His breath catches, just slightly, like that sentence slid under his skin and lodged somewhere tender. The drive back is quiet at first, but not uncomfortable. Just thoughtful. Emerson keeps glancing at me, like something’s sitting on the tip of his tongue.
Halfway home, he finally clears his throat.
“Berk,” he says softly. “Have you ever thought about… us having a family of our own someday?”
The question lands gently, but it still knocks the air from my lungs for a moment. I stare out the window, watching the blur of city lights before turning back to him.
“Yes,” I say, the word coming out warm and certain. “More than you know.”
He watches me closely, waiting.
“I didn’t think it could happen for a long time,” I admit. “Not after everything. I pushed the idea so far down I didn’t let myself hope anymore.” My smile grows slow and honest. “But lately… yeah. I think about it.”
His fingers find mine, threading together like they always have. “Good,” he whispers.
The moment Emerson and I step through the front door, I know something’s up.
The house is dim except for the soft glow of recessed lights, all turned low, as if the place is holding its breath. Music drifts through the speakers—slow and sultry with a deep bass line that thrums in my chest. And the air… damn, the air smells like warm chocolate and a hint of vanilla beneath it.
I blink, dazed for a second, because this is not how we left the house.
Emerson squeezes my hand lightly, as if he already knows exactly what awaits, and he leads me straight toward the kitchen without saying a word. His excitement presses through the bond between us as clearly as a pulse.
“Em…?” I whisper, trying not to smile too hard.
He doesn’t answer, just keeps walking.
And when we round the corner, I stop breathing altogether.
Rowan and Ronan stand side by side in front of the kitchen island, heads tilted in a perfect mirror image—something they used to do when they were little boys and wanted to confuse people. Except now they’re fully grown men, beautiful in a way that’s almost unfair.
And the only thing they’re wearing… is their damn octopus aprons.
Bare torsos. Tattoos winding across their chests and arms. Muscles carved in ways that make my mouth open and close like I’ve forgotten how to speak. They look like they stepped out of some fever dream my subconscious cooked up at three a.m.
Rowan grins slowly. “Hey, baby.”
Ronan gives that dark, wicked half-smile that always ruins me. “Hey, Pix.”
They walk toward me in perfect sync.
My entire body lights up. Not just a spark. A blaze. Weeks of recovery, restraint, careful touches—all of it combusts at once. Heat pools low in my belly so fast it’s almost embarrassing, and I swear my knees wobble.
“I think we broke her, brother,” Ronan murmurs, eyes dragging over me like he already knows every thought in my head.
Rowan leans in slightly, voice dipping low. “Not yet.”
That does it—I giggle, clapping my hands over my mouth because what else am I supposed to do? They’re naked except for tiny cartoon sea creatures.
“You remembered,” I sigh.
They laugh, but it’s not at my words—it’s because Emerson steps up behind me. His arms slide around my waist, warm and solid, and when I glance back…
My jaw drops again.
He’s naked in an apron too.
“Of course we did,” he murmurs against my ear, voice warm enough to melt steel.