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May 10 - November 14, 2025
“Ten minutes,” Dad announces, checking his watch. “That’s my limit. Then I’m faking a stroke.”
“Remember,” I whisper. “If cousin Rebecca starts on about her Alpha husband’s latest promotion—” “Sudden migraine,” Dad nods. “If Patricia mentions her Omega support group—” “Spontaneous combustion.” “If Martha asks about grandchildren—” “We run like hell.”
scent—bergamot, old books, and autumn leaves, with an underlying sweetness that makes my insides flutter.
His hair glints in the morning light, turning it to burnished gold, and when he straightens up, I see a glimpse of an intricate rose tattoo peeking from beneath his rolled sleeve.
His dark copper hair is slightly messy, probably from the storm, and his storm-gray eyes fix on me with an intensity that sends my heart into a pounding race.
A burn scar traces up his left forearm, visible where he’s pushed up his sleeves.
And make no mistake, Lily is mine. She just doesn’t know it yet. The storm that brought her to me wasn’t chance—it was fate. And I intend to claim what fate has delivered.
“My Lily. The one I used to chat with for hours, who drove me crazy, who had me smiling to myself when I should have been sleeping. The one I even dreamed about.”
Now, at thirty, I should feel like a man, but back at this cabin, with James at thirty-two and Hunter at thirty-four,
She mimics my sitting posture, bringing our faces closer together. “The kind who think The Great Gatsby is a cocktail and poetry is what happens when song lyrics rhyme.”
He stands in one smooth motion, setting down his glass with a soft clink against the wooden table. His movements are deliberate as he approaches, like a predator who knows his prey has nowhere to run. “It’s been killing me,” he says. “Watching you kiss him.”
“I have no issues sharing you with my friends,” he whispers against my ear. “They’re my everything. But you’re mine first.”
In the kitchen, I begin preparing an elaborate spread—cheeses, cured meats, fruits, chocolate, nuts. Instinct drives me to provide, to care for, to demonstrate my value as an Alpha.
“I never meant to hurt her,” James says quietly, something like genuine regret in his words. “No one ever does,” I reply, the words bitter on my tongue. “I fucked up,” he says finally. “I know I did. And I’m going to make it up to her.” Something in his tone has me studying him more carefully. This isn’t the usual James—smooth, savvy, always in control. There’s a rawness to him I rarely see. “I like her,” he continues, still facing away from us. “Like a fucking lot.” He turns around, meeting first my stare, then Archer’s. “And I know you two do, too. It’s growing on you both, but I’m already
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“All right, enough with the feelings,” Archer mutters, breaking the tension. “Let’s finish getting this shit together for our girl.” Our girl. The phrase settles between us, and I like the sound of it.
“I’m going to fuck you every which way,” he mutters. “Bent over the counter, legs wrapped around my waist. Face-down in my bed, where I’ll keep you for hours. On your hands and knees, letting me watch as you come all over my cock.”
I stare at the three men surrounding me—Hunter with his intense strength, James with his protective possessiveness, and Archer with his addictive affection.
One of the most surprising developments of the past few months has been how seamlessly my father has embraced my relationship. When I nervously introduced him to all three men, explaining our situation with halting words and flushed cheeks, he’d simply looked them over carefully and said, “Well, you always did have a big heart, Lily-girl. Guess you needed more than one man to match it.”
My chest tightens with emotion as I look at them—my three Alphas, dressed in matching black t-shirts and orange aprons, ready to help launch my dream into reality. Hunter, solid and steady, the backbone of our operation. James, passionate and precise, whose baking rivals even my own. Archer, charming and creative, whose book café has already generated buzz in literary circles across three counties.
I place a hand on my stomach, still flat beneath my apron but harboring the secret I’ve been keeping for the past two weeks. The pregnancy test tucked in my bedside drawer confirmed what my body had been telling me—our family is about to grow. Tonight, after we close up shop and celebrate our successful opening, I’ll tell them. I’ve already planned how—three tiny cupcakes, each with a letter: D, A, D. Simple but effective. I wonder how they’ll react. Hunter will probably be stoic at first, then break into that rare, brilliant smile that transforms his entire face. James might cry—he’s the most
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I can’t help but think that sometimes the worst wrong turns—like crashing your car in a snowstorm—lead to exactly where you’re supposed to be.
