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“We’re upset with ourselves maybe,” Ashby says calmly. “Not you.”

I fold my arms tightly across my chest. “Why exactly are you upset with yourselves?”

Another loaded silence.

Then Briggs says bluntly, "Because we’re all attracted to you."

The meaning lands all at once.

Oh.

Oh no.

I sit down before my knees decide to stop cooperating.

Nobody speaks. They don’t rush to fill the silence either, which makes the whole thing worse. Because suddenly, things start rearranging themselves in my head in differently than before.

Ashby showing up before sunrise with coffee and a ride to school. Briggs watching doors like he’s keeping me safe. Torin looking at me across the bonfire with that same intent focus he gets whenever he’s thinking too hard.

I stare at the floorboards because eye contact suddenly feels medically unsafe.

“That,” I say faintly, “is very inconvenient.”

“A little,” Briggs admits.

I laugh hollowly under my breath because, apparently, this entire town runs on emotional ambushes.

“Laurel.” Torin steps a little closer, slowly enough not to crowd me, which is faintly reassuring. I glance up at him reluctantly. “You don’t have to decide anything tonight.”

My throat feels tight suddenly. “Decide what exactly?”

His eyes hold mine. “Whether this has to be a choice.”

The room stills completely until my brain catches up to what he actually means.

“Oh, absolutely not,” I say immediately.

Briggs blinks. “That was fast.”

“Because you’re all insane.”

Ashby folds his arms loosely. “June and her men seem relatively functional.”

“That sentence should concern everyone involved,” I shoot back.

He has a point though.

I think about tonight and June laughing with Wayne and Rex over Fletcher stealing marshmallows from beside the fire. Nobody looked confused by them. Nobody looked ashamed.

They were just people loving each other openly in a shape that works for them.

The thought slides somewhere dangerous before I can stop it.

“We’re not asking for an answer now,” Torin says gently.

“That’s comforting, because I currently need at least twelve business days to process this conversation.”

One corner of Ashby’s mouth lifts slightly. “Take thirteen.”