His attention shifts over my shoulder toward the sound of Maceo moving around in the kitchen. “Ah. I see I am not the first to arrive.”
Maceo’s voice carries from behind me as he makes his way toward us. “You snooze, you lose, Luce.”
“Oh please, you two aren’t fooling anybody here,” I say with growing amusement. “Wolfie sent out a clear S.O.S. signal and you came running like he knew you would.”
Both men arrange their faces into expressions of wounded innocence that wouldn’t fool a child.
Lucien steps inside, moving close enough that I catch the faint scent of something clean and woodsy clinging to his skin. His perceptive eyes drop to focus on my cheek with sudden attention.
“You’ve missed a spot,” he says quietly.
Before I can ask what he means, his thumb brushes with careful gentleness along my skin, wiping away a streak of sauce I must have acquired during my cooking frenzy. His warm hand lingers against my face for a fraction longer than the task requires, his touch sending unexpected shivers down my spine.
He doesn’t apologize for the intimate gesture or offer any flirty explanation. He simply steps back when he’s finished, entirely unrepentant.
Then the man slowly licks the sauce from his thumb, and oh sweet baby Jesus. Let’s just say I’m grateful Maceo is standing solidly behind me, because I think my knees might actually give out from how devastatingly sexy such a simple gesture can be.
“Okay then. Well, dinner will be ready in ten minutes,” I manage to say, making a hasty strategic retreat back toward the safety of the kitchen. Maceo’s knowing laugh follows my undignified escape.
The second knock comes precisely when I expect it, though my pulse still jumps at the sound. I take several deep breaths to compose myself before walking back toward the front entrance.
Ezra stands on the porch, slightly breathless though he’s clearly making an effort to mask it. His expression is carefully composed behind his black-rimmed glasses, but there’s something intensely focused burning in his dark brown eyes that makes my stomach flutter.
“I hope I’m not intruding on anything,” he says with formal politeness.
“You’re absolutely not intruding. Please come in,” I say, sweeping my arm inward in genuine welcome.
As he steps across the threshold, his large hand finds the small of my back to guide me forward into the house. The touch is warm, sure, and completely intentional. He maintains the gentle contact for exactly one beat before withdrawing with what seems like reluctance.
Clearing his throat, he extends his hand toward the interior with careful courtesy. “After you.”
Okay, I’m definitely not going to read into any of these interactions with the three of them at all. Absolutely not. I’m certainly not going to dissect every meaningful glance, everycasual touch, every loaded pause in conversation. I’m definitely not going to replay Maceo’s warm laughter in my head or analyze the way Ezra’s hand lingered at my back just a beat longer than strictly necessary or wonder what exactly Lucien sees when he looks at me with those impossibly vibrant eyes.
No, I’m going to be completely rational and level-headed about this entire situation. I’m not going to overthink a single moment of what just happened.
Oh hell, who am I kidding? I’m absolutely going to overthink every single detail of this later. I can already feel my mind starting to spiral, cataloguing each interaction like evidence in some case I’m building against my own sanity. There’s definitely going to be some kind of emotional reckoning in my immediate future, either a ridiculous happy dance around my bedroom, or a complete freak out about how complicated my life has suddenly become.
I honestly can’t decide which reaction would be more appropriate.
We gather around the dining room table as the last rays of sunlight paint the walls in shades of gold and amber. Wine gets poured into crystal glasses. Steaming plates get passed around with easy familiarity. Conversation begins to layer naturally over the pleasant clink of silverware against china.
Sir maintains his position on the kitchen counter, tail wrapped neatly around his paws as he works his way through a second generous helping of tuna.
Maceo laughs warmly at something clever Ezra says about the auto shop. He reaches across the table without thinking, fingers brushing briefly over Ezra’s wrist as he steals the last piece of bread from his plate. Ezra doesn’t even look up, just shifts his glass out of the way with practiced ease. Lucien lifts his wine glass in quiet acknowledgment, his eyes looking between the two of them with something like amusement.
It’s the kind of easy contact that should mean something, I think. No one reacts like it does.
I glance up to find myself looking straight into Lucien’s mesmerizing eyes. Instead of shying away, I hold it.
He’s not smiling exactly, but there’s a deep certainty written across his handsome features that makes me want to ask a thousand probing questions about what he thinks he sees when he looks at me. Or maybe it’s not just me.
I hold his intense stare and smile back slowly, feeling the way the manor has seamlessly made room for all four of us at this table without any magical ceremony or dramatic fuss. Just quiet acceptance and warmth.
I can’t help butthink of how effortless this entire evening has been, or how secure and settled I feel surrounded by all three of these remarkable men. It all feels perfectly right, all of this feels like pieces of a puzzle I didn’t know I was solving finally clicking into place.
Chapter
Seven
