Page 106 of Knot on the Market

He reaches me and cups my face in his hands, thumbs stroking across my cheekbones. "I've been wanting to say it, but I didn't want to pressure you. Didn't want you to feel like you owed me anything just because I was falling head over heels for an omega who steals shirts and argues with door handles."

"I love you," Callum says gruffly, his voice rough with emotion he rarely lets show. "Didn't think I was capable of it, but you changed that. Made me remember what it feels like to want someone's happiness more than your own comfort."

He pushes away from the doorframe and moves closer, his hazel eyes soft with wonder. "Used to think love was something that happened to other people. People who were smoother, better with words. But you make me want to be better. Make me believe I might actually deserve something good."

"I love you," Julian adds quietly, his dark eyes soft with the kind of wonder that comes from having your carefully ordered world turned upside down in the best possible way. "More than I have words to explain, which is saying something for someone who thinks in spreadsheets and statistical analysis."

He sets down the book he'd been holding and leans forward in his chair. "I've spent years thinking I was too much for anyone to want permanently. Too analytical, too intense, too likely to overthink every emotion until I'd analyzed it to death. But you love how my brain works. You see all my neuroses and call them features instead of bugs."

The relief that floods through me is so intense I feel dizzy, though that might also be whatever's making my stomach unsettled. They love me back. All of them. This beautiful, impossible thing we've been building has a name now, and it's love.

And then they're all moving toward me, surrounding me with warmth and certainty and the kind of love that feels like coming home after years of wandering.

"Move in with me," I say against someone's shoulder, the words tumbling out before I can second-guess them. "Officially. All of you. Make this ours."

"Already is ours," Callum murmurs, pressing a kiss to my temple. "Has been since your heat. Since you let us take care of you."

"Since you chose us back," Dean adds, his arms tight around me.

"Then make it permanent," I say, pulling back to look at them. "I want everything with you. The ordinary days and the complicated ones and all the messy, beautiful stuff in between."

"Everything?" Dean asks, and there's heat in his voice that makes my pulse quicken.

"Everything," I confirm, meaning it completely.

The word carries implications that make the air between us feel charged with possibility. Everything means sharing space permanently, combining our lives in ways that go beyond temporary arrangement. Everything means building a future together, making decisions as a unit, choosing each other every single day.

"We'll need to figure out logistics," Julian says, his practical mind already shifting into planning mode. "Storage, closet space, whose furniture stays and whose gets donated. Financial arrangements, insurance, how to handle?—"

"Julian," I interrupt gently, touched by his immediate shift into caretaking mode. "We have time to figure out the details. Right now I just need to know you want this. All of you."

"I want this," Dean says immediately, his warm brown eyes bright with certainty. "Want to wake up in our bed every morning. Want to come home from work and find you here. Want to build something real and lasting."

"I want to take care of you," Callum adds, his gruff voice carrying surprising tenderness. "Want to fix whatever needs fixing and build whatever you dream up. Want to make this place perfect for you."

"I want to understand you," Julian says quietly, his precise way of speaking carrying extra weight. "Want to catalog every expression and memorize every preference. Want to be the person you turn to when you need someone who pays attention to details."

The different ways they express love. Dean through caretaking, Callum through action, Julian through observation, fit together like puzzle pieces I didn't realize were missing.

"I want all of that too," I tell them, meaning it completely. "I want Sunday morning pancakes and Tuesday evening conversations about nothing. I want to fight about whose turn it is to do dishes and make up by cooking dinner together."

"I want to learn your routines and contribute to them," I continue, warming to the subject. "I want Julian to reorganize my spice cabinet according to whatever system makes sense to him. I want Callum to build me garden boxes and whatever else his hands can create. I want Dean to teach me his grandmother's recipes and stress-cook for me when he's worried."

"You want us to be ourselves," Dean says with wonder, like the concept is revolutionary.

"I want you to be exactly who you are," I confirm. "I fell in love with Dean who brings coffee and fixes door handles. With Callum who sees broken things and makes them whole. With Julian who notices everything and remembers what matters."

The silence that follows is comfortable, weighted with the significance of what we've just committed to. This isn't just romance or attraction or the biological pull that brought us together during my heat. This is choice, deliberate and informed, made by people who've seen each other at their worst and decided to build something beautiful together.

"So we're doing this," Dean says, grinning like he's won the lottery. "We're really doing this."

"We're really doing this," I agree, feeling lighter than I have in years.

As evening settles over our little house, we start making practical plans. Julian produces a notepad and begins listing considerations with characteristic thoroughness. Dean starts mentally rearranging kitchen storage to accommodate four people who all like to cook. Callum examines furniture with a critical eye, already planning modifications and improvements.

Watching them work together, seeing how naturally they adapt to including me in decisions that will affect all of us, makes something profound settle in my chest. This is what partnership looks like. Not one person making choices for everyone else, butfour people collaborating to build something none of us could create alone.

"I love you," I say again, because the words feel too important to say just once.

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