Chapter 51 #2
Eventually, we managed to get food on plates and ourselves seated around my small kitchen table.
Knees bumped under the surface, elbows jostled for space.
Harper's thigh pressed warm against mine on one side, Silas's knee brushing my calf on the other.
Remy had somehow ended up with two plates in front of him and no shame whatsoever.
It should have been uncomfortable. It was perfect.
"So," Remy said around a mouthful of pancake, gesturing with his fork so that a droplet of syrup went flying, "now that we're officially official—"
"Chew your food," Harper said, his dark brows drawing together in disapproval. He reached over to wipe the syrup off the table with his napkin, shooting Remy a look that would have withered a lesser man.
Remy made a show of chewing thoroughly, his cheeks bulging like a chipmunk, then swallowing with an exaggerated gulp and dabbing at his mouth with a napkin. "As I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted—"
"You were talking with your mouth full." Harper's voice was flat, but his eyes held a glimmer of amusement, crinkling slightly at the corners.
"—now that we're officially a pack, where do we start?
" Remy's eyes were bright, but there was something serious underneath the playfulness, his usual mask slipping just a little.
He set down his fork, his fingers drumming restlessly against the table.
"We've got a lot of plans. Pack house, dealing with the Crescent Holdings mess. What's first?"
The mood at the table shifted—not quite somber, but more grounded. The easy laughter faded into something more thoughtful. Harper set down his fork, his dark eyes finding mine, searching. Silas went still in that way he had, all his attention focused, his jaw tight.
"The lawyer's handling the Crescent Holdings situation," Harper said quietly, his voice thoughtful. "Not much we can do there except wait and document any more harassment. So that's on hold."
"Pack house will take time to plan and build," Silas added, his fingers wrapped around his coffee mug, pale gaze distant like he was already sketching blueprints in his head. "Need permits. Materials. Have to clear the site first."
"So what do we do in the meantime?" I asked, looking around at each of them. "Besides drive each other crazy in my tiny cabin?"
"We could start with the basics," Harper said, leaning back in his chair, the wood creaking under his weight. "Telling people. Making it official in town. The gossip's already spreading—might as well get ahead of it."
"Miss Mae first," Silas said firmly. "She'll be offended if she hears from anyone else." His mouth twitched with something like fondness. "More offended than she already is that I didn't tell her the moment it happened."
"She probably already knows," Remy pointed out, snagging another piece of bacon. "That woman has supernatural information-gathering abilities. I'm convinced she's got the whole bayou bugged."
"She texted me at six this morning," Silas admitted, the tips of his ears going pink. "Demanded details. I told her she'd have to wait."
I laughed, imagining the tiny, fierce woman's reaction to being told to wait for anything. "So lunch at Miss Mae's. What else?"
"I want to walk the property," Silas said, his pale eyes brightening with quiet excitement. "Start figuring out where to put the house. There's that rise near the old oak—good drainage, nice view of the water. Close enough to your cabin for now, far enough for privacy later."
"You've already been scouting locations?" I asked, warmth blooming in my chest.
"Been thinking about it for a while." He ducked his head, but I caught the soft curve of his smile. "Just... hoping."
Remy clutched his chest dramatically. "That's adorable. Terrifying and adorable." He dodged the piece of bacon Silas flicked at him, cackling.
"What about the music room situation?" Remy continued, undeterred. "I need to know if I should start designing or if I'm going to have to wage a campaign of persistence."
"There's not going to be a music room," Harper said, though his lips twitched and the corners of his eyes crinkled with suppressed amusement. He took a sip of his coffee, hiding his expression behind the mug.
"There's absolutely going to be a music room. I've already started a Pinterest board." Remy's hands were already moving, sketching invisible blueprints in the air, his fork forgotten beside his plate. "Soundproofing, good acoustics, maybe a little recording nook—"
"No stage," Harper said firmly.
"A small stage. Tiny. You'll barely notice it." Remy held his thumb and forefinger an inch apart, his grin infectious, dimples carving deep grooves in his cheeks. "For intimate performances. Serenading my pack. Very romantic."
"You can serenade us without a stage," I pointed out.
"But can I serenade you dramatically without a stage?
" He pressed a hand to his heart. "Art requires proper presentation, cher.
" I laughed, watching them argue, warmth spreading through my chest. This was real.
This was happening. We were building something together—not just a relationship, but a life. Step by step. Starting today.
"More coffee?" I stood, grabbing the pot from the counter.
I made rounds, topping off Harper's mug first, then Silas's, pressing a kiss to the top of Harper's head as I passed, feeling the soft strands of his dark hair against my lips.
Then Remy's cheek, smooth except for the faint rasp of morning stubble.
Then the curve of Silas's shoulder, warm through his thin shirt.
Three quick touches, casual and easy, like I'd been doing it my whole life. Like breathing.
Harper caught my hand as I set down the coffee pot, his thumb brushing across my knuckles, his dark eyes finding mine. The morning light caught the flecks of gold in his irises that I'd never noticed before. "Hey."
"Hey yourself." I paused, my heart doing something complicated in my chest.
"I love you." The words came out quiet, almost gruff, like they still surprised him even as he said them.
His throat worked as he swallowed, the tendons standing out in his neck.
"Just... wanted you to know." His thumb kept stroking across my knuckles, back and forth, a nervous tell I was learning to recognize.
"I know." I leaned down to kiss him properly, soft and slow, tasting coffee and maple syrup on his lips. His free hand came up to cup the back of my head, holding me close for just a moment longer. "I love you too."
"What about me?" Remy called from the table, his voice pitched to carry, breaking the moment with all the subtlety of a brass band. He clutched dramatically at his chest. "Do you love me too?"
"Debatable." I pulled back from Harper with a smile, watching his eyes crinkle at the corners, the softness there making my heart flip.
"Rude!" Remy clutched his chest harder, gasping dramatically, nearly knocking over his orange juice in the process. His chair scraped back as he threw himself into the performance. "The disrespect! The cruelty! The—"
I laughed against Harper's mouth, feeling his smile curve against mine, the rumble of his chuckle vibrating through his chest. When I pulled back, his dark eyes were warm, all the hard edges softened, the tension in his shoulders finally easing. He looked younger, somehow. Lighter.
"Go get your coffee," he said, releasing my hand with obvious reluctance, his fingers trailing across my palm like he couldn't quite bear to let go. "Before Remy starts composing a ballad about being unloved."
"Too late!" Remy had already grabbed his guitar from its spot by the door—because of course he'd brought his guitar, because he brought it everywhere like some kind of musical security blanket—and was strumming dramatically, his fingers dancing across the strings with practiced ease.
His voice lifted in mock tragedy: "She said she loved me, but she lied, now my heart is dead inside—"
"Your rhyming needs work," Silas said, not looking up from his coffee, his mouth twitching in that almost-smile he reserved for moments of peak absurdity. Steam curled up around his face, softening his sharp features.
"It's a rough draft!" Remy protested, still strumming, transitioning into something that sounded suspiciously like a funeral dirge. His fingers picked out a mournful melody that would have been beautiful if he hadn't been fighting back laughter.
I poured my coffee, shaking my head, the sound of Remy's increasingly ridiculous song filling the small kitchen.
Steam curled up from my mug, warm and fragrant.
Gumbo had cracked both eyes open now and was watching the performance with what could only be described as profound judgment, his scarred snout wrinkled in what I could swear was distaste.
This was my life. This was my pack.
I wouldn't trade it for anything.
Later—after the dishes were done and Remy's song had devolved into him just making up words while Harper threw dish towels at him—we ended up sprawled across the living room.
The midday sun had shifted, casting long rectangles of light across the worn hardwood floors.
Harper had claimed the big armchair with me in his lap, my head tucked under his chin, his arms wrapped around me like he was afraid I'd float away.
Remy was stretched across the couch, his bare feet in Silas's lap, plucking out a softer melody now, something sweet and wandering that seemed to weave through the dust motes dancing in the air.
The afternoon light slanted through the windows, golden and warm, painting everything in shades of honey and amber.
I let myself drift, surrounded by the sounds and scents of my pack—Remy's quiet music, Harper's steady heartbeat beneath my ear, the faint scratch of Silas's fingers against the calluses on Remy's feet.
"So tomorrow we visit Miss Mae," I said, reviewing our morning plans. "Then walk the property with Silas to scout locations for the house. What else?"
"I should check in at the distillery," Harper said, his voice rumbling through his chest beneath my ear. "Been neglecting things the past few days." His hand settled warm and heavy on my hip, his thumb drawing slow circles through the fabric of my shirt.
"I've got a gig Friday night at the Rusty Hook," Remy added, not pausing in his playing. "You should all come. Show off my pack." His dimples flashed. "Let everyone see how disgustingly happy we are."
"Disgustingly happy," Silas repeated, dry as dust, but he was fighting a smile. His pale eyes were half-closed, more relaxed than I'd ever seen him, the permanent tension in his jaw finally loosened.
"That's what I said." Remy's grin widened. "I'm thinking I'll debut a new song. Something romantic. Something about finding your people against all odds."
"Please tell me it's not about us specifically," I groaned, though I couldn’t help the smile curving up on my lips.
"It's absolutely about us specifically." He strummed a dramatic chord. "It's called 'Four Hearts, One Nest, and an Alligator Named Gumbo.'"
"That's a terrible title," Harper said flatly.
"It's a working title!"
"It's a terrible working title," Silas agreed.
I laughed, warmth spreading through my chest. "I love it here," I said, the words spilling out before I could stop them. "I love this life. I love that I get to build something here. With all of you."
Harper's arms tightened around me, his chin coming to rest on top of my head, his beard scratching gently against my scalp. His kiss pressed to my hair was soft, reverent.
"Gross," Remy said, without any heat, resuming his soft melody. His fingers danced across the strings, picking out something that sounded almost wistful. "You're being gross. This is a gross-free zone." But his amber eyes were warm, and the smile playing at his lips betrayed his words.
"Says the man writing a love ballad about an alligator," Silas pointed out, one eyebrow raised. His fingers continued their idle massage of Remy's ankle, thumb pressing into the arch of his foot.
"Gumbo deserves to be immortalized in song. He's a vital member of this pack." Remy's dimples flashed, his chin lifting with mock dignity even as his toes curled against Silas's thigh. I threw a pillow at him. It sailed through the air, trailing a feather that had escaped through a seam.
He caught it, grinning, teeth flashing white, and threw it back with surprising force.
I deflected it into Harper's face—which earned me a growled warning that vibrated through his chest and a pinch to my hip that made me squirm and yelp—and then Silas was somehow involved, moving with that silent predator grace even in something as ridiculous as a pillow fight.
Remy was using his guitar as a shield, holding it up like a medieval knight with a lance, and Gumbo was making disapproving sounds from his spot by the door, his tail thumping irritably against the floor.
The pillow fight ended with all of us in a heap on the floor, breathless and laughing, limbs tangled together in a way that would take significant effort to untangle.
My hair was everywhere, probably full of pillow feathers.
Someone's elbow was digging into my ribs.
Harper's beard scratched against my shoulder.
I couldn't tell whose leg was whose anymore, and I didn't care.
"Pack complete," Remy said, somewhere near my elbow, his voice muffled by someone's arm. His golden curls were plastered to his forehead with sweat, his cheeks flushed with exertion. "Officially certified disaster pack complete."
"Could be worse," Harper said, from underneath a pile of cushions, his voice dry but warm. One of his hands had found its way to my back, splayed wide and possessive even in defeat.
"Could be better," Silas added, deadpan, though his pale eyes were soft, crinkled at the corners in a way that meant he was fighting back a real smile. "Could have fewer dramatic musicians."
"You love me." Remy poked his head up, curls wild and sticking up in every direction, grin irrepressible. A feather was stuck in his hair and he didn't seem to notice or care.
"I tolerate you." Silas's mouth twitched, betraying him.
"Same thing." Remy flopped back down with a satisfied sigh, his head landing on what turned out to be Silas's stomach, earning him a grunt of protest that he ignored entirely.
I lay there in the middle of them, staring at the ceiling, feeling all three bonds humming quietly in my chest. Different from each other—Harper steady as a heartbeat, Remy bright as sunlight, Silas deep as the earth itself—but all part of the same whole.
Three threads woven together into something unbreakable.
All mine and I couldn’t wait to see what the future holds for us.