Page 81 of Knot on the Market

"Saturday mornings and Tuesday afternoon grocery runs and arguing about whose turn it is to take out the trash," Julian agrees. "That's not settling, love. That's choosing someone every single day."

Lila looks between the three of us, fresh tears starting, but these ones are different. Softer. "You really want all that? With me?"

"Yes," we say in unison, and her laugh through the tears is the most beautiful sound I've ever heard.

"We want all of it," I confirm, reaching out to cup her face gently. "Every ordinary, extraordinary day with you."

She leans into my touch, her eyes falling closed for a moment. When she opens them again, there's something settled in her expression that wasn't there before.

"I want that too," she whispers. "I don’t know how… how to make this work."

The relief that floods through me is so intense I feel dizzy. She wants this. Wants us. Wants the life we're all dreaming about building together.

"We'll figure it out as we go, all of us together." I say simply.

"Can we start with getting you out of this tub before you turn into a prune?" Julian asks with gentle humor. "The water's getting cold, and you need food and proper rest."

I help her stand, wrapping her in one of the fluffy towels Julian procured. She's steady on her feet now, the emotional release seeming to have cleared away some of the exhaustion that's been weighing on her.

"Thank you," she says as I help her dry off. "All of you. For taking care of me, for being patient with me, for wanting ordinary things with me. I've never had that before."

"You have it now," Callum says from the doorway, his voice rough with emotion. "For as long as you want it."

She nods, her smile soft but thoughtful. "I want to try."

"Come on," I say, scooping her up again despite her protests that she can walk. "Let's get you fed and properly cuddled.”

She laughs, the sound bright and unguarded, and I know we've turned a corner. All of us.

Chapter 25

Lila

Two days after my heat broke, I wake up in my own bed transformed.

The morning light streams through my bedroom windows, and for the first time in days, I feel completely, utterly normal. Not the desperate, clawing need of heat, not the bone-deep exhaustion that followed. Just me. Lila. Whole and settled and somehow more myself than I've been in years.

But also different. Changed in ways I'm still figuring out.

Walking downstairs, I'm struck by how the house feels. The furniture Dean helped me pick out has settled into its proper places, but it's more than that. The air itself feels different, warmer somehow, more lived-in. Like the space has absorbed the memory of three days when I wasn't alone, when I was cared for by people who saw my need and met it without reservation.

From the kitchen comes the sound of quiet conversation and the smell of real coffee brewing. Someone—probably Julian, based on the thoughtful timing—has started my day with the kind of care that still catches me off guard.

I pad downstairs in one of Dean's t-shirts and soft shorts, following the sounds and scents. Dean's at the stove makingactual breakfast instead of the energy bars we lived on during my heat. Julian sits at my kitchen table with coffee and what appears to be a small stack of papers, probably work he's been neglecting to take care of me. Callum leans against the counter, toolbox at his feet, clearly planning to tackle another project.

The sight of them here, comfortable in my space, making themselves useful without being asked, does something warm and complex to my chest. But it also makes me freeze in the doorway, suddenly uncertain.

What are we now? What am I supposed to say to them? How do I act around the three men who've seen me at my most vulnerable?

"Morning," I say, and all three turn toward me with smiles that make my heart flutter.

But there's something else in their expressions too. Heat in Dean's gaze as it travels over me wearing his t-shirt, how it clings to my curves and barely covers my thighs. The way Julian's eyes linger on my bare legs with dark appreciation. How Callum's grip tightens on his coffee mug when he catches my scent, still carrying traces of all three of them.

The awareness crackles between us like electricity. I'm suddenly hyperaware of every inch of skin his shirt doesn't cover, how the soft cotton skims places these men have touched and claimed and worshipped.

Independence, I remind myself, even as my body responds to their attention.You're supposed to be figuring out who you are when you're not being taken care of.

But the reminder feels hollow when Dean's moving toward me with easy confidence, when his voice carries that warm affection I'm still getting used to.

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