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Derek muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “noteverything” while Caleb’s shoulders shook with silent laughter.

“I feel like I’m missing something important here,” I said slowly, looking between the three brothers. Their matching innocent expressions did nothing to ease my suspicion.

Shadow chose that moment to stretch, his massive body somehow managing to press me even further into the couch. Themovement made something in my hip tingle, and I had to bite back a gasp. What was with that spot lately?

“Tía Maria’s been keeping your paella warm,” Derek said, smoothly changing the subject. Though his eyes lingered on where Shadow was basically using me as a body pillow.

“Oh God, food.” The mention of Maria’s cooking made my stomach growl embarrassingly loud. “I can’t believe I slept through lunch. I never sleep that deeply, not even in my own bed.”

Something passed between the brothers at that comment—another one of those loaded looks I couldn’t decipher. Marcus’ expression turned particularly intense.

“You feel safe here,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

“I…” The weird thing was, he wasn’t wrong. Despite the strange circumstances, the massive dogs, and three intimidating men who kept looking at me like I was some kind of puzzle they were dying to solve, I did feel safe. Which made absolutely no sense. “I can’t believe I slept through lunch,” I said quickly, deliberately changing the subject as guilt crept in. “Maria went to all that trouble—”

As if summoned by her name, Maria bustled in carrying a tray that made my mouth water instantly. “Ah,mi angelito(my little angel) is awake! Good, good. You missed lunch, but we’ll fix that right now.”

She shooed Scout and Storm away with practiced efficiency, though Shadow just shifted enough to let me sit up properly. The massive black dog’s head ended up in my lap, his eyes daring anyone to make him move.

“Coffee, freshempanadas, andjamón ibéricoon crusty bread,” she announced, setting the tray on the coffee table. “The empanadas are still warm from the oven—Jorge’s special recipe with beef and potatoes. To tide you over until dinner. Jorge and I, we are preparing a proper feast!”

“A feast?” I squeaked. “That’s really not necessary—”

“Nonsense! We’ll have gambas al ajillo, patatas bravas, the best paella in Washington—Jorge is very proud of his saffron rice and…” She rattled off what sounded like enough Spanish dishes to feed a small army.

“Tía Maria.” Marcus’ voice held warm amusement. “You’ll overwhelm him.”

She clicked her tongue at him. “Too skinny, all of him. Needs feeding up.” Her accent thickened with determination. “Now drink, cariño. My special coffee blend, you’ll love it.”

She bustled off, muttering in rapid Spanish about more appetizers and proper portion sizes.

I picked up the coffee cup, inhaling the rich aroma. The first sip was a revelation—strong but smooth, with just the right balance of cream and coffee. “Okay, this is amazing.”

“Tía Maria’s coffee is legendary,” Caleb said, dropping onto the couch beside me and snagging a churro. “She refuses to tell anyone her secret blend.”

Derek claimed the armchair to my right while Marcus settled into the one opposite, boxing me in with casual precision. The churros smelled incredible, but I hesitated, suddenly aware of how domestic this felt.

“Eat,” Marcus commanded softly.

I bit into a churro, and holy hell, it was like biting into a cloud of cinnamon-sugar perfection. The chocolate sauce for dipping was dark and rich, probably imported from Spain knowing this household. Shadow’s tail thumped against the couch in approval as I made an embarrassingly happy noise.

“Good?” Marcus asked, his eyes tracking my every movement.

I nodded, too busy having a religious experience with Spanish fried dough to form words. Who knew being kidnappedby territorial dogs and their ridiculously attractive owners would lead to the best snacks of my life?

“Jorge!” Maria’s voice carried from the kitchen. “El sofritoneeds more garlic!”

“More garlic?” Jorge’s protest was immediate. “Mujer! If I add more garlic, the shrimp will need therapy!”

“Therapy?Bah!Myabuela’srecipe—” I recognized the word for grandmother from my Hispanic friends in college.

“Your abuela was not cooking for—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence, Jorge Stone!” Maria said, her accent thickening with irritation, and Jorge immediately backed down.

I couldn’t help it. The bickering, the absurdly good food, three gorgeous men watching me eat churros while their massive dogs acted like oversized lapdogs… I started giggling. The giggle turned into a laugh, and suddenly, I couldn’t stop.

“Something funny, little mate?” Derek’s voice was gruff but warm.

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