Page 155 of Pack Plus One

Liam approaches next, cradling what appears to be a well-worn quilt in deep blue. “My grandmother made this,” he explains, his voice softened with memory. “I’ve had it since childhood.”

The significance of his offering steals my breath. “Liam,” I whisper, “are you sure?”

He nods, placing the quilt in my outstretched hands. “It belongs in our nest.”

Ournest.

Jude appears next, holding a faded orange hoodie. “This,” he says, his voice uncharacteristically soft, “was my lucky hoodie. Wore it during our first big brewing competition. Figured you might need some extra luck with the bakery.” He shrugs, avoiding my gaze, his cheeks flushed a faint pink. “Plus, it smells like me,” he adds, his usual grin returning. “So, you know, you won’t forget about me.”

“Juuude,” I protest, accepting the hoodie. I tuck the hoodie into the growing nest, secretly pleased.

Caleb is last, approaching with something clutched in his large hands that he seems almost hesitant to offer. When he opens his fingers, I see a simple cotton t-shirt, worn thin.

“It’s not special,” he says gruffly. “Just... it’s what I sleep in most nights.”

The simplicity of his offering touches me more deeply than something grand would have.

“It’s perfect,” I tell him, taking the shirt and bringing it to my nose. His scent fills my lungs—dark chocolate and espresso, safety and strength.

With their offerings added to my materials, I begin the actual construction of the nest. There’s no conscious plan to my movements, just instinct guiding my hands as I layer and fold, tuck and arrange. The foundation needs to be sturdy—that’s where I place Liam’s quilt, its weight and history providing a solid base. Mason’s cardigan gets folded into the area I instinctively know will be his sleeping spot, positioned for maximum warmth.

Jude’s hoodie becomes part of the central pile of pillows—chaotic and bright, just like him. And Caleb’s t-shirt I place where I know my head will rest, his scent positioned to surround me through the night.

The pack watches in reverent silence as I work. It should make me self-conscious, this audience to such an intimate ritual,but instead it feels right. This nest isn’t just for me—it’s for us. For all five of us together.

When I finally sit back on my heels, surveying my creation, a sense of profound satisfaction washes over me. The nest looks nothing like the original jumble I dismantled. It’s structured now. There’s Mason’s tidy corner, Liam’s section with extra pillows for his broad shoulders, Jude’s chaotic but somehow perfect sprawl area at the foot, and Caleb’s space beside mine at the center.

It’s beautiful. It’s functional. It’s ours.

“Done,” I announce, suddenly shy as I look up at them.

The emotion on their faces steals my breath. None of them speak for a long moment.

Jude breaks the silence first, because of course he does. “Dibs on being the little spoon.”

The tension breaks, laughter bubbling up from my chest. “You’re always the little spoon, Jude.”

“That’s because I’m excellent at it. Some people are natural athletes; I’m a natural little spoon. It’s my calling.”

“An admirable life goal,” Liam deadpans, but his eyes are bright with happiness.

Mason moves to the wall panel, dimming the lights to a soft glow. “Temperature preference?” he asks, hand hovering over the thermostat.

“Warmer,” I decide. “But not too warm.”

He nods, making a minute adjustment before stepping toward the nest. He pauses at the edge, looking to me for permission. It’s such a subtle acknowledgment that this space is now under my authority that it brings a small smile to my lips.

I hold out my hand, inviting him in. “Come on.”

That’s all it takes. The four of them shed outer layers before they join me in the nest. I find myself in the center, Caleb’s solid warmth at my back, Liam a comforting presence at myfront. Jude sprawls across the foot of the nest, one arm flung dramatically over his eyes. Mason occupies the space near Liam.

“Perfect,” Caleb murmurs against my hair, his arm a welcome weight across my waist.

And it is.

Soon, the tension from the day releases from my shoulders.

“What are we going to do about Eric?” I finally ask the question that’s been lurking at the back of my mind all evening.

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