My thumb hovers over the send button like it's rigged to explode.
The text is simple: "Can we talk? Please."
Three words that could either fix everything or permanently destroy the best thing I've accidentally stumbled into while juggling my chaotic double life like a drunk circus performer.
I hit send before my brain can talk me out of it.
Then I stare at my phone like it might spontaneously develop the ability to time travel and undo my entire existence.
One minute passes. Five minutes. Twenty. Each notification that isn't Leo makes my heart do this horrible lurching thing that feels like cardiac arrest having a midlife crisis.
An hour crawls by with the speed of continental drift.
Finally: "Sure. Here's my address."
The relief is immediate and nauseating. I'm going to throw up. Or pass out. Possibly both while driving to his apartment because multitasking is my special talent.
Leo's building is modest—worn brick, slightly sketchy entrance, the kind of place that makes you check if your car doors are locked. I climb three flights of stairs that smell like someone's cooking something involving way too much garlic, and knock.
The door opens.
Leo stands there in jeans and a soft gray t-shirt, surprise flickering across his features before he pastes on this smile that's so obviously fake it hurts to witness.
"Hey." His voice is carefully neutral. "Come in."
I step inside and immediately understand everything about him.
The apartment is small but immaculate. Warm lighting. Actual furniture that matches instead of the college-student-aesthetic I'm rocking. And everywhere—literally everywhere—origami creations perch on shelves, windowsills, the coffee table.
Cranes. Flowers. Dinosaurs. A whole zoo of folded paper animals watching me like tiny witnesses to whatever emotional carnage I'm about to unleash.
"Your apartment is beautiful," I manage.
"Thanks." He gestures toward the couch. "Want something to drink? Water? I have beer but it's the cheap kind—"
"Leo." I cut him off gently. "Can we talk? Please?"
He freezes mid-gesture, then nods. We sit on opposite ends of the couch like we're negotiating a hostage situation instead of having a conversation about feelings.
The silence stretches uncomfortably.
"About the park," I start, because someone needs to be brave and apparently that someone is me despite having exactly zero qualifications for bravery. "What happened with Grayson—how he made you feel—I saw it. I saw you shrink and pull away, and I should have stopped it."
"Rory—"
"No, let me finish." My hands twist in my lap. "You walked away like you'd already decided you couldn't compete, and I just let you go. That was wrong."
Leo's smile is sad. "It's fine. I get it. You're with the CEO now. Rich, powerful, can probably buy small countries as birthday presents." He laughs without humor. "What can I offer compared to that? Origami and a delivery route?"
"Don't." The word comes out sharper than intended. "Don't make yourself small because of him."
"I'm not making myself—"
"You are." I shift closer, forcing him to look at me.
"You're doing this thing where you decide you're not good enough before anyone else gets the chance to disagree. What you offer is yourself, Leo. Your kindness, your patience, the way you see me completely and don't judge either version. That's more than enough. That's everything."
His brown eyes search mine, confused and hopeful and heartbreakingly vulnerable.
"Rory, what are you saying?"
I take a breath deep enough to fuel a small aircraft.
"I have real feelings for all three of you. Not choosing between you—wanting all of you. In different ways." The words tumble out faster. "Leo, you make me feel safe and seen as a mother. Julian challenges my mind and makes me feel capable. Grayson matches my strength and treats me like an equal."
I'm rushing now, terrified he'll interrupt. "I know it's unconventional. I know it's probably impossible. But I'm not ready to let you go without fighting for this—for us—whatever that looks like."
Silence.
Leo stares at me like I've just announced I'm actually three raccoons in a trench coat.
"You want..." He stops, processing. "I already know you're Viola. I've known for a while. This isn't about secret identities anymore."
"No."
"This is about you wanting three men at once."
"Yes."
"Are you asking me..." He hesitates, searching for words. "Polyamory?"
"Polygamy." I correct quickly. "You'd all be with me, not with each other. It's different. Less hippie commune, more unconventional relationship structure that will probably give my mother an aneurysm."
The joke lands flat. Leo's not laughing.
"So you want me to share you." His voice is careful. "With Julian and Grayson. Knowing you're sleeping with them, going on dates, building something with them while also building something with me."
"I know how it sounds—"
"It sounds terrifying." He runs a hand through his wavy hair. "Honestly? The idea of sharing you makes me feel inadequate. Like I'm not enough on my own. Like I'm just one-third of what you need."
My heart cracks. "Leo—"
"But losing you completely?" His eyes meet mine, raw and honest. "That scares me more."
I stop breathing.
"I'm a delivery guy, Rory. I live in a tiny apartment decorated with paper animals. My life is modest and simple and completely unremarkable compared to what Julian and Grayson can offer."
He leans forward. "But if you're willing to include me anyway—if you genuinely want me despite my blue-collar job and lack of fancy dinners—I'm willing to try figuring this out."
"You are?"
"I'm terrified." He laughs, shaky but genuine. "This goes against everything I thought I wanted in a relationship. Monogamy, simplicity, being someone's only choice." His hand finds mine. "But you're worth the fear. You're worth trying something unconventional if it means not losing you."
The tears come without permission, hot and relieved and grateful all at once.
"I don't deserve you," I whisper.
"Probably not." His smile is soft, teasing. "But you're stuck with me anyway."
He pulls me closer, erasing the careful distance between us. His thumb brushes away tears while his other hand cups my jaw.
"This is going to be complicated," he murmurs. "Messy and weird and probably requiring a lot of communication I'm terrible at."
"I excel at messy and weird."
"I've noticed." His lips hover near mine. "But we try. Together. All four of us figuring out something that makes sense to absolutely nobody except us."
"That sounds perfect."
He kisses me then—soft at first, questioning, seeking permission. I answer by pulling him closer, threading my fingers through his hair, kissing him back with everything I've been holding in since the park.
The kiss deepens. His hands map my waist, my ribs, pulling me into his lap with gentle insistence. I straddle him, feeling the solid warmth of him beneath me, and something slots into place.
Not completion. Not fixing. Just rightness.
We break apart breathing hard, foreheads pressed together.
"This is really happening," Leo says, wonder threading his voice. "You're really choosing all of us."
"I'm really trying to." I trace his jaw. "If you'll let me."
"I'll let you." He kisses me again, slower this time. A promise. A leap of faith. "We'll figure it out. Somehow."
Outside, the city hums with evening traffic. Inside, wrapped in Leo's arms surrounded by paper animals, I let myself believe that maybe unconventional happiness is still happiness.
Maybe asking for everything isn't greedy.
Maybe I'm finally brave enough to want without apologizing.