Roman grins. “You came to festivals and survived glitter-bra girl. We owe you.”
“I did survive glitter-bra girl,” I say proudly.
Ryder steps closer now. “We’ll handle security.”
Roman glances at him again, amused. “I’m sure you will.”
My heart does the flutter thing again.
Zane leans in just enough for me to hear him over the music starting softly from the stage monitors.
“You’re smiling,” he says.
“I’m allowed,” I reply.
“Didn’t say you weren’t.”
Finn slams a hand on the bar. “Ladies and gentlemen, Coyote Glen just accidentally booked our resident famous rock band.”
I turn in a daze.
“I just booked Wild Reverie for Founders Day,” I whisper.
Finn vaults over the bar and high-fives me so hard my bandaged finger protests.
“Ow—”
“Sorry!” he says, not sorry at all. “You absolute menace. That was legendary. Founder’s Day is going to be so much fun.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Finn
I don’t do routines.
I’m more of a “show up unexpectedly, cause a little madness, and leave before anyone expects consistency” kind of guy.
And yet, every morning around nine, give or take five minutes depending on how late we closed the bar the night before, I find myself pushing open the door to Coyote Cup eagerly.
Because of Aurora, and the coffee she just has to have every morning.
The chat with Lani too, and anyone else who’s in for their shot of morning caffeine.
Aurora’s at the big front window table while she sips her drink. Sunlight pours through the glass and turns her hair into something unfair, as if she’s got a lighting team following her around. Her laptop is open, her brow furrowed in concentration, and that bandaged finger of hers is still taped up even though she insists it’s “barely a scratch.”
She’s talking with Lani and Delaney. And Delaney’s men.
Boone Taylor is seated with ease, leaning back against his seat. Broad shoulders, cool eyes, quiet dominance that doesn’t need volume. Caleb sits beside him, arms crossed, expressionpermanently unimpressed. To him, smiling is a subscription service he refuses to sign up for. And Silas is leaned back in his chair, boots scuffed, grin lazy and unapologetic, clearly enjoying the morning noise.
They orbit Delaney as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.
I’ve lived enough places to know that’s not the norm.
Coyote Glen, though? Polyamory isn’t scandalous here. It’s practically a town initiative. Goat yoga, shared last names, plural pronouns. You either adapt, or it seems you wandered in from a 1950s time capsule.
Aurora laughs at something Lani says, head tipping back slightly, and my chest tightens in a way that has nothing to do with caffeine.
I grab my coffee and hover for half a second before Boone looks up and catches me.
