Chapter 7 #3
Not because he’s loud. He’s the opposite of that. But the man takes up space without trying, with those broad shoulders under a dark T-shirt that hugs his arms a little too well. He’s solid in a way that says Nothing moves me unless I let it.
And he’s coming to my place tonight. I can’t get that out of my head.
To talk.
And I have absolutely nothing ready. My clothes are all over the floor, my couch is half covered in unfolded laundry, and I’m pretty sure my kitchen sink is filled with dishes.
Arrow catches me staring and winks. A jolt of excitement races up my spine.
Not a quick twitch. Not innocent.
Slow. Intentional. Criminal.
What the hell am I getting into?
“Cindy,” Holt says, his voice low and direct. “You okay?”
“Yep,” I say quickly, popping a piece of candied bacon into my mouth and immediately regretting how obscene that probably looked. “Totally fine. Just… planning.”
“Planning what?” Harper asks, narrowing her eyes in that I’m about to expose you way she has.
“My funeral,” I mumble. “You know, when I die of embarrassment tonight and have to be buried in the laundry I forgot to put away.”
Arrow chuckles again and taps the table with two fingers. “I volunteer to do the catering.”
Holt finally leans forward, forearms on the table, gaze locked on mine. “You don’t need to clean up for me, darlin’,” he says quietly. “I’m not coming to judge your laundry. I just want to talk. Face-to-face. No noise.”
My pulse stutters.
Easy for him to say.
He is the noise.
“What the fuck?” a voice calls across the restaurant. “You’re having a party without me? This is betrayal of the highest order!”
My head snaps up—too fast—and I nearly choke on a piece of bacon.
Luke strides in like a king. He’s wearing ripped jeans that were destroyed by artistic intent, not wear.
A faded band shirt reads Funeral for a Viking , and his boots are scuffed and muddy as if he just walked out of a bar brawl.
His long auburn hair catches the light streaming through the front windows, glinting like fire given shape.
And then he grins. Right at me.
That same devil-may-care grin he flashed last night when we chatted at the festival booth. He’d just joined me, all casual swagger, and melted my heart.
Now he’s here. With them.
All three of them.
God. These men are going to be the death of me.
Luke’s expression morphs into mock outrage as he marches toward our table. “You started eating ? Without me? I disappear for two hours, and you replace me with Purple Hair and Brewery Girl?”
“Purple Hair?” Harper lifts a brow.
Luke gestures vaguely. “It’s giving off violet vengeance. Or heartbreak. Scoot over, Violet Violence.”
Harper snorts. “That’s actually kind of perfect.” She slides over, pushing me closer to Holt as she makes space for Luke to squeeze in next to her.
Holt’s thigh bumps mine under the table, and his arm brushes close.
“Tim!” Luke yells toward the kitchen. “Emergency! They left me to starve! Need more food, please.”
“You were gone for two hours,” Holt says calmly.
Luke gasps dramatically. “Two hours of tragic starvation while you’re all here feasting like royalty. Look at me. I’m wasting away. I have cheekbones now. This is serious.”
“You’re literally eating the bacon from my plate,” Arrow mutters, unbothered.
“Stealing food doesn’t count. It’s the principle.”
Arrow laughs and leans back.
Tim is there in no time, sliding a fresh tiffin stack onto the table like this happens every day. “Figured you’d want more. You guys eat like wolves.”
“You bet,” Luke states, shoving half a piece of French toast into his mouth.
I try not to stare. I try. But he licks syrup off his thumb like it’s a goddamn sin and then grins at me again as if he knows exactly what he’s doing.
“You gonna eat that?” he asks, nodding toward the last hash brown on my plate.
I blink. “I was.”
He shrugs. “You hesitated. Rookie mistake.” He swipes it before I can stab him with my fork.
“You’re unbelievable,” I mutter.
“I get that a lot,” he says, still chewing.
“Usually with more swearing,” Arrow adds dryly.
“You’ve got fight,” Luke declares, gesturing at me with his fork.
“She also has pepper spray,” Harper supplies helpfully.
“Even better.” Luke grins, full wattage. “Nothing says ‘romance’ like mild chemical warfare.”
Holt snorts. His gaze drifts over me slowly, but there’s something softer around the edges now. “You okay?”
I nod even though I have no idea what I’m agreeing to. The air at this table is thick enough to bottle. And drink. And then die from.
It’s not fair how they’re all looking at me.
Holt, with that unreadable stare that feels like he’s already halfway into my apartment, checking if the sheets are clean.
Arrow, smug and knowing, like he’s already picturing how fast he could get me flustered again.
And Luke, brand new to this mess and already acting like he belongs in the middle of it.
Too much.
I shove a bite of warm French toast in my mouth to give myself something to do besides spiral.
“You always get this quiet when you’re overwhelmed?” Arrow asks, voice low.
I point at him with my fork. “Do you always act like excitement is a love language?”
He smiles. “Only when it’s working.”
“She’s outnumbered,” Harper chimes in. “You three are basically an Alpha sandwich.”
My eyes bulge, and I give her the death stare, to which she only blows me a kiss.
Luke perks up. “Do I get to be the top bun?”
“You’re the sweet pickle,” I mutter, regardless.
He grins widely, clearly delighted. “You calling me sweet?”
“I’m calling you unexpected.”
Arrow snorts into his food. Holt just studies me and keeps on eating. “I could give you space,” he offers, not sounding like he means it.
“That sounds fake,” I say, then instantly regret it when his mouth twitches, just the faintest curl at the edge.
Luke props his chin on his hand and gives me a slow once-over that somehow feels more curious than cocky. “You always this quick on your feet?”
“Only when I’m surrounded by beautiful men and one of them might be showing up at my door tonight.”
Luke’s mouth drops open. “What?”
Harper exhales. “God, I love it here.”
“So,” Holt starts, nudging his empty plate away. “Just so you two aren’t blindsided, Cindy’s mom is coming into town Saturday. I’ll be at Cindy’s place, playing the doting boyfriend.”
My pulse skips. I reach for my glass of water I haven’t touched, suddenly parched.
Arrow leans forward. “What’s your mom like?”
I groan. “Think Martha Stewart meets Cersei Lannister. Everything has to be perfect, or she’ll assume I’ve failed at life. She’ll judge my hair, my fridge, the way I answer the door.”
“She sounds like someone who needs a reality check,” Luke says.
“I’m hoping Holt’s general vibe takes the edge off,” I mutter.
“She’ll either melt or implode,” Luke says, grinning. “Honestly? I support both outcomes.”
“You’re not coming,” I remind him, needing this catch-up to go as smoothly and low-key as possible.
“Not planning to.” He winks at me again, melting me in my seat. “Just emotionally invested in the drama.”
Arrow nods. “We’re not saying we’ll be there, but if you need anything, reinforcements, a distraction, a last-minute escape plan…”
“I can handle her,” Holt says, eyes on me again.
It’s supposed to be pretend. But the way he looks at me? The way I feel when he does? None of that feels fake. And that’s what terrifies me most.