“Be quiet, old man. Rome wasn’t built in a day,” Tucker says.
“I’m not old,” Grayson grumbles.
“I don’t know if girlfriend is the right word, but yeah. I want to be yours. All of yours.” My eyes move over them.
“Good, because we’ve all been yours for a while now,” Grayson says. My heart squeezes in my chest.
How’s this real?
“So, we’re doing this?” I ask. A smile spreads across my face.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Sienna
I wake curledaround the new body pillow Tucker gave me—the first one wasn’t salvageable after the fire.
I stretch, grabbing my phone from the nightstand. I’ve been asleep for a couple of hours, even if it only felt like ten minutes.
After the baby shower and the emotional surprise from the guys, I almost fell asleep leaning against Warren in the nursery. They brought me up to my room so I could take a nap.
I can hear their mumbled voices and soft footsteps moving up and down the stairs.
Stretching my arms above my head, I walk out of my room.
“Oh, hey,” Tucker says. “Do you feel better?”
I nod. “I’m still tired, but at least I’m not going to face plant into the floor now.”
His grin makes me smile. He reaches over, grabbing my hand. “Come on. We almost have everything set up.”
“What’s set up?” I ask as he pulls me toward the stairs.
“You’ll see,” he says over his shoulder.
The mess from earlier has been cleared from the living room. Now it looks like a makeshift spa.
A calming lavender scent comes from the diffuser they have set up on the coffee table. Several small bouquets of wildflowerssit in mason jars around the room. The coffee table is covered with different lotions, oils, masks, and scrubs.
I turn to look at Tucker, finding the other two guys standing at his side now. “You guys did this for me?” I ask.
They all nod.
Fuck. Can I go an hour without crying?
“Thank you,” I whisper. “This is so sweet.”
“Go sit on the couch. We’ll be there in just a minute,” Grayson says.
I take a seat I the middle of the couch, resting my head back against the cushion. I close my eyes, listening to their banter and laughter in the kitchen.
I love what I have with each of them, but none of this would work if they didn’t have their own bond with each other.
Someone kisses my temple. When his beard scratches against my skin, I know it’s Warren.
My eyes slowly open, staring up at him. His finger trails down my cheek.
“I love you,” he says. His eyes never leave mine. The intensity of his stare never wavers.
