"I'm fine."
"You've checked your phone six times in the last two minutes."
"I'm monitoring their ETA."
"You're panicking."
"I'm professionally concerned about?—"
A vehicle pulled into the driveway.
I froze.
Through the window, I could see a large Sprinter van, white, with "Cozy Caravan" painted on the side in cheerful letters. The kind of vehicle that screamed "mobile streaming setup."
Three doors opened simultaneously.
And there they were.
Lucas climbed out of the driver's side, all sandy hair and bright eyes and barely contained energy. He was wearing a cream sweater and jeans, and even from inside the house, I could feel his excitement.
Ro emerged from the passenger side, dark hair under his baseball cap, camera already in hand. He was surveying the property with that careful, observant way of his, cataloging everything.
And Dex unfolded from the back, and dear god, I'd forgotten how big he was. Six-foot-three of solid protection, moving with that military precision that somehow managed to be both intimidating and reassuring.
All three of them paused, looking at the house.
Then Lucas's head turned toward the window where I was standing.
Our eyes met.
And every cell in my body screamedhome.
"Okay," I whispered. "Okay, I'm really doing this."
Mom squeezed my shoulder. "You've got this, mija. Let them in."
"Literally or metaphorically?"
"Both."
I took a deep breath, smoothed my sweater, and walked to the front door.
It was time to stop running.
It was time to see what happened when I stood still and let my pack find me.
I opened the door.
And three pairs of eyes locked onto me with such intensity, such recognition, such absolutely devastating hope that I felt my carefully constructed walls crumble just a little bit more.
"Hi," Lucas said, and his voice was soft and warm and full of wonder. "We brought your plant. George missed you."
Despite everything—the fear, the complications, the professional crisis—I smiled.
"Hi," I said back. "Welcome to Cedar Falls."
And I stepped aside to let them in.