Oscar doesn't look at me as I follow him inside, his shoulders a rigid line beneath his cream henley.
He moves to the kitchen counter and pours a second mug without asking if I want one, setting it on the island between us like a peace offering.
"Thanks," I manage.
"Don't thank me yet. It's yesterday's grounds reheated, which feels metaphorically appropriate given the circumstances."
The front door closes behind me, and I don't need to turn around to know Konnor has followed.
"Sit down, Kelly." Konnor's voice carries no inflection. "We're going to have an actual conversation, and I'd prefer you didn't bolt mid-sentence."
"I don't bolt."
He ignores me, then moves past me, settling into the armchair by the fireplace.
"Sit," he repeats.
I sit. Not because he told me to, but because my legs are shaking.
The silence stretches, thick and uncomfortable.
Oscar leans against the counter, arms crossed, studying me with an expression I can't decode. Konnor watches from his armchair throne, dark eyes cataloging my every breath.
"So." I wrap my hands around the warm mug. "This is cozy. Should we discuss the weather, or—"
"Why did you try to leave?" Oscar cuts in, his voice stripped of its usual playfulness.
"Because staying felt impossible after last night." The honesty scrapes my throat raw. "You both looked at me like I'd betrayed you, and I didn't know how to fix it."
"You default to running whenever vulnerability becomes uncomfortable," Konnor observes.
"Thank you, Dr. Phil. Your psychological insight is truly illuminating at six in the morning."
"Deflection." He doesn't rise to the bait. "Another pattern. You use humor as a shield whenever someone gets too close to the truth."
"And you use clinical detachment as armor whenever someone gets too close to you." I meet his gaze steadily. "See? We can both play armchair therapist."
Oscar makes a sound that might be a laugh, quickly smothered. "She's got you there, Konnor."
"She's deflecting again."
"Maybe I'm deflecting because this conversation terrifies me." The admission slips out before I can catch it, raw and unpolished.
Oscar uncrosses his arms, his posture losing some of its defensive rigidity. "You think we're not terrified? You think this is easy for any of us?"
"You three have done this before. You have a fucking blueprint."
"Done this before." Konnor's voice goes flat. "You mean Nicole."
The name hangs in the air between us, loaded with history I don't have access to.
"You all drank that first night when the question came up," I say carefully. "And then last night, you and Oscar were both watching Jake like—" I stop, searching for the right words. "Like you were keeping score."
Oscar's jaw tightens. "It's not about keeping score."
"Then explain it to me, because from where I'm sitting, it looks exactly like jealousy. And I don't understand how that works when you've supposedly navigated this before."
"Nicole was different." Konnor's voice has gone quiet, almost contemplative. "All three of us dated her for almost a year. We knew from the start what it was. Everyone agreed to the parameters."
"And this?" I gesture at the space between us. "This has parameters I'm not aware of?"
"This has feelings." Oscar says the word like it's a diagnosis. "This has you crashing into our lives—literally—and making all three of us feel things we didn't plan for. Nicole worked because we all cared about her equally. Nobody was ahead. Nobody was behind."
"So what went wrong?" I push, needing to understand. "If Nicole was so uncomplicated, why does the subject make all of you tense up?"
Oscar and Konnor exchange a glance I can't interpret.
"Nicole chose," Oscar finally says. "After almost a year, she decided she wanted more with one of us. And she chose Konnor."
I blink, recalibrating everything I thought I understood. "She chose Konnor."
"For about three months after." Konnor's expression reveals nothing. "Until she realized she wanted the experience of being wanted by all of us, not the reality of being with just one."
"She wanted the fantasy," I say slowly. "Not the relationship."
"She wanted to feel special." Oscar's voice has lost its edge. "All three of us focused entirely on her. Konnor spent three months trying to be enough on his own."
"Is that why you're jealous?" I look between them. "Because you're afraid of someone choosing again?"
The question lands in the space between us like a grenade with the pin pulled.
"We're jealous because you chose Jake first." Konnor doesn't flinch from the admission. "Not consciously, maybe. But you let him take you to places we weren't invited."
My heart hammers against my ribs. "I didn't choose Jake. I was terrified and he was there, and—"
"And you wanted him." Oscar's honey-colored eyes hold mine. "There's no shame in that, Kelly. But don't pretend it wasn't a choice just because it felt inevitable."
The truth of it settles into my bones.
He's right. Of course he's right.
"I wanted all of you." The words come out small. "That night, before Konnor walked in, I wanted both of you at the same time, Oscar. And I've been wanting you, Konnor, since the day you put your mouth on my palm. I just—I don't know how to want three people simultaneously without feeling like I'm doing something wrong."
Silence.
Then Oscar laughs—a real laugh, not the performative version he usually deploys. He pushes off from the counter, moving closer.
"Kelly, sweetheart, the only thing you're doing wrong is assuming we'd judge you for your passion."
My face burns.
The arousal I've been trying to ignore since Konnor mentioned that I wanted Jake pulses insistently between my thighs, mixing with exhaustion and caffeine and the overwhelming awareness of two very attractive men watching me.
"So what happens now?" My voice comes out embarrassingly breathless. "We all pretend nothing's happening until checkout, and then go our separate ways?"
"Is that what you want?" Konnor leans forward in his chair, his dark eyes intense. "Separate ways?"
"No." The admission costs me everything. "But I don't know what the alternative looks like, and I'm scared."
Oscar is close now—close enough that I can smell him, warm and expensive and entirely too appealing for my current mental state.
"You're exhausted," he observes, studying my face.
"Astute."
"You're also aroused." His voice drops low enough to make me shiver. "Don't bother denying it. Your pupils are dilated."
"That's—I'm not—" I sputter, mortified.
Konnor rises from his chair, moving toward the old record player in the corner. Music fills the cabin with a bass line that vibrates through my chest.
It's the same kind of music Oscar put on that night.
"We didn't get to finish what we started," Oscar murmurs, extending his hand toward me exactly as he did before. "That night you were… willing."
My heart pounds so hard I'm certain they can both hear it.
"Jake isn't here," I manage weakly.
"Right." Oscar's fingers brush mine. "And when he gets back, we'll have a conversation about what this means for all of us. But right now, you have two men who want you, and you've just admitted you want us back."
"But—"
His thumb traces circles on my palm, echoing the gesture that drove me insane when Konnor did it. "Dance with me, Kelly Goodwin. And this time, don't run when it starts to feel real."
I take his hand.
________________