Christmas Day, and I’m standing at the living room window, watching fat snowflakes drift down like a winter wonderland snow globe, and I smile so hard my face might actually crack.
This is my life now. This cozy, slightly chaotic life. The house is fully decorated, and I mean fully. Garlands wrapped around every single railing. Lights twinkling in every window because apparently the guys don’t believe in subtlety. Christmas music plays softly through the speakers.
Then there’s the smell. Oh my God. The entire place smells absolutely divine from the roasts the guys have been working on. I made batches of snowflake- and reindeer-shaped shortbread cookies earlier, and they’re cooling on racks in the kitchen, dusted with powdered sugar and looking almost too pretty to eat.
Almost. I’ve already eaten three. Quality control is important.
Everything feels stupidly perfect. Cozy in a way that makes me suspicious the universe is setting me up for something terrible to balance it out. But I’m choosing to ignore my pessimistic tendencies and just enjoy this moment.
I’m officially moved in now. Fully, completely, all-my-stuff-is-here moved in with my three Alphas. I have my own room for now until we work out the best sleeping arrangements, as I know the guys love when we’re all together for the big sex marathons, but having those one-on-one moments with each of them is unforgettable.
And it feels so right that it’s actually terrifying, which is probably something I should discuss with a therapist, except I’m too busy being deliriously happy. I’m also still riding this incredible high from yesterday’s phone call.
Giuseppe finally called after days of me checking my phone every five minutes like some kind of obsessed teenager waiting for a text from her crush. And he delivered news so good I literally screamed and scared Corn Dog, who was standing outside the window at the time.
The council was so impressed with the tree lighting ceremony that they offered him the five-year contract. Not just offered it, but specifically requested that I be the one coordinating all their major events going forward.
Little do they know I’m taking over the entire business.
So here I am, soon-to-be official owner of Confetti & Meatballs Event Planning. The lawyers still need to finalize paperwork after the holidays because apparently even good news requires bureaucracy, but it’s happening.
It’s really, actually, pinch-me-I-must-be-dreaming happening.
Meanwhile, Scot is drowning in so much legal trouble that he probably won’t be seeing Whispering Grove for a long time. Money laundering. Harboring fugitives. Operating a criminalsafe house. And about a dozen other charges I can’t even remember because the list was so long.
And because he’s a coward as well as a criminal, he panicked the second things got serious and tried to buy himself leniency by spilling which council member tipped him off about using the reindeer in the tree lighting ceremony. Turned out to be some new recruit on the council, way out of his depth. Scot figured rolling over on him would save his own skin.
It didn’t. The recruit got fired on the spot and might be facing charges of his own.
Plus, when we finally got the complete list of everyone who had access to those parade floats, guess whose name was right there at the top?
That’s right. Scot’s.
So add sabotage and reckless endangerment to his growing collection of felonies. The council is pursuing their own criminal charges too for breach of contract and public endangerment.
Karma isn’t just real; she’s thorough and apparently holds grudges.
I turn away from the window and take in my three Alphas scattered throughout the kitchen and dining room, and something warm and ridiculous blooms in my chest.
Chris is at the stove, basting what has to be a twenty-pound turkey with the kind of focused concentration usually reserved for defusing bombs. Kane is setting the dining table with an absurd number of plates and decorations. And Noel is chopping vegetables at the counter.
These men. My men. My world. My everything.
God, I’ve become one of those sickeningly-in-love people I used to mock. Past Hannah would be so disappointed in Present Hannah.
But Present Hannah doesn’t care even a little bit. I can’t imagine my life without them now.
I walk over to the kitchen, weaving between them. “Okay, what can I do to help? I’m feeling completely useless just standing around admiring the view.”
All three of them immediately stop what they’re doing and converge on me like I’ve activated some kind of Alpha homing beacon. It’s flattering how synchronized they are sometimes.
Chris wipes his hands on a towel and pulls me against his chest. Kane wraps around me from behind, his arms circling my waist. Noel moves in from the side, and suddenly I’m completely surrounded by heat and muscle and the intoxicating mix of their scents.
I might be slightly obsessed with being surrounded like this. I feel safe and cherished and absolutely adored in ways I never experienced before them.
“Just take it easy,” Chris murmurs against my hair. “You’ve been working nonstop for weeks. Let us handle everything for once.”
“But I want to help?—”
