Chapter 24
~
Carissa
I woke up humming.
Not consciously at first. It was something my body was doing before my brain caught up, a low, contented sound that surprised me when I realized it was coming from my own throat.
The ceiling above me felt different this morning.
So did the air. So did I. There was a buoyancy in my chest, a warmth that sat just under my ribs and refused to go anywhere else, like it had decided to live there permanently.
I padded into the kitchen barefoot, still wrapped in that feeling, and pulled out the mixing bowl. Pancakes. Henry’s favorite. Butter out, pan, and something in me softened even more, like my life had quietly aligned itself overnight without asking permission.
I cracked eggs with a little more flourish than necessary, whisked milk and flour together, my hips swaying faintly to the cartoon jingle drifting in from the living room. Henry was sprawled on the rug, cereal bowl abandoned, eyes glued to the screen. Safe. Happy. Exactly where he belonged.
And me?
I’d slept with three men the night before.
The thought still made my pulse skip, heat blooming low in my belly as I stirred the batter.
Boone’s playful charm, Gage with his secret soft heart, and Dawson’s steady presence.
It should have felt like too much. Like chaos.
Like something I’d regret in the harsh light of morning.
Instead, it sat in me like a secret source of power, a truth I hadn’t known I was allowed to claim.
I’d never done anything like that before. Never even let myself imagine it. And yet, standing there in an oversized t-shirt with pancake batter on my fingers, it felt… right. Not reckless or desperate, but honest.
Boone came in like a breeze, already talking, already smiling, already reaching.
His arms slid around my waist from behind, his mouth finding the curve of my neck, and my laugh burst out of me before I could stop it.
His lips sent a warm shiver down my spine, my shoulders lifting instinctively as my body leaned back into him.
“Good morning to you too,” I said, breathless, swatting at his hands when they dipped dangerously close to the bowl.
“Mmm,” he murmured against my skin. “Smells good. You need help?”
I turned in his arms, narrowing my eyes at him. “You are a liability in any kitchen. Step away from the pancakes.”
He gasped, hand to chest as though he were mortally wounded. “I’ll have you know I make a mean batter.”
“I know a liar when I see one.”
He grinned anyway and nudged me aside with his hip, grabbing the whisk before I could protest. Flour puffed up in a small white cloud as he stirred too enthusiastically, and I squealed, batting at his arm, trying and failing to reclaim my spot.
“Boone,” I laughed, “you’re going to ruin them.”
“Trust the process.”
“I do not trust the process when you are the process.”
I twisted away from him and called out toward the hallway. “Gage! Get your ass in here before he kills breakfast!”
Footsteps followed, slow and unhurried, and Gage appeared in the doorway looking like he’d just rolled out of a very good dream.
Bedhead in every direction, stubble shadowing his jaw, eyes warm.
The sight of him sent a small, private thrill through me, something tender and pleased unfurling in my chest.
He took in the scene in one glance. The flour on Boone’s shirt. The bowl tilted precariously. My hands braced on the counter, still smiling.
“What’s the emergency?” he asked.
“Boone is actively sabotaging Henry’s pancakes,” I said. “I need backup.”
Gage huffed a laugh and leaned against the counter. “He’s teachable. Most hopeless cases are.”
“Hey,” Boone protested, stirring harder out of spite. “I heard that.”
I watched them with a fondness that surprised me in its depth.
There was no awkwardness. No tension. Just an easy, domestic rhythm that made me ache in the best way.
I put them to work without ceremony, handing Boone a measuring cup and Gage a cutting board, assigning tasks like I’d always belonged at the center of this kitchen with these men orbiting me.
They were unruly. They joked around. Boone flicked a blueberry at Gage, who caught it without looking and popped it into his mouth. Gage bumped my hip as he passed, his hand dropping to my ass and giving it a squeeze. Every small touch sent warmth skittering through me.
For a while, it was perfect.
Then Gage glanced down the hallway, brow furrowing just slightly. “Where the hell is Dawson?”
The question landed heavier than it should have.
I felt myself still, whisk pausing mid-air as my ears strained for sounds that weren’t there. No footsteps. No low voice. No presence anchoring the space the way he always did. My stomach dipped, that earlier warmth cooling just a fraction.
“I don’t know,” Boone said easily. “Saw him heading out early this morning. Didn’t say where.”
Oh.
I forced a smile and went back to the stove, flipping the first pancake with a little too much focus. Maybe he just needed air. Space. Dawson was like that sometimes. Solid, dependable, but private in the way he processed things. Still, the question gnawed at me, unwelcome and persistent.
Was last night too much?
The men kept talking and laughing, the kitchen alive with sound, but part of me had already wandered down the hallway, searching for a sign I’d missed. I tried to shake it off, to stay in the moment, but the absence lingered like a shadow at the edge of my vision.
I wanted to believe it was nothing.
I wanted to believe he’d be back any minute.
But as I poured another pancake into the pan, that sinking feeling settled deeper, whispering doubts I wished didn’t exist.
I took out the plates and set them onto the table when Boone drifted back into my space like he’d been circling the thought for a while.
“Soooo,” he drawled, leaning his hip against the counter beside me, voice stretched long and lazy. “Be honest. Who’s the best in bed?”
I nearly dropped my spatula.
Heat rushed straight to my face, fast and unforgiving, and Boone laughed immediately, delighted by the reaction. Gage froze mid-pour with the orange juice, his head snapping up, eyes narrowing like he was deciding whether to murder Boone now or later.
“Jesus,” I muttered, dragging a hand down my face. “You really don’t have an off switch, do you?”
“Not even a little,” Boone said proudly. “But come on. We’ve all been thinking it.”
Gage snorted. “No, Boone. That’s you. That’s always you.”
I set the spatula down carefully, needing my hands free because my pulse was suddenly everywhere.
Maybe it was inevitable we’d talk about it.
Last night hadn’t been a fluke or a drunken accident.
It had been intentional, charged, emotional in ways I was still unpacking.
Letting it sit unspoken felt like stacking unstable dishes and pretending gravity wasn’t real.
“Okay,” I said slowly, meeting Boone’s gaze. “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it like adults.”
Boone’s grin softened just a notch. “I can do adult. Sometimes.”
“I don’t want to play with anyone’s feelings,” I said, the words grounding me as I spoke them. “I care about both of you. Really, I do. And I’m attracted to both of you, which shouldn’t come as a surprise. But I won’t pit you against each other or pretend this is some joke.”
The kitchen went quieter, like the house itself was listening. Boone straightened, giving me his full attention for once. Gage set the juice down and leaned back against the counter, arms folding loosely, eyes on me in that steady way that always made me feel seen.
“Well,” Boone said after a beat, surprisingly thoughtful, “calling dibs was never gonna work anyway.”
Gage shot him a look. “Boone—”
“Why not date us both?” Boone finished, completely unfazed, gesturing between himself and Gage like he was presenting options on a menu.
My brain stalled.
The room tilted just a little, the way it does when something impossible steps into reality without knocking first. I stared at him, mouth opening and closing once before sound finally followed.
“I—” I laughed, breathless and disbelieving. “You can’t be serious.”
“I am,” Boone said easily. “Very.”
I looked at Gage, searching his face for the punchline, the denial, the inevitable shutdown. Instead, he shrugged, a faint pink creeping up his neck.
“For once,” he said, voice low, “I agree with Boone.”
That did it. That broke something open in me.
“I thought about it,” I admitted, the confession tumbling out now that the door was cracked. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t. But I didn’t think you’d ever… actually want that. Not really.”
Boone’s grin returned full force. “Why not? I can share.”
“You make it sound like we’re splitting a bag of potato chips.” Gage rolled his eyes.
“Hey, you just agreed with me. You can’t change your mind now.”
My heart was pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat. The idea settled into me slowly, like my body was testing it for fit. Dating both of them. Not sneaking around. Not choosing. Just… allowing myself to want what I wanted. Whom I wanted.
Boone stepped closer, close enough that I could feel the heat of him, his fingers brushing my wrist. “No pressure,” he said, softer now. “We’re not trying to corner you.”
Gage nodded. “If it’s not what you want, we walk it back. No need for complications.”
I swallowed, eyes flicking between them, the kitchen suddenly too small for the magnitude of the moment. The stove beeped impatiently behind me, and I laughed weakly, flipping a pancake just before it burned.
“God,” I said. “I can’t believe this is my life.”
Boone leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to my cheek, warm and unapologetic. “Welcome to the beautiful chaos.”
I turned then, hands braced on the counter, looking at both of them in turn. “Okay,” I said, the word trembling but true. “Okay. I’ll— I’ll date you both.”
Boone whooped, loud enough to make Henry shout from the living room. Gage laughed under his breath, relief easing the tension from his shoulders.
Before I could overthink it, Boone kissed me again, this time on the mouth, quick and with a smile that refused to go anywhere. Gage followed a second later, his hand cupping my jaw, the kiss slower, grounding, like he was anchoring the moment in reality.
The smell of pancakes burning finally snapped us apart.
“Shit,” I yelped, spinning back to the stove.
We saved breakfast by sheer luck, laughing as we plated the last of it, the energy between us light and electric. Small touches, easy, already familiar.
And yet.
As Henry chattered happily at the table and Boone stole bites off Gage’s plate, that quiet ache remained, shaped unmistakably like Dawson. His absence pressed in on me even as joy bloomed elsewhere, a reminder that this story wasn’t finished yet.
I smiled anyway, holding onto the happiness I could touch, even as my heart waited for the piece still missing.