Epilogue
Aimee
The streets of our new neighborhood were quiet, with only the occasional early runner or dog-walker passing by.
I'd gotten used to this rhythm—the pre-dawn tranquility that came with loving men who lived their lives in twenty-four-hour increments.
Troy and Rhett worked the same rotation but at different stations, which meant they were both coming off shift this morning.
And while I could have slept in, I'd discovered there was something magical about these early homecomings. Something worth sacrificing sleep for.
I shifted the Pink Pony box, its cardboard corners digging into my palm.
Inside were six donuts—three of Rhett's favorites with strawberry glaze and sprinkles that made him grin like a kid, two chocolate-glazed for Troy, and one lemon-filled for me.
The coffee was still steaming through the lid vents, sending up little curls of vapor that dissipated in the cool air.
Turning onto our street, I caught sight of our house—our house—and felt that now-familiar bubble of disbelief and joy.
The little Wash Park bungalow with its cheerful yellow door and front porch swing was ours.
Two weeks of homeownership hadn't dulled the surreal edge of that thought.
After spending the winter crammed into the guys' loft, sharing closet space and tripping over each other in the tiny kitchen, we'd made the leap.
Rhett's truck sat in the driveway, its dark green paint still flecked with water droplets from the morning dew. Troy's motorcycle was nowhere to be seen, but that wasn't unusual—as a lieutenant, he often stayed later to wrap up paperwork.
The sight of Rhett's truck sent a little thrill through me.
I quickened my pace, my boots tapping a happy rhythm on the sidewalk.
Our house was modest but perfect—three bedrooms (one for us, one for guests, and one that Rhett insisted was "for the future"), two bathrooms that meant we weren't constantly fighting over mirror space, and the office I'd converted into a sound studio for my podcast. The screened-in porch that extended from the back of the house had been transformed into what Rhett dubbed "the catio"—a cat paradise where Olive and Cheeto could safely experience the outdoors.
Most days, they sprawled on the cushioned window seats, lazily tracking birds and soaking up patches of sunlight.
I paused at the front gate, taking in the sight of our home. The spring bulbs Troy had planted were pushing up through the soil, green shoots promising future color. Rhett had spent last weekend repainting the mailbox and adding our three names: DONOVAN · MATTHEWS · HALE.
As I approached the front door, I thought about the journey that had brought us here.
Last fall, after the stalker incident, I couldn't bear to stay in my apartment alone.
My sanctuary had been violated, and it felt impossible to reclaim the space.
The image of that cardboard box on my doorstep, the way it had moved on its own, the hissing sound.
.. I shuddered. Even now, the memory made my skin crawl.
I'd stayed with Troy and Rhett "temporarily" in the firemen loft, sleeping on their pull-out sofa for exactly three nights before I ended up in Rhett's bed, with Troy joining us on the fourth night.
What had started as comfort and protection had quickly evolved into something none of us had anticipated but all of us had wanted, even if we hadn't known how to ask for it.
The loft wasn't meant for three people, though.
Rhett's clothes mingled with mine in his small closet.
Troy's extensive shoe collection migrated into the living room.
The kitchen counter disappeared under my podcast equipment.
And yet, we'd been reluctant to change anything, afraid to disrupt the delicate balance we'd found.
Until Rhett had spotted the "FOR SALE" sign on the little yellow bungalow and dragged us to see it, his eyes bright with possibility.
I juggled the coffee tray and donut box as I fished for my keys. Before I could find them, the door swung open, and there stood Rhett, his broad frame filling the doorway, wearing nothing but a pink jockstrap that left nothing to the imagination.
"Morning, beautiful." His smile was warm and full of mischief. His light brown hair was still damp from the shower, falling across his forehead in a way that made me want to brush it back.
"Is that your idea of appropriate door-answering attire?"
He relieved me of the coffee and donut box, placing them on the kitchen counter with exaggerated care. "I heard the gate. Knew it was you." He opened the Pink Pony box, his eyes widening with delight. "Maple bacon! You're my favorite person."
"I'm your favorite person even without donuts. Well, one of them." I set my keys in the little ceramic bowl Troy had made in the pottery class I'd dragged him to last fall.
"True." Rhett closed the distance between us and wrapped me in a hug that lifted me off my feet. He smelled like Irish Spring soap and something woodsy. Despite his playful demeanor, I could feel the solid strength in his arms, the product of years hauling fire hoses and carrying people to safety.
When he set me down, I took a proper look at his underwear and burst out laughing. The pink fabric was emblazoned across the back with the words "GOOD BOY" in glittery letters.
"What is that, and where did you get it?" I gestured at the jockstrap.
Rhett stepped back and struck a pose, hands on his hips. "This old thing?" He turned, giving me a view of his ass, which the jockstrap framed rather spectacularly. "You don't recognize it? Troy got it for me for Valentine's Day."
He shimmied his hips in a ridiculous dance move that made me laugh again. This was pure Rhett—unself-conscious, joyful, always ready to make others smile even at his own expense. It was one of the first things I'd fallen in love with about him.
"How was your day yesterday?" He turned back to the donuts and selected one with extra sprinkles. "Did Joe swing by?"
I nodded, grabbing my coffee from the tray. "I definitely noticed Denver's finest circling the block a few times. Very subtle."
Rhett held up his hands, strawberry glaze already on his fingers. "Hey, that was all Troy's idea. I told him we didn't need to have your brother's cop buddy driving by every hour."
"Every hour?"
"Figure of speech." Though we both knew it probably wasn't. "Just a little extra precaution. Snake prevention measures."
I rolled my eyes, but secretly, I didn't mind.
After gaining nearly three hundred thousand podcast followers in the past year, the attention hadn't all been positive.
The box of snakes left on my doorstep six months ago had been a terrifying reminder of how quickly online fame could spill into real-world danger.
The guy was in jail now, but neither Troy nor Rhett had fully relaxed their vigilance.
"I know the stalker's locked up," Rhett said, as if reading my thoughts. "But better safe than sorry, right?" He licked glaze from his thumb, his expression softening. "We worry."
"I know you do." I stepped closer, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. "And I've learned to let you worry just a little. It's kind of nice, actually."
He wrapped an arm around me, pulling me against his side. "So how was the podcast yesterday? Any interesting callers?"
I took a sip of my coffee, letting the warmth spread through me. "Had a woman call in with an interesting situation. Newly married couple, just moved into their dream home, and the neighbor seems determined to sleep with both of them."
"That sounds kind of hot." Rhett wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.
I laughed, shaking my head. "You would think that. She was actually pretty distressed about it. Said the neighbor keeps finding excuses to come over shirtless, invites them for drinks that somehow always end up with truth or dare games..."
"And you told her to fuck him, right? Both of them?" He spoke around a mouthful of donut.
"I most certainly did not." I tried to sound professional, but a smile crept into my voice. "I gave her solid advice about establishing boundaries and having a frank conversation with her husband about their comfort levels."
"Boring."
"Responsible." What I didn't mention was how the caller's story had reminded me of our own beginning—the tension, the unspoken desires, the way we'd circled each other for months before finally admitting what we all wanted.
Part of me hoped they'd end up in bed together too, but professional ethics demanded I stick to the advice that would help her navigate the situation safely, whatever the outcome.
The sound of a key in the lock made both of us turn toward the door. It swung open, and there was Troy, his broad shoulders filling the doorframe, dark eyes taking in the scene before him. My heart did that familiar stutter—a mixture of disbelief and joy that this gorgeous man was part of my life.
"Well, isn't this a pretty picture." Troy's smile was slow and warm as he set his helmet and backpack down. "My two favorite people."
Unlike Rhett, who bounded home full of energy regardless of how brutal his shift had been, Troy moved with a deliberate grace that spoke of the exhaustion he was fighting. His lieutenant responsibilities kept him at the station longer, handling paperwork and debriefs that the others could skip.
I crossed to him, wrapping my arms around his waist. "Welcome home."
His kiss was soft but insistent, one hand coming up to cup my face while the other wrapped around my lower back, pulling me flush against him. I melted into him, breathing in the faint smokiness that clung to him no matter how many showers he took at the station.
"Missed you," he murmured against my lips.
"Excuse me, but I'm feeling very neglected over here." Rhett executed a dramatic twirl to show off his underwear. "Don't you want to appreciate my outfit?"
Troy looked from my face to Rhett's display, his expression shifting from tenderness to amusement. "Are those the Valentine's Day good boy panties?"
"They are indeed." Rhett struck another pose. "Figured I'd greet you properly."
Troy laughed, keeping one arm around me while extending the other toward Rhett. "Come here, you attention whore."
Rhett crossed the room and joined our embrace, his long arms encircling both of us. For a moment, we stood there in our kitchen, a tangle of limbs and affection, the morning light streaming through the windows.
Troy's gaze moved from my face to the Pink Pony box on the counter, to the coffee, and back to Rhett's ridiculous underwear.
"Pastries, coffee, and a half-naked firefighter?
" He pressed a kiss to my forehead, then turned to kiss Rhett firmly on the mouth.
"Coming home to you two is the best thing I can possibly imagine. "
"Even after a twenty-four-hour shift?" Though I knew the answer.
"Especially after a twenty-four-hour shift. Though I could use a shower and about twelve hours of sleep, with both of you preferably naked beside me."
"That can be arranged." Rhett's voice dropped to that lower register that sent a shiver down my spine.
The three of us stood there, exchanging soft kisses and whispered "I love you"s that felt new and precious, even after months together. This—this moment of peace and connection—was what had made buying a house together feel like the most natural step in the world.
A soft meow interrupted our moment, followed by the sensation of fur against my ankles. Olive and Cheeto had emerged from whatever sunny spot they'd been napping in, weaving between our legs with their tails held high.
"The children are awake." Rhett laughed, bending down to scoop up Cheeto, who immediately began purring like a motor.
Olive, always more dignified, sat at my feet and gazed up with those luminous green eyes that seemed to hold ancient wisdom, despite her young age. I crouched to scratch behind her ears, and she leaned into my touch with regal grace.
Troy smiled down at us, his exhaustion forgotten. "Our little family." The simple truth of those words filled my chest with warmth.
From podcast host to one-third of a polyamorous relationship with two firefighters and two cats, my life had taken turns I couldn't have predicted. But as I looked around our sunlit kitchen, at the men I loved and the home we'd built together, I couldn't imagine wanting anything different.