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In fact, their scents seem to all do something to me.

Owen soothes me. His clean sage and lemon smooths all my sharp edges down until I can breathe evenly again.

Mack makes no sense at all. His hazelnut shouldn't do anything, but every time it drifts past me I feel my mouth wanting to curve up into a smile. It’s like there’s some dumb, involuntary happiness rising in my chest for no reason. It also doesn't help that the massive alpha walks around half-naked most of the time.

But Nico is a different problem entirely. One lungful of his dark, worn leather, and my whole body goes warm and stupid, heat curling low in my belly whether I want it there or not. I actually spend most of my day trying not to think about it.

My eyes drift down the hall toward the guest room and the big, soft bed I just finished making.

A nap would be so lovely right now.

"Screw it."

I push off the couch and head toward the guest room, already picturing the way that comforter's going to feel on my skin.

I make it three steps into the room before stopping.

The bed is perfect. The corners are smooth, the pillows stacked, everything crisp and even. And if I crawl into it, I'll wrinkle the whole thing, and there's something about undoing my own work I can't quite stomach.

But if I get a blanket, then I could lie on top of it and not mess it up.

I pad back out and down the hall to the primary bedroom, where I draped a quilt over the foot of the bed.

The second I open the door, I’m hit with the full force of Nico’s scent. It makes my toes tingle with each step.

He’s married to Owen, I chant over and over and over.

The big green quilt is right where I left it. I pick it up and hug it to my chest, then snuggle my face right into the worn, soft material. It's warm from the sun coming through the window, with a faint trace of Owen’s lemon and sage.

He’s married to Nico, I chant again and again.

I turn to leave, but stop, because one blanket doesn't seem like nearly enough all of a sudden.

Glancing around the room, I see a heavier blanket folded over a small chair in the corner. I grab that one too, then scan the bed one more time.

The bed has so many pillows.

Nobody needs this many pillows.

Surely they won't miss one or two. I tuck one under my arms, then decide the big one against the headboard is better, softer, so I take that instead. Then I snatch the first back, because now that I'm holding them, I can't figure out which I'd rather do without.

My arms are stacked so high I can't see over the top of them. I shift my feet forward, and one of the pillows slips free, hitting the floor. I readjust, clamp everything tighter to my chest, and make it two more steps before a second pillow slides loose and flops at my feet.

"Oh, for the love of⁠—"

I give up and just dump the whole armload on the floor in the middle of the room, blankets and pillows spilling out across the carpet in a soft heap.

There. Much better.

I'm crouched over the pile, refolding the blankets, when I notice the closet door standing ajar across from me.

A dark navy hoodie hangs half off a hook. It looks soft.

I move and snatch it as fast as I can, then inhale it deeply.

Worn leather and dark amber. Nico.

It matches a shirt already draped over my shoulders, and some part of me decides, with total certainty, that I need more. I snatch the gray shirt that was hanging beside it, because it's soft and it's Owen’s and it smells like warmth. Then a pair of sweats off the floor that's so worn it's practically felt.