Page 118 of Knotting With A Stranger

He nods, a rare, full smile spreading across his face. “Our family,” he agrees.

We settle on the couch as they bombard me with questions. How am I feeling? Have I had morning sickness? Do I have cravings? When is my next appointment because all three plan to attend?

I answer each one, basking in their genuine excitement and their immediate acceptance of this unexpected development. There’s no hesitation, no doubt, just pure joy and anticipation.

“I know it’s fast,” I say finally, voicing the concern that’s been nagging at me. “We’ve only been together less than a year, the bakery just opened...”

“Lily,” James interrupts gently, taking my face in his hands. “We’ve never been more excited about anything in our lives.”

“Ever,” Archer confirms, dropping to his knees before me to place his hands over my stomach. “These babies are a miracle. Our miracle.”

“And we’re going to spoil them rotten,” Hunter adds, his voice unusually soft. “All three of us.”

“Three dads, two babies, one very lucky mama,” Archer quips, his eyes suspiciously bright despite his teasing tone. “The math works out perfectly.”

They spend the rest of the evening making plans—nursery designs, baby names, childcare schedules. Archer wants a literary theme, naturally. Hunter suggests woodland creatures. James just can’t stop grinning.

“We can combine both,” I suggest diplomatically. “Woodland creatures reading books.”

“Perfect,” Archer declares. “Just like you.”

As we finally eat our now-arrived pizza, Thor settles at my feet with a contented sigh while my three Alphas continue to stare at me with wide smiles. I feel a sense of completeness I never knew was possible.

This is my family. Unconventional, unexpected, but absolutely perfect.

EPILOGUE

LILY

Seven Months Later

“Breathe, Lily,” Hunter instructs, his voice steady despite the white-knuckled grip he has on the steering wheel. “Just like we practiced.”

I try to focus on his words, on the breathing techniques we spent months perfecting in birthing classes, but another contraction rips through me, stealing my breath and replacing it with a groan that sounds nothing like me.

“Five minutes apart,” James reports from beside me in the backseat, his eyes fixed on his watch. “Lasting about forty-five seconds now.”

“Can’t you drive any faster?” Archer demands from the passenger seat, twisting around to look at me with barely concealed panic. “She’s in pain!”

“I’m driving exactly 9.5 miles over the speed limit,” Hunter replies. “The optimal balance between speed and safety according to traffic statistics.”

“Screw statistics!” Archer yelps as I grab his outstretched hand during another contraction. “Those babies are coming, and they’re coming now!”

“They’re not coming in the car,” Hunter says firmly, though he does press the accelerator a little harder. “We’re almost there.”

My water broke at 3:17 a.m., startling me awake from a dream about floating in a sea of cinnamon rolls. I’d shaken James awake first, as he was closest, and within minutes, all three men were in various states of controlled chaos—Hunter calmly executing our meticulously planned hospital route while simultaneously calling the doctor, James timing contractions with scientific precision, and Archer running around gathering last-minute items while alternating between excited whoops and nervous babbling.

Now, as we speed toward Whispering Grove Memorial Hospital, I’m caught between amusement at their reactions and the increasingly insistent pain in my body.

“Almost there, Lily-love,” James soothes, pressing a cool cloth to my forehead. Ever prepared, he somehow produced it from the hospital bag at the first sign of my discomfort. “You’re doing amazingly.”

“I haven’t done anything yet,” I pant as the contraction eases. “The main event is still to come.”

“You’ve been growing two humans,” Archer counters, still holding my hand despite what must be numbing pressure. “That’s already the most badass thing any of us has ever done.”

Hunter pulls into the emergency entrance with surgical precision, and before I can blink, a flurry of activity surrounds us. The hospital staff, alerted by Hunter’s call, are waiting with a wheelchair. James has my bag. Archer is reciting my medical information from memory to an impressed-looking nurse. Hunter’s hand never leaves the small of my back.

“Mrs. Thorne-Blackwood-Sterling?” a young nurse asks, looking slightly overwhelmed by the length of my hyphenated last name.

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