9. Three Different Norths
Chapter nine
Three Different Norths
Week four.
I was aware that I was looking for all three of them whenever I walked into a room.
This was not something I planned to do. My eyes would sweep automatically, seeking Callum's broad shoulders in the corner, Jasper's easy grin, Eli's watchful presence behind those wire-rimmed glasses.
I filed it under: I'm lonely. They're my primary social contact in a new place. It's normal.
It didn't feel normal.
It felt like something was pulling at me. A thread I couldn't see, tightening every time I was near any of them. A compass needle swinging toward magnetic north, except in this case, north was three different directions at once.
The feeling was worst, or best, I couldn't decide, when I was near all three of them at once.
Sunday dinners at the main house had become a weekly thing, and I'd started looking forward to them with an intensity that bordered on embarrassing.
Not for Rowena's cooking, though that was exceptional, jambalaya, crawfish étouffée and red beans and rice that tasted like they'd been made with a century of handed-down recipes.
Not for the comfortable chaos of the Voss family table, the overlapping conversations, the easy laughter and the way they made space for me like I'd always been there.
But for that moment when I walked into the dining room and felt the weight of three different gazes turning toward me.
It should have been overwhelming. Three men, three sets of eyes, three distinct energies focusing on me at once. Instead, it felt like coming home.
I didn't know what to do with that.
The Sunday before, Rowena had caught me in the kitchen, helping with the dishes while the brothers argued about something in the other room. Their voices carried through the doorway, Jasper's laugh, Callum's low rumble of disagreement, Eli's measured counterpoint.
"You fit here," Rowena said, her hands steady in the soapy water. "I noticed it the first day."
"I appreciate you saying that." I dried a plate, carefully, the way my grandmother had taught me. "Everyone's been so welcoming."
"Not what I mean." She handed me another plate, her eyes meeting mine briefly. They were amber, like Jasper's, with gold flecks that caught the kitchen light. "I mean you fit. Like a piece that was missing."
I didn't know how to respond to that.
Jasper appeared in the doorway, complaining that Callum was being unreasonable about something and demanding that I settle the argument. The moment passed, Rowena turned back to her dishes, and I let myself be pulled into the comfortable chaos of the Voss family orbit.
But I kept thinking about it. You fit, like a piece that was missing. Like my arrival wasn't coincidence but destiny, or fate, or something equally ridiculous that I didn't believe in.
Except.
Except the pull was real. The way my whole body seemed to know when they were nearby, even before I saw them, that felt real too.
I made a list. My response to chaos: structure, categories, the illusion of control when I was trying to understand something that didn't make sense. When the chaos got too loud and I needed to impose some order, some structure, some illusion of control.
Things I know about Callum:
He takes his coffee black
He is never late
He stands between people and anything that might threaten them with the unconscious reflex of someone who has been doing it his whole life
When he looks at me, I feel like I'm the only thing in the world worth seeing
He knows my coffee order better than I do
He remembers the name of my grandmother from a story I told once, weeks ago
He doesn't talk much, but when he does, every word counts
His eyes flash gold sometimes, just for a second, when he's feeling something strongly
He smells like cedar and something wilder, something that makes me think of deep forests and running water
Things I know about Jasper:
He tells the truth when it matters, despite the jokes and the deflection
He is kinder than he lets on, than he wants people to see
He remembers one specific thing I said two weeks ago and brings it up casually, like it matters
His smile makes me feel warm even when I'm determined to be sensible
He dropped everything to check on me when he saw I was upset
He makes me laugh when I've forgotten how
Beneath the charm, there is something fierce and protective that he shows to very few people
His skin runs hot, almost feverish, and I don't think it's illness
He growled once, actually growled, when he was angry about Marcus, and it didn't sound human
Things I know about Eli:
He reads six books simultaneously and remembers everything in all of them
He asks better questions than anyone I've met
He thinks about everything twice, sometimes three times, before he speaks
When he focuses on me, I feel like I'm being understood for the first time in my life
He notices things about me that I haven't told him
He listens like every word I say is worth remembering
He carries secrets, and some of them weigh on him heavily
His eyes change color, gray to silver to something brighter, depending on the light or his mood
He works with symbols and territorial markers and speaks about his family's history like it spans centuries, not generations
I put the list away.
I did not examine why I'd made it. Did not examine why my handwriting had gotten shakier as the lists went on, or why my heart was beating faster by the time I finished, or why I felt the sudden urge to go downstairs and find all three of them and just... be near them.
That wasn't normal. None of this was normal.
So I stopped trying.
Lila noticed.
We were at the studio, the afternoon light slanting through the tall windows, dust motes dancing in the air.
The old building smelled like coffee, paper and the particular mustiness of places that had been standing since before air conditioning.
Jazz played softly from Lila's ancient speakers, something with a lot of saxophone that she claimed helped her think.
"You've got that look again," she said, not looking up from her screen.
"What look?"
"The one where you're pretending to work but actually thinking." She paused for effect. "About a certain tall, dark and handsome, I suspect."
"I'm not—"
"You've been staring at the same paragraph for ten minutes." She finally glanced at me, her expression somewhere between amused and concerned. "And you smiled at your coffee three times. Your coffee isn't that funny."
I felt heat rise to my cheeks. "I was thinking about a design problem."
"Sure you were." She swiveled her chair to face me fully, her dark hair swinging. "Serena. Can I give you some advice?"
"Do I have a choice?"
"Not really." She leaned forward, her voice dropping even though we were alone in the studio.
Through the windows, I could see Main Street going about its business, tourists wandering past the antique shops, locals nodding to each other with that particular small-town recognition.
"The Voss family is... complicated. Old money, old history, old everything.
They're good people, I've known them my whole life, but they play by different rules than the rest of us. "
"What does that mean?"
"It means be careful." She held my gaze, and her eyes were sharp, missing nothing.
"Not because they'll hurt you. They won't. But because once you're in with that family, you're in.
There's no halfway. There's no backing out once you've crossed certain thresholds.
And some people aren't ready for that kind of... intensity."
The pull was real. The way my whole body seemed to know when they were nearby, even before I saw them. The lists I'd made, cataloguing every detail like I was studying for an exam I didn't know I'd signed up for.
"What if I like the intensity?"
Lila's eyebrows rose. "Then I'd say you're either very brave or very foolish." A pause, weighted. "Possibly both."
"That's not reassuring."
"It's not meant to be." But she was smiling now, a real smile that softened her sharp features. "For what it's worth, I think they like you too. All of them. And that's rare."
"What do you mean, rare?"
She opened her mouth, then closed it. Shook her head, some internal debate concluding. "I mean they don't usually... Never mind. It's not my place."
"Lila—"
"I've said too much already." She turned back to her screen, and her voice shifted back to professional. "The Henderson logo needs another revision. The kerning in the tagline is still off."
The conversation was over. But I caught her watching me later, when she thought I wasn't looking, with an expression I couldn't quite read.
Curiosity, maybe. Or concern. Or something else entirely.
That evening, I was working on my porch when I felt it.
The pull, stronger than usual. That awareness that meant one of them was nearby, except this time it felt like a tuning fork being struck, a note resonating through my whole body.
I looked up to find Eli at the bottom of my stairs.
He was wearing a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, the fabric slightly wrinkled in a way that suggested he'd been too absorbed in his work to notice.
His glasses caught the evening light, turning them briefly opaque.
There was a book tucked under his arm, there was always a book, and his expression was thoughtful, uncertain in a way I hadn't seen before.
Behind him, the magnolia tree was doing its evening thing, the white blooms glowing pink-gold in the sunset. The preserve beyond had gone shadowy, that purple-blue of Louisiana dusk, and somewhere in its depths I could hear the first crickets starting their nightly chorus.
"May I?" he asked.
"Sure."
He climbed up and sat beside me, leaving a careful distance between us. But even so, I could feel the warmth of him, the quiet hum of his presence. The air between us felt charged, electric, like the moment before a storm breaks.
"Working late?" he asked, nodding at my laptop.