The backyard smelled faintly of cut grass and wood smoke. Adrian had lit the fire pit earlier, and the small circle of flames popped and hissed, spitting sparks upward whenever the breeze stirred. Above them, strings of café lights arched from the fence to the old maple tree, washing the yard in a warm amber glow that softened the edges of everything.

Claire curled her bare toes into the grass. She loved this time of evening. The air still clinging to the day’s warmth, the crickets just beginning their chorus, the sky bleeding from peach into violet. It was the kind of night that made the backyard feel like its own little world, private and contained.

Adrian sat to her right, leaning back in his chair with the relaxed sprawl of someone proud of hosting. He’d worn a simple navy button-up, sleeves rolled to his forearms, collar loose at the throat. The firelight gave his dark hair a copper edge, and his steady green eyes always seemed to notice more than he said aloud. His arm rested behind her chair, casual but claiming.

Across the fire, Marcus was already in the middle of a story, something about a disastrous fishing trip last summer. His booming laugh punctuated every other sentence. He was tall, broad-shouldered, the kind of man who filled whatever space he occupied. Tonight, he wore a gray t-shirt that clung to his chest and jeans worn to softness. His black hair was trimmed short at the sides, messier on top, and the firelight made the lines of his jaw seem even sharper.

Daniel sat beside him, quieter, though his smile was genuine at Marcus’s exaggerated tale. Daniel was the opposite in almost every way. Leaner, with sandy hair that curled slightly at the edges and a thoughtful, almost bookish expression. His button-down was white with faint blue checks, the top buttons open, sleeves rolled neatly. He nursed his drink with measured sips, and when his blue eyes met hers across the fire, they darted away just as quickly. Clarie thought both were handsome, but Adrian had always drawn her eye the most. Even when they were little.

Claire shifted in her chair, smoothing the hem of her dress over her knees. Pale lavender, loose and light for the summer evening, though she was acutely aware of how the neckline dipped whenever she leaned forward. She told herself it didn’t matter. These were Adrian’s friends, but tonight, with the fire’s glow painting everyone in gold, she felt strangely more visible. Like all three men were in on something.

“…and of course the damn motor cuts out right when we’re drifting toward the rocks,” Marcus was saying, gesturing with his beer bottle as if it were part of the story. “I’m yelling at Daniel to paddle, and he’s sitting there telling me about tide charts like we’ve got all the time in the world.”

Daniel chuckled, shaking his head. “You’d already broken one paddle, Marcus. What good was I thrashing around with half a stick?”

Adrian grinned, leaning forward. “Sounds like the perfect trip. Marcus yelling, Daniel trying to be the voice of reason. I should’ve been there.”

Claire laughed softly, though part of her attention stayed on the way the firelight carved shifting shadows across their faces. The scene felt simple and ordinary. Friends, drinks, stories told too loudly. But there was an undercurrent she couldn’t name. Maybe it was just the heat of the flames, or the wine making her cheeks warm. She told herself that.

Still, when she glanced sideways at Adrian, she caught the quick flash of a look in his eyes and felt her stomach flutter with a nervousness that didn’t fit the easy laughter circling the fire.

The story wound down in another round of laughter, and Claire rose from her chair with a little stretch. The grass was cool against her feet as she crossed to the patio table where they’d left the snacks. Bowls of chips, a platter of cut fruit. The remains of a cheeseboard are already picked over. She plucked a strawberry from the tray, its skin glossy in the firelight, and bit into it. Sweetness burst across her tongue, the juice running just enough to make her wipe at her lip with the back of her hand. Behind her, she heard Adrian’s feet softly against the grass.

“Claire,” he said, low enough not to carry to the other side of the fire.

She turned slightly, half the strawberry still in her fingers. “Mm?”

He came up beside her, his hand brushing the small of her back in that way that always felt protective. There was a tension in the touch, a hum beneath it. His eyes caught the glow of the string lights above, and his voice lowered even further.

“I should tell you,” he began, almost conversational, as if it were just another aside between them. “Tonight isn’t just about the fire and the company.”

Her brow lifted. She popped the last bite of the berry into her mouth, chewing slowly, aware suddenly of how deliberate the motion felt under his gaze.

“No?” she asked lightly, though her pulse had ticked upward.

Adrian leaned closer, his breath warm at her ear, careful to keep his voice from drifting toward Marcus and Daniel. “I want you to fuck them. Both of them. No condoms. After, I’ll fuck you and we can try for our first baby.”

The words struck her like a stone dropped in still water. Ripples radiating through her chest, her stomach. She swallowed, fingers tightening slightly on the edge of the table. For a heartbeat, she thought she must have misheard, but his expression told her otherwise. Her eyes flicked instinctively toward the firepit. Marcus was laughing again, Daniel smiling faintly at whatever remark he’d made. Neither man seemed aware of the weight of what Adrian had just said.

Claire’s voice came out softer than she expected, almost a whisper. “You… really mean that?”

Adrian nodded once, calm, eyes steady on hers. “More than anything.”

Her breath hitched, the sweetness of the strawberry suddenly sharp in her throat. Heat crept across her cheeks. She didn’t know if it was from the fire, the wine, or the thought that what he was describing might actually happen. That he wanted it to happen, here, tonight.

Adrian’s hand lingered on her back for a moment, and then he straightened. Together they walked back toward the firelight. The laughter and easy rhythm of conversation folded around them again, but Claire felt its edges differently now, her skin tingling with every flicker of flame and shift of night air.

Adrian resumed his chair and, after a pause that felt like a held breath, said simply, “I told her.”

Marcus leaned forward, elbows on his knees, curiosity sharpening his grin. Daniel glanced between them, brows raised, less boisterous but no less intent.

“What’s her choice?” Marcus asked, eyes settling on Claire.

Her throat was dry. She eased down onto her seat again, though her pulse made her feel like she was perched, ready to lift off at any second.