Page 129 of Knot Your Problem, Cowboy
“I’ll handle the snacks and drinks,” Walker states, already heading toward the door.
“All the soft stuff is my domain. Different textures—some smooth, some fuzzy.” Ridge is backing out of the room.
“I’ll grab some of our clothes,” I say, mostly to myself, already picturing her curled up in here surrounded by our scent. My mind is spinning with ideas, hell, maybe too many ideas, but the second the picture forms, I’m moving. Out the door, across the yard to the storage shed, rummaging through boxes until my fingers hit the prize.
Rose ordered it before she passed. Said it’d be perfect for reading on summer evenings. I grin, because I can see Sophia in it already, bare legs tucked under her, hair spilling over her shoulder, eyes half lidded while she loses herself in a book. Or in us.
As I’m hauling the item back upstairs, I catch voices from the spare room.
“That’s too many pillows,” Walker barks, sounding like he’s losing patience.
“There’s no such thing as too many pillows for an Omega,” Ridge fires back, his tone dead serious, like he’s quoting the goddamn Bible.
I chuckle under my breath.
“She needs to be able to actually get in the bed,” Walker argues.
“She can move them if she wants,” Ridge shoots back.
I shoulder the door open and drag my prize inside. “Quit arguing about pillows and help me with this.”
Walker’s eyes light up. “Tell me that’s a sex swing.”
“It’s a hanging chair, you pervert.”
Ridge cocks his head, already scanning the ceiling. “Could serve dual purposes.”
“It sure could. Let me go grab my tools,” Walker mutters, but he’s already heading for the hallway closet.
It takes all three of us to get the hook mounted, mostly because we keep arguing over where to put it.
“Higher,” Ridge insists, holding the chair steady while I drill. “She needs to curl up completely, tuck her feet under.”
“Lower,” Walker says. “Easier access for… reading.”
“Reading. Sure,” I mutter. “That’s definitely whatyou’re thinking about.”
“Like you weren’t picturing the same damn thing,” Walker shoots back.
Truth is, he’s not wrong. I’ve been picturing her here the whole time in one of our shirts, smelling like sex. I can’t stop thinking about her.
We finally get the comfy chair hung at the perfect height—high enough to swing, low enough that she can step in without climbing. It faces the window, angled just right so she gets the mountain view and the best of the afternoon light.
“Try it,” Walker states.
“Why me?”
“You’re the smallest.”
“Fuck you,” I grumble, lowering myself into the chair. But the second it sways under me, I’m grinning. “Okay, yeah… this is nice. Damn nice. Even better than the one in the guesthouse.”
“Get out. That’s Sophia’s spot,” Ridge says, already fussing with throw pillows like he’s nesting himself. I’m chuckling at how intense they’ve become.
By the time we’re done, the whole room has transformed. The bed is layered with blankets in cream and pale blue, piled with enough pillows to make a fort. Mini fridge stocked. A few of our shirts tucked into the bedding, not obvious, but enough for her to feel us close. Books stacked on the nightstand, wildflowers in a vase. And that hanging chair… already looking like it belongs to her.
I stand back, hands on my hips, and something inmy heart squeezes. This isn’t just a room anymore; it’s a promise. A safe place. Her place.
Ridge glances out the window. “She’s on the porch, got boxes there. Looks ready. We’d better go help her, then.”
