My editor, Sarah, calls it "a beautiful exploration of chosen family and the courage it takes to build a life that doesn't fit conventional expectations." My agent is already talking about potential sequels, about exploring the wider world I've created where packs and bonds and unconventional families are not only possible but celebrated.
But before I can think about sequels, I need to get this final draft submitted.
I settle into my chair with a cup of coffee that appeared on my desk sometime while I was gathering my thoughts—Rhys's doing, I suspect, since he has a sixth sense for when I need caffeine. The rain continues its gentle percussion against the windows, creating the perfect atmosphere for focused work.
The revisions are mostly minor—smoothing transitions, strengthening character motivations, fixing a few continuity issues that my beta readers caught. But as I work through each chapter, I'm struck again by how closely this fictional story mirrors my own journey. The uncertainty, the fear, the gradual awakening to possibilities I never knew existed. The moment when the heroine realizes that home isn't a place she needs to find but something she can create with the right people.
By noon, I'm done. The manuscript is as perfect as I can make it, ready to venture out into the world and find its readers. I hit send on the email to Sarah, then lean back in my chair with the satisfying exhaustion that comes from completing something meaningful.
"Knock knock," Kael's voice comes from the doorway, followed by the man himself carrying a sandwich and another cup of coffee. "Thought you might be hungry."
"Starving," I realize, suddenly aware that I've been too focused to notice my body's needs. "Thank you."
He sets the food on my desk, then moves behind my chair to rub my shoulders with those large, capable hands that seem to know exactly where I carry tension.
"Finished?" he asks, reading something in my posture.
"Finished," I confirm, leaning into his touch. "The book is officially out of my hands and in Sarah's very capable ones."
"How does it feel?"
I consider the question, taking inventory of my emotional state. "Good. Scary. Like I've just sent my child off to their first day of school."
Kael chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest where it presses against the back of my head. "It's going to do well. Better than well. People need stories like this, especially now."
"You think so?"
"I know so." His hands still on my shoulders, squeezing gently. "You've written something important, Eliana. Something that's going to help people understand that there are lots of different ways to build a family, lots of different ways to be happy."
The confidence in his voice settles something anxious in my chest. After months of living with these men, I've learned to trust their judgment, especially when it comes to understanding what matters to people. They see the world clearly, without the romantic filters I sometimes apply, and their belief in my work means more than any review or sales figure ever could.
"Speaking of family," I say, turning in my chair to face him, "Rebecca called this morning. She's definitely coming for Thanksgiving."
Kael's expression brightens. Rebecca's visits have become a regular occurrence over the past six months, and what started as suspicious best-friend reconnaissance has evolved into genuine affection for all three of my partners. She claims it's because they feed her better than anyone else in her life, but I suspect it'smore about the way they've seamlessly incorporated her into our family unit without making her feel like an outsider.
"Good," he says. "Rhys has been planning the menu for weeks. I think he's more excited about cooking for her than she is about eating it."
"That's because he's discovered she's the only person who appreciates his fancy techniques as much as he does," I point out. "The rest of us are happy with simple food that tastes good."
"Hey, his fancy techniques taste good too. They just also happen to look like art."
It's true. Rhys has embraced the domestic aspects of our life together with an enthusiasm that surprises all of us. The man who used to live on takeout and whatever Fen could be convinced to cook has become something of a gourmet chef, taking online classes and experimenting with techniques that turn our humble kitchen into something approaching a restaurant.
"Is she bringing anyone?" Kael asks, settling into the reading chair I keep in the corner of my office.
"She's being mysterious about it," I admit. "But she's been talking about this guy she met at that conference in Denver. Some kind of consultant who works with nonprofits."
"Good for her."
"Good for her if he's actually worthy of her," I correct. "Rebecca deserves someone amazing."
"She'll find someone," Kael says with the easy confidence of someone who has already found his people. "She's too smart and too stubborn to settle for less than she deserves."
The comment makes me smile, partly because it's such an accurate description of my best friend, and partly because it reminds me how much my life has changed. Six months ago, I was the one settling for less than I deserved, accepting scraps of affection and calling it love. Now I'm surrounded by men whotreat me like I'm precious, who build their lives around making sure I'm happy and fulfilled and supported in everything I want to do.
"What's that look?" Kael asks, reading something in my expression.
"Just thinking about how different everything is now," I say. "How much better."
