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Anna, who’d recently gotten engaged to Miguel, had practically moved into the manor herself. As Maria’s new second-in-command, she kept the household running with terrifying efficiency. Though lately, I’d caught her watching me with the brothers with an oddly intense expression. Once, I could have sworn I saw her dabbing at a nosebleed when Derek had reached over me to grab something, practically pinning me against the counter in the process. She’d muttered something about “better than any drama” before hurrying off.

“Maybe I should change,” I said to Scout, who had flopped onto his side in apparent boredom. “Is this too much? Not enough? Why didn’t they tell me where we’re going? And why am I talking to a dog about my dating anxiety?”

Scout’s tail thumped against the floor in what I chose to interpret as solidarity.

My phone buzzed with Luke’s ringtone—some K-pop song he’d specifically set to “save you from your basic music taste, you uncultured heathen.”

“If you’re calling to identify my body, I’m still disappointingly alive,” I answered.

“Just checking if your mountain men murder cult has progressed from ‘suspiciously attractive family’ to ‘actual cannibals’ yet,” Luke drawled. “Though I suppose they’d have eaten you by now if that was the plan.”

“Please, I’m not even a snack. More like those fancy appetizers that look pretty but don’t fill you up.”

“Speaking of filling up—Eomma says you better not be surviving on instant ramen now that you’re living your cottage-core fantasy.”

I glanced at my overflowing fridge. “Actually, I’m being aggressively fed by an entire Spanish household. Maria and Jorge have appointed themselves my personal culinary intervention team.”

“Betrayal!” Luke gasped with dramatic flair. “Has paella replaced your Seoul? Have tapas taken over your taste buds? What’s next—forgetting Eomma’s kimchi?”

“First of all, that pun was terrible, even for you. Second, the kimchi Imo sent has actually started a cultural revolution in the Stone kitchen. Maria and Jorge are deep in Korean cooking YouTube tutorials. I caught them debating the proper rice-to-water ratio yesterday like it was a matter of national security.”

“Wait, you’re telling me Eomma’s secret kimchi recipe has infiltrated your murder mansion? The same kimchi she threatens to disown me over if I share the recipe?”

“More than that—Maria’s determined to master Korean cuisine to ‘make our Kai feel at home.’ I’m both touched and terrified. Pretty sure Jorge is planning a kimchi paella experiment.”

“Fusion food crimes aside,” Luke’s voice turned serious, “you’re really okay? No weird vibes? No mysterious disappearances? No unexplained howling in the night?”

I ignored the way my stomach flipped at ‘howling.’ “The only crime being committed is how unfairly attractive they all are. And before you start—no, I’m not having an affair with three brothers.”

“You’re right. It’s worse. You’re having an affair with three brothers against ME, your platonic soulmate. I’m devastated. Heartbroken. Possibly in need of therapy.”

“You needed therapy way before I met the Stones.”

“That’s it. I’m coming next weekend to make sure these mountain men haven’t completely corrupted you. And to judge their interior decorating choices. And possibly to steal Jorge for Eomma if his Korean cooking passes muster.”

“You just want to see if they’re as hot as I’ve described.”

“Obviously. My best friend privilege demands visual confirmation of your thirst texts come to life. Consider this your warning—I’m bringing my judgy face and my extensive list of embarrassing college stories.”

The line went dead before I could remind him about the mutual destruction pact we’d signed after the Halloween Incident of junior year.

A knock at the door sent my heart rate skyrocketing. Scout perked up and trotted toward the entrance.

Right. Okay. Just dinner with three guys who looked like they’d stepped out of some extremely specific fantasy catalog. Guys who’d been starring in my dreams for the past two weeks. Guys who kept looking at me like they wanted to devour me whole before suddenly remembering their weird self-imposed restrictions.

No pressure at all.

“Here goes nothing,” I muttered, checking my reflection one last time. At least if this went horribly wrong, I had a fridge full of comfort food waiting for me.

I opened the door to find all three Stone brothers looking like they’d stepped out of a luxury menswear catalog—if luxury menswear catalogs featured mountains disguised as men.

Marcus wore perfectly fitted dark jeans and a crisp white button-down that somehow made casual look expensive, the sleeves precisely rolled to his forearms in a way that screamed controlled power. Derek had opted for a fitted black t-shirt that showed off his military-built arms, the fabric stretched across his broad chest. And Caleb, grinning like he knew exactlywhat he was doing, wore a vintage band t-shirt under a well-worn leather jacket, the whole ensemble managing to look both effortlessly cool and deliberately crafted to make my mouth go dry.

“Here.” Caleb thrust a large container at me, still grinning. “Maria says you’re too skinny.”

“She said that yesterday.” I took the container, trying not to notice how all three brothers tracked my movement as I walked to the kitchen. “And the day before. And possibly in her sleep.”

“She’s making kimchi fried rice tomorrow,” Derek called after me, his deep voice carrying a hint of amusement. “Says she’s mastering fusion cuisine.”

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