“It’s open,” I call.
The door swings wide, and there stands Chris, all six feet, three inches of pure muscle and deliciousness filling the doorway with that devastating smirk on his face that I adore.
“Welcome home,” he says, smiling warmly.
I’m staring. Can’t help it. Can’t even pretend I’m not.
He’s wearing blue jeans and a gray long-sleeved thermal shirt that clings to every defined muscle of his chest and arms. His deep brown hair is slightly tousled like he’s been running his hands through it.
That smirk. God, I remember from the Santa incident, from our kiss that’s been replaying in my head on a loop since it happened.
“You have no idea how excited I am that you’re here,” he says, one shoulder propped against the frame.
My heart does a stupid little stutter.
“Careful,” I say, lifting my chin. “Say things like that and I might start thinking you like having me under your roof.”
One corner of his mouth kicks up, slow and wicked. “I do.” His gaze drags over my room, then back to me, deliberate enough that my skin prickles. “Safer for you. Easier for me to keep an eye on you.”
There it is again. That possessive edge under the easy charm that I pretend I don’t notice.
“Now, put on warm clothes and boots. We’re heading out.”
I blink. “Where?”
“We’re going to get a Christmas tree.”
I laugh, because I genuinely cannot picture it. “You’re joking. You three are going shopping for a tree? I thought you had one, propped up against the back of the house.”
His eyes spark. “That one’s for donating and too small for us. Plus, Kane said you were disappointed that we didn’t have one up yet.”
I grin, remembering the gorgeous white tree at Giuseppe’s place. “I guess he could have construed my words that way.”
“So we fix it. Today. All four of us. You get your tree, I get to saw in front of you. Everybody wins.”
My pulse thuds between my ribs with excitement about getting a tree. “Sure, why not?”
“Five minutes,” he says. “Boots, coat, downstairs.” He winks, then walks away from my room, broad shoulders disappearing down the hall, and I stand there clutching the hem of my sweater, trying to remember how to breathe, let alone say no to an Alpha who wants to chop down a Christmas tree just because I asked why theirs wasn’t up yet.
I grab thick wool socks, my heaviest cable-knit sweater over a thermal layer, and my winter coat. By the time I’m bundled up and heading downstairs in my snow boots, I’m sweating slightly, but at least I won’t turn into a popsicle.
All three of them are waiting in the living room, and the sight stops me on the bottom step like I’ve walked into a wall.
They’re geared up for serious outdoor winter activity, and they look like they stepped out of some kind of rugged-Alpha catalog.
Kane is in a forest-green jacket that makes his hazel eyes pop, worn jeans, heavy boots laced tight. His dark blond hair is slightly wind-tousled, and he’s grinning at me like we’re about to commit a heist instead of cutting down a tree.
Noel is wearing all black that showcases every line of muscle, heavy-duty boots, his long hair tied back in a way that emphasizes his strong jaw. He looks dangerous. Competent. Like he could track someone through a blizzard and enjoy every second.
Chris has added a dark jacket over his shirt and is holding what looks like professional-grade rope coiled over one shoulder.
“There she is,” Kane says, his grin widening. “Ready for an adventure, baby girl?”
“I mean, there’s a great tree shop on the edge of town,” I offer, descending the last step. “They’ve got pre-cut trees, totally reasonable prices, and you don’t risk losing fingers to frostbite.”
All three of them laugh like I’ve told the funniest joke they’ve ever heard.
“We’re doing this ourselves,” Noel says.
