Page 83 of Knot on the Market

"How are they?" she asks as we settle into comfortable chairs. "The guys? Post-heat can be intense for everyone."

"They're wonderful," I admit, meaning it completely. "I never knew it could be like that. So gentle and caring."

"The good ones know heat is about the omega," Sadie says with understanding that comes from experience. "And those three? They're good ones."

We talk easily about my settling in, about the changes in town, about her flower business and the upcoming late-summer blooms. She doesn't pry or ask invasive questions, just listens with the kind of attention that makes me feel heard rather than judged.

"I'm happy for you," she says as I'm preparing to leave. "All of you. You deserve this."

"Thank you," I say, meaning it more than the simple words convey. "For being a friend. For checking on me that day when I was falling apart."

"That's what friends do," she says simply. "We show up."

The walk home gives me time to process. Not just about my heat and what comes next, but about how much I've changed. How comfortable I feel talking about my developing relationships, how much I want this to work.

But also how good it feels to make my own choice about how to spend my morning, to have a conversation that's just mine, to walk home under my own power.

The house welcomes me back with the lingering scent of Dean's breakfast. I find all three of them in my living room, clearly having made themselves at home while I was gone. I thought they had work to do. But Dean's reading one of Julian's book recommendations, Julian has papers spread across my coffee table, and Callum's examining the loose floorboard that's been creaking.

The domestic scene should be innocent, but there's something about seeing them in my space that makes my pulse quicken. Dean's shirt pulls tight across his shoulders as he reaches for his bookmark. Julian's sleeves are rolled up, revealing strong forearms. Callum's jeans stretch across his ass in ways that make my mouth go dry.

They look up when I enter, their faces lighting up with welcome that makes me understand why people write songs about coming home. But there's heat beneath the warmth, the kind of awareness that comes from intimate knowledge.

"How was Sadie?" Dean asks, setting down his book.

"Good. Really good." I settle into my reading chair, marveling at how right it feels to have them here like this. "She's happy for us."

"All of us?" Julian asks quietly.

"All of us," I confirm, and watch careful tension leave his shoulders.

The afternoon passes in comfortable domesticity. Dean helps me plan meals for the week, Julian organizes my mail, and Callum fixes the creaky floorboard. It's ordinary and perfect and exactly what I've been afraid to want.

This is how it could be, I think, watching them work.This easy partnership, this shared life.

But underneath the contentment is a nagging awareness. How quickly I've settled into being cared for. How natural it feels to let them handle things I could probably figure out myself. The part of me that came here seeking independence wonders if I'm slipping back into old patterns, just with different people.

As evening approaches and Dean mentions he should probably head home to get ready for his early shift, he pauses at the front door like he's debating something. I can see the war in his expression, the want to kiss me goodbye against uncertainty about what's appropriate now that the heat-haze has cleared.

"Dean," I say softly, stepping closer.

"Yeah?"

Instead of answering with words, I rise on my toes and press my lips to his. The kiss starts gentle, affectionate, but when Dean's hands come up to cup my face, when he makes a soft sound of surprise that turns into something hungrier, it deepens into something that has nothing to do with simple goodbye kisses.

When I pull back, his eyes are dark with want, his breathing uneven. "See you tomorrow?"

"Definitely," he says, voice rough with barely contained desire. His thumb traces across my bottom lip, and I have to resist the urge to pull him back down for another kiss.

After he leaves, Julian and Callum begin gathering their things, clearly preparing to give me space. But the thought of them leaving, of being alone in this house after days of constant companionship, makes something panic in my chest.

"You don't have to go," I say suddenly, the words tumbling out before I can stop them.

Both of them freeze, looking at me with careful hope.

"I mean," I continue, feeling heat creep up my cheeks, "if you want to stay. The couch pulls out, or there's the bedroom upstairs, or..." I trail off, realizing I'm babbling.

"Are you sure?" Callum asks gently. "We don't want to assume anything."

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