I hold her tight, my knot keeping us locked, and whisper the only truth that matters.
“You’re ours forever, Wren. And we’re yours.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Wren
The soundof hammers and the faint hum of Ryker’s radio follow me out of the kitchen as I wipe my palms on my jeans.
Jude is bent over the counter, smoothing the last of the trim, while Ryker leans on his tool belt, calling out measurements to him. The smell of fresh paint still lingers on the walls, sharp yet oddly comforting.
I stand at the threshold, heart tight in my chest. I can’t believe this is almost done. When I got here, this place was a disaster—cracked pipes, broken fixtures, peeling walls that screamed neglect.
Now, with new light fixtures hanging overhead, fresh tiles on the floor, and the ovens gleaming like they’re finally proud of themselves, the café is unrecognizable. Mine.
“You’re staring again,” Jude calls without glancing up, his pencil tucked behind his ear.
“Am not,” I mutter, though my cheeks heat.
Ryker smirks from across the room, wiping sweat from his forehead. “You are. And you should. You’ve paid for this, Wren. Every board, every nail. You earned this.”
That lands somewhere deep inside me, tightening my throat. They’re right—I did pay for it. I decided to invest, even though it terrified me.
Even though fifteen thousand dollars now sits waiting in my account, a gift from the men who call me theirs.
I still haven’t touched a dime of it.
My voice comes out smaller than I mean it to. “I think… I think I’m predicting a soft opening in two days. If everything’s ready.”
Jude finally looks up, his grin wide. “Two days? I’d say you could open tomorrow. But take your time. You want it perfect.”
The word makes my stomach flip. Perfect. Nothing I’ve ever done has felt perfect.
I clear my throat, grabbing my cardigan from the chair. “I’ll leave you guys to finish up. Call me when you’re done for the day, okay?”
“You got it,” Ryker says, already turning back to the measurements.
Outside, the autumn air greets me with a cool bite, carrying the scent of cinnamon from one of the festival vendors still set up down the street. My nerves twist tighter with every step toward Norah’s shop.
My cowboy boots scuff against the sidewalk, and I run my hands down the front of my dress as though smoothing fabric can calm my heartbeat.
The bell above Norah’s flower shop jingles as I push inside, and instantly, I’m surrounded by color.
Buckets of sunflowers crowd the front, their golden faces turned toward the window. Roses in shades of blush and crimson line the counter, their fragrance filling the air so thickly it almost feels like I can taste it.
Norah is at the center of it all, sleeves rolled, her hair piled high on her head, arranging stems in a tall glass vase.
“Are they ready?” I blurt before the door even swings shut.
Norah looks up, eyebrows lifting at my urgency. “Relax. You have no reason to be nervous.”
I laugh, but it’s high and thin. “Of course I do. It’s my first time meeting the parents of someone I’m dating. Someone I’m… committed to.”
My throat tightens on the word. Committed. To three men. To a pack.
My pack.
“And the rest of them will be there,” I add, my palms going clammy. “It’s not just his parents. It’s everyone. It’s a lot.”
