Chapter 34
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
PENELOPE
My stomach dipped, and I glanced at Holly. She was entirely too calm for someone who had absolutely failed to disclose critical information.
“You didn’t mention—”
“That my sons and the loves of their lives eat here every Sunday?” she finished for me. “Oh. Did I forget?”
Yes. Yes, she had.
Everyone piled into the space, some spilling over into the dining and family rooms. Voices overlapped, chairs scraped along the wood floor, and laughter rang throughout the house.
I took a small step back. Then another. I could leave gracefully. I could blame a headache. A forgotten plugged-in curling iron. A cat emergency I did not have.
I was halfway through searching for the most graceful exit I could find when the door opened once more and Declan strode in—tattoos on full display, shirt fitted a little too perfectly, and hair every bit as messy as it had been when I’d tugged on it last night.
My whole body locked up at the memory. His mouth had been on me last night. He’d been inside me. He’d called me his good girl in that rough, reverent voice, and now—
He was bickering with someone behind him.
“You can’t just punch the driver, even if they’re stopped at a red light,” Declan said flatly as Rowan’s three sons crowded into the kitchen behind him.
“He was irritating the shit out of me,” Holden said.
“By existing?” Crew shot back.
“Jesus,” Knox muttered. “I should’ve ridden with Coach and Laurel.”
“Like she’d have put up with any of your bullshit,” Crew said.
“She likes me better than you.”
“I don’t like any of you. I tolerate you.” Eyes glued to her phone, Laurel bulldozed her way through the boys, shoulder checking each of them before heading into the dining room. “Learn the difference.”
Rowan breezed in last, entirely unbothered. “You said one car would prevent homicide.”
“Clearly, I lied,” Declan said.
They entered the kitchen like they’d done it a thousand times. Comfortable. Familiar in a way that tugged at something deep in my chest.
Before I could sneak out, Declan’s eyes locked on mine. He dragged his gaze over my fitted cream sweater that was as soft as clouds and the jeans I hardly ever wore. And his attention didn’t just linger… It burned.
Like scorched earth, raze-everything-to-the-ground kind of inferno.
Apparently, I wasn’t the only one who noticed.
“If you keep eye-fucking the librarian in your mother’s kitchen, we’re gonna have to reclassify this dinner as NC-17,” Rowan said, a smile in her voice.
“Shut up, Ro,” he muttered, but he didn’t look away.
He strode straight for me like the chaos around us didn’t exist. My pulse skittered, and my mouth went dry, all while my stomach dropped at what I feared was coming.
This was the moment. The one where he asked me what the hell I was doing here, told me I didn’t belong. That this was a private weekly ritual I didn’t have a part in.
Quickly, before he could ask me to leave, I said, “I should probably head out—”
“I need to tell you something—” he said at the same time.
We both stopped, ready to try again. But that was when Holly reappeared, ushering us all toward the dining room.
“You’re not leaving, Penelope.” Her tone was warm, but there was no mistaking the steel underneath it. “And, Declan, you can tell her whatever you need to later. Dinner’s ready.”
And that was that.
No exit. No private conversation. No time to explain. Just Declan’s hand—warm and steady—landing at the small of my back, steering me to the already full table. Already full except for two places that happened to be side by side.
Declan pulled out a chair, and I sat in it reflexively, bombarded by the three separate conversations that were already happening across the table.
Chloe animatedly described the full-moon ritual she’d completed the other night to Sutton. Willa casually threatened Lincoln with a butter knife. And Laurel said something so dry, it made Rowan’s boys snort water out their noses.
Xander clocked every movement in the room like a silent sentinel.
Rowan gave all the Steele men shit like she’d been born into the chaos.
Emma caught every curse that flew, collecting money in her swear jar like a pint-sized enforcer.
Declan filled my wineglass without breaking from his argument with Atlas, his thumb brushing absently against my shoulder where his hand rested along the back of my seat.
And Holly looked on with a warm smile like the proud mother hen she was.
It was loud and chaotic and everything I’d never let myself want.
But somehow—somehow—there was a place for me.
I got pulled into a story about Lincoln’s failed attempt at installing a dishwasher.
I listened as Atlas, Xander, Declan, Lincoln, and Rowan’s boys debated football statistics with dangerous intensity.
And by the time the plates had been cleared, an ache had settled in my cheeks from smiling so much.
This was what belonging felt like—messy and warm and…terrifying. Because I liked it. Too much.
Lincoln leaned back in his chair, grinning at Rowan. “I still say you only show up for Sunday dinner because Mom’s cooking is better than yours.”
Rowan gasped dramatically. “How dare you. I show up because your mother took one look at me juggling three teenage boys and said, ‘You’re not eating alone on Sundays anymore.’”
“Single moms have to stick together.” Holly topped off Rowan’s wineglass with a smile. “And I don’t remember you arguing.”
“I’m a lot of things, but stupid isn’t one of them,” Rowan said dryly. “Free food and a table full of adults who don’t flinch when my kids mouth off? I’d be an idiot to decline.”
Lincoln smirked. “I figured you’d get enough of that at Steele Ink since your boys practically live there.”
“They do not,” Rowan shot back.
“They absolutely do,” Declan muttered. “I tripped over Crew twice this week.”
“Because you refuse to replace the couch out front,” Crew said. “It smells like bad decisions and regret.”
“It smells like leather,” Declan corrected flatly.
Rowan waved a hand. “They go there after school because it’s on the way home. And because Holly stops in half the time with baked goods.”
“It’s the chocolate chip cookies that keep us coming back,” Holden said.
“Maybe you should have Mom bake a bunch to make sure clients actually show up,” Lincoln said.
Rowan snorted. “Like Dec has an issue with that. He’s booked out for six months—and then some. Because the idiot keeps opening up spaces he doesn’t have available.”
“It was a grief tattoo.” Declan stretched his legs under the table and nudged my knee with his, a silent check-in. “What’d you expect me to do?”
“Exactly what you did.”
Something in my chest shifted at that—at the quiet certainty in Rowan’s voice. Like Declan taking that on wasn’t surprising. It was simply who he was.
I’d always been so focused on the armor he wore, I hadn’t thought to question how often he set it down.
I reached for my wine, buying myself a second to steady whatever that realization had unsettled inside me. “So if someone wanted a tattoo done by him, they’d have to wait six months?”
The rhythmic brush of his thumb stilled against my shoulder, and heat crept up my neck as I felt his attention on me.
“Depends on who’s asking.” Rowan’s gaze bounced between Declan and me, her lips quirking at the corners. “Why, you want a tattoo, Pen?”
“Me? No.” I shook my head too fast. “I mean, I’ve thought about it…”
“Shut up.” Chloe braced her hand on the table and leaned toward me. “Seriously?”
“Yeah. For years.” I shrugged, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “I just haven’t found anything that felt right yet.”
Lincoln whistled low. “That’s a dangerous answer.”
“Like waving a red flag in front of a bull,” Xander murmured.
“Why’s that?” I asked.
Lincoln raised his brows and shot me a grin. “Because you said that within earshot of Dec, and now he’ll take it as a personal challenge.”
I made the mistake of glancing over at Declan, and the heat in his gaze nearly stole my breath. Everything else melted away while the pull to him only intensified, drawing me in like a magnet.
“Oh my god,” Laurel groaned. “Can we not turn Sunday dinner into foreplay, please?”
The bubble Declan and I were in burst, and I reached for my wineglass, desperate for something else to focus on besides the overwhelming urge I had to climb him.
“What’s foreplay?” Emma asked with all the innocence of a five-year-old, and everyone but Xander chuckled.
Laurel cringed, shooting Xander an apologetic look. “Shit, sorry. That’s on me.”
“That’s a dollar in the swear jar, Lolo!” Emma jumped down from her seat and ran in a circle, pumping her fist.
Holly, ever the problem-solver, stood and guided Emma into the family room—it wasn’t far but hopefully out of earshot from the lack of filter at the table. “How about Mimi helps you count how much you’ve made this week?”
“Yes! Daddy said I could buy a sparkly pony when I have enough.”
“Speaking of you know what,” Chloe said to the table with a waggle of her eyebrows. “Can we talk about last month’s book club pick?”
“It was unhinged in the best way,” Willa said without preamble.
Sutton sipped her wine, dipping her chin in agreement. “I highlighted nearly every page.”
“The next pick is even better,” Rowan said. “I started it last night—instant addiction.”
Willa nodded. “True story.”
Lincoln leaned toward the group. “It’s been our bedtime read all week, and things have been very, very fun—if you know what I mean.”
“No one knows what you mean.” Laurel rolled her eyes, her sarcasm thick enough to choke on. “Especially not when you’re being so subtle.”
“Yeah, man. Even Holden got it.” Crew jerked his thumb toward his brother.
Holden didn’t even bother looking up from his phone. He just reached over, palmed the side of Crew’s head, and shoved hard.
“Pen, you have to come to book club next month,” Chloe said, eyes wide. “It’s going to be so good.”
Sutton pulled out her phone. “What’s it called again? I want to buy it.”
“The House of Sovereign Sin by Eden Foxbury,” Willa said, and my entire world stopped spinning, everything coming to a sudden, screeching halt.
Oh. My. God.
A wave of heat swept over me from head to toe, my skin crackling with panic, my cheeks bursting into flames.
This wasn’t happening. This absolutely was not happening.
I was not at a dining table, surrounded by Declan’s entire family as they discussed my kink-heavy book while I sat there, smiling tightly and pretending I wasn’t the one who wrote those filthy scenes in the first place.
Nope. I’d obviously died, and this was purgatory. God knew my face was hot enough to give that theory merit.
Before I could combust from the amount of heat my body was producing, Declan cut in to the chatter with an antagonizing dig at his brothers and rerouted the whole conversation like a goddamn hero. A lifeline.
The spotlight shifted away from my book, and I took a deep breath for the first time in what felt like forever. I chanced a glance at Declan, but he wasn’t looking at his brothers while they argued with one another.
He was looking at me.
Steady. Intent. Reassuring. A silent I’ve got you that I’d never had with someone before.
My chest tightened, my heart skipping a beat for something altogether different now.
Because this thing between Declan and me… I couldn’t keep lying to myself and saying we were just roommates. Or that it was just a list or a thirty-day sentence.
Not when it had started to feel like something with roots.