Rowan’s laugh spills out warm and pleased, and when he and Ronan both say, “Deal,” in perfect unison, the sound sinks deep into my chest, steady and sure. Rowan leans in to press a soft kiss to my temple before moving back to sit beside his brother, the quiet closeness lingering long after he pulls away.
The soft hiss of eggs hitting the pan settles into the space between us, and for a fleeting moment the rest of the world falls away—no threats, no plans, just warmth and laughter and the fragile, dangerous hope that maybe we’re allowed something good. Sunlight spills across the counters, catching on easy smiles, making the morning feel borrowed but precious.
By the time breakfast is nearly ready, the kitchen smells like coffee and bacon, rich and familiar, a comfort that tricks your body into believing this is just another ordinary morning. Rowan and Ronan are still trading quiet jabs at the counter when footstepssound in the hall. Emerson appears in the doorway with Kimber tucked close to his side. Their eyes are rimmed red, exhaustion etched plainly across their faces, and I don’t need to ask to know they’ve been talking about their mom. The hurt hasn’t vanished, but there’s a subtle shift in them both, a looseness that wasn’t there before. The kind that comes when you finally set down a weight you’ve been carrying alone for far too long.
I glance up from the stove, meeting Emerson’s gaze. He gives me a small nod, one that says they’re okay for now. Maybe not fixed—some wounds never really heal—but this morning feels like a beginning.
“Morning,” I say softly, keeping my tone gentle as I flip the last batch of pancakes.
Emerson guides Kimber to a barstool. “Sit, kiddo,” he tells her, his voice warm. “You’ve got a chef this morning, and she doesn’t take requests.”
Kimber giggles, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. Emerson crosses the kitchen to me, leaning in to press a quick kiss to the side of my head before reaching for a piece of bacon cooling on a paper towel.
I smack his hand with the spatula before he can snatch it. “Nope! Hands off,” I warn, pretending to glare at him.
He yelps dramatically, clutching his hand. “Ow! What was that for?” His voice goes high, the sound so exaggerated and ridiculous that it sends everyone into laughter.
“For trying to steal food before everyone’s served,” I shoot back, smirking as I set a plate in front of Kimber. “First plate goes to our guest of honor.”
Kimber’s smile lights up the room. “Thank you,” she says shyly, her voice small but stronger than I expect.
I crouch, brushing a hand across her shoulder. “Anytime, sweetheart. And just so you know, if you ever need a break from these silly boys or want to talk about anything at all, I’m here. Girl code, got it?”
Her grin widens until her eyes sparkle. “Got it,” she says, looking at me like I’ve just offered her the world.
I turn back toward the stove, heart soft and full, only to find three pairs of eyes fixed on me. Rowan’s expression is tender, Ronan’s gaze burns with mischief, and Emerson looks like he’s barely holding back a smile of tears.
“What?” I ask, glancing between them.
Ronan leans forward, elbows on the counter, his tone lazy but his grin wicked. “You keep that up, sweetheart, and you’re not helping my new mission.”
I narrow my eyes, though I already know where this is going. “And what mission would that be?”
He smirks, the kind that always makes my stomach twist and my pussy wet. “Putting a baby in you.”
Rowan groans and drops his head into his hands again. “Subtle, man. Real subtle.”
Kimber giggles, clearly oblivious, which earns Ronan a sharp glare from me. “Not the time,” I mutter under my breath.
But when I look back at him, he’s still watching me with that same heat, the kind that promises trouble later. And despite myself, my lips tug into a smile.
I turn back to the stove, pretending to focus on the pan even though I can feel their eyes on me—heavy with affection, laced with mischief, and carrying that dangerous edge of devotion that threatens to unravel me if I think too hard about it. The kitchen is not the place to get wet.
Emerson leans closer to the twins, his voice pitched low but nowhere near quiet enough to keep me from hearing. “What the hell is he talking about?” he mutters, glancing at me with a flicker of curiosity that gives him away. His lips twitch before he adds, in an exaggerated whisper, “Just so we’re clear, I’m all in on that plan.”
I groan, dragging my hand down my face. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Their laughter breaks out instantly—rich and unfiltered, filling the kitchen with warmth that shouldn’t feel as comforting as it does. I shake my head, trying to look annoyed, but the smile tugging at my mouth betrays me. Because deep down, under all my protests, I know I don’t entirely hate the thought.
After breakfast, the house settles into a quiet rhythm that feels almost fragile in its peace. Kimber sits curled up on the couch with Rowan and Ronan flanking her like a pair of overgrown guard dogs. They take turns distracting her with light conversation and bad jokes while she nibbles at the edge of a muffin. It’s good for her, this normalcy—something to hold on to after what she saw lastnight. No one, especially someone her age, should have to carry memories like that.
I take the lull as my chance to check in with Emerson. He’s standing by the window, arms crossed, shoulders tight, like he’s holding the world up on his back. The sunlight catches in his hair, but his eyes are far away, still haunted by something I can’t reach unless he lets me.
I step closer, my voice quiet. “Hey,” I say, waiting until his gaze finally shifts to me. “How are you holding up?”
He exhales slowly, the sound wearier than I expect. “I’m okay,” he says, but it’s an okay that carries weight. After a moment, he shakes his head and runs a hand down his face. “I mean… as okay as I can be.”
I nod, giving him space to find the rest of his words.