the bed while he moves around the room, finally taking the time to really look around.
His room is simple. It has the same wood flooring as the rest of the house. Neutral bedding. A heavy wood dresser that looks as old as the dining room table. A few framed photos of horses, theranch, and one of all four of them from what looks to be when they were teenagers, sunburned and grinning like idiots. It feels lived in. Grounded. Like him.
From downstairs comes the unmistakable sound of pans clattering and raised voices. Lawson sighs. “We should probably hurry before Jas and Linc actually try to cook breakfast.”
I laugh, before throwing my hair in a scrunchy that Lawson conveniently had a jar of in his bathroom. The same kind I found in the guesthouse bathroom when I moved in. When I jokingly asked him if he put scrunchies in every bathroom of their house just for me, he looked at me deadpan and said, “Just the ones in our bedrooms. There’s extra toothbrushes, face wash, and shampoo and conditioner for you too.”
That was it.
End of.
Like the notion was the easiest thing in the world. Like it was just that simple.
But as he watches me move about the bathroom, and a satisfied smile takes over his face, I realize what I’m starting to feel for them is anything but simple.
I’m halfway down the stairs when Jasper’s voice floats over the low hum of a country song that Beau’s singing along too—something soft and twangy that makes the whole house feel a little slower.
Lawson’s hand rests warm and steady at the small of my back as his T-shirt hangs off one shoulder and brushes against my thighs with every step. The entire moment feels so… domestic.
Which is a word I haven’t associated with my life since I was a child.
We round the corner into the kitchen, and Beau spots me first.
He’s already at the island, whisk in hand, sleeves pushed up, forearms dusted with flour. The moment his eyes land on me, the whisk slips from his fingers and clatters softly against the bowl.
He just stares.
Jasper notices immediately. Then Lincoln.
Their heads turn in unison, following Beau’s gaze, all conversation effectively dying mid-sentence as their stares lock onto me. I stop short, suddenly hyperaware of everything—bare legs, too big shirt, messy hair.
“What?” I ask, confused, as a nervous laugh slips out.
Lawson leans down, his mouth brushing against my ear. “They haven’t gotten to see you like this yet,” he murmurs. His voice low and still a little raspy with sleep. “Told you, Honey. Seein’ you like this in the mornin’… you’re perfect.”
Heat blooms in my chest—and between my legs.
Lincoln’s the first to move. He approaches slowly, eyes thoughtful, soft in a way that let’s me know he’s seeingallof me. His hands come up gently, thumbs brushing my jaw. “You look…” he says quietly. “You look like you belong here.”
Then, he kisses me. He kisses me deep and sure, like what he just said is both a fact and a promise. And when he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine for a brief moment before he steps aside.
Jasper doesn’t give me nearly that much breathing room. “Jesus.” A grin already tugs at his mouth as he rapidly closes the distance. “I’m not sure I’m gonna be able to let you go back to the guesthouse if you keep comin’ down the stairs like that.”
He kisses me too—quick, warm, a little smug—hands braced on my hips, anchoring himself to me before he eventually pulls away.
And when he does, I find Beau still staring. It takes him another moment to gather his bearings before he chuckles and shakes his head as he reaches for another mug. “Yeah,” he says easily, pouring coffee like his hands aren’t shaking just a little. “I could definitely get used to this.” He presses the mug into my hands, fingers lingering long enough to make my breath hitch. “Careful. It’s hot.”
“That’s an understatement,” Jas says from his spot at the counter. My eyes find him and he hits me with a wink.
