"Look at you, already taking care of all of us," I tease, but there's genuine affection in my voice. "Gabriel's lucky to have someone thinking about him."
"About all of you," she corrects, and the simple words hit me harder than they should.
When was the last time someone worried about whether I'd eaten breakfast? When was the last time anyone gave a damn about my wellbeing beyond what I could do for them? I can't remember, and that realization is both depressing as hell and oddly hopeful.
"The diner it is, then." I shift the truck back into drive. "But I'm buying. Man's gotta establish some kind of territory in this relationship, even if it's just picking up the check."
Lucy laughs, bright and genuine, and the sound goes straight to my chest like a shot of good whiskey. "Is that how you're planning to handle this? Whoever pays for the most meals gets to be alpha?"
"Hey, don't knock it. I've got a good income and low overhead. I could dominate this competition."
"What about Beau? He owns a ranch."
"Beau's got more money than God, but he's also got more pride than sense. He'll insist on splitting everything equally until we all go broke from the math." I grin at her, feeling lighter than I have in years. "Gabriel's the real threat. Steady government salary and he actually knows how to budget. Plus he's got those responsible, provider instincts going for him."
"So you've thought about this."
"Shortie, I've been thinking about every aspect of this situation since about five minutes after I met you. Including the logistics of sharing a woman with two other men who are just as stubborn and territorial as I am."
The admission slips out before I can stop it, and I tense, waiting for her to freak out. Because the truth is, I have been thinking about it. Obsessing over it, really. How the hell do you share someone without destroying them or yourself in the process?
Instead, she just looks at me with those incredibly expressive brown eyes and says, "And what did you conclude?"
"That it's either going to be the best thing that ever happened to all of us, or it's going to be such a spectacular disaster that they'll write sad songs about it." I pull into the diner parking lot and cut the engine. "Either way, I'm not missing it."
She's quiet for a moment, processing my words. Then she reaches over and cups my cheek, her thumb tracing the stubble along my jaw with a touch so gentle it makes my chest ache.
"For what it's worth," she says softly, "I vote for the first option."
"Good thing, since you're the deciding factor in which way this goes."
I lean into her touch, and for a moment we just look at each other. This woman who showed up in my life like a tornado and turned everything upside down. This woman who somehow makes me want to be better than I am while accepting me exactly as I am, damage and all.
"Come on," I say finally, before I do something stupid like tell her I'm already half in love with her. "Let's go get the sheriff some breakfast before he arrests me for monopolizing his girlfriend's time."
"Girlfriend?" Lucy raises an eyebrow as we climb out of the truck.
"What would you prefer? Shared romantic interest? Mutual object of desire?"
She considers this seriously, like it's an important question that deserves careful thought. "I think I like girlfriend. It's simple."
"Simple's good." I come around to her side of the truck and pull her into my arms, not caring who might see us through the diner windows. "Though I should probably warn you, there's nothing simple about sharing a girlfriend with two other men, one of them never having done this before."
"I've never been shared before either. We'll figure it out as we go." Lucy says, rising up on her toes to brush her lips against mine.
"Now that," I murmur against her mouth, tasting sunshine and possibilities, "sounds like the kind of adventure I've been waiting for my whole damn life."
As we walk into the diner together, her hand warm in mine, I can't help but think that maybe, just maybe, we're all crazy enough to make this work.
27
Lucy
The morning air bites at my cheeks as I walk the two blocks from the diner to the police station, boots crunching on gravel still wet from yesterday's storm.
The bag of Gabriel's favorite breakfast feels warm in my hands, the coffee steam curling up into Montana's endless sky.
Briarhaven is barely stirring, just the distant lowing of cattle and the rumble of ranch trucks heading out for morning chores.
