Chapter 12 #2
“Don’t tempt me,” Chris says. “I love a challenge.”
Noel pulls a thermos from his pack pocket. “Hot chocolate break?”
“We’ve barely started,” Kane says.
“I’m up for a hot drink.” I’m already heading toward him like he’s holding the Holy Grail, the cold seeping through my clothes.
“Spiked with vanilla schnapps,” he admits, unscrewing the top and pouring into small collapsible cups he produces from another pocket and hands them out.
We stand in a loose circle, warming our hands on the cups. The hot chocolate is perfect, rich and creamy with real chocolate and just enough schnapps to create a pleasant burn in my chest.
“Look over there,” Chris says quietly, voice dropping to barely a whisper.
He’s pointing, and I follow his gaze to see two rabbits hopping through the snow about thirty feet away.
Their fur is pure white, nearly invisible against the background, and they’re moving in that distinctive stop-and-go pattern.
“They’re adorable,” I breathe, not wanting to scare them.
We watch in silence until they disappear into the underbrush, and there’s something peaceful about the moment, the four of us standing together in the quiet forest, snow falling gently around us, the world reduced to just this.
Kane bends down, scooping up a handful of snow and packing it into a ball, and he lifts his gaze to me.
“Don’t you dare,” I warn, recognizing that look, backing away.
He throws it anyway, but at Chris, who dodges with surprising agility and immediately retaliates with his own perfectly aimed snowball that catches Kane in the chest.
Within seconds, it’s absolute war.
I’m laughing so hard I can barely make snowballs fast enough to defend myself. I’m outnumbered, outmatched, and they’re clearly all way more experienced at snowball combat than I am. Snow hits my shoulder, my back, somehow gets down the collar of my coat, making me shriek.
“Truce!” I gasp, hands up in surrender. “Truce! I’m defenseless here!”
“Winner picks the tree,” Kane declares, brushing snow from his jacket.
“That’s completely unfair! You all ganged up on me! That’s cheating!”
“All’s fair in snowball warfare,” Chris says, grinning unrepentantly. “So we get to choose the tree.”
But Noel walks over, his large hands gentle as he brushes snow off my shoulders and back. “I’ll support whatever tree you choose. Even the odds.”
“My hero,” I say.
His blue eyes hold mine for a moment, something intense passing between us, before he steps back. We keep walking deeper into the forest, debating the merits of various trees we pass. Too sparse. Too short. Too lopsided. Wrong needle color. Branches too weak to hold ornaments.
Then we round a thick cluster of pines, and there it is.
A balsam fir, maybe eight or nine feet tall, perfectly symmetrical, with that classic Christmas tree silhouette. The needles are a gorgeous blue-green that almost appears frosted, branches strong and evenly spaced, the whole thing looking like it grew specifically to be someone’s Christmas tree.
“That one,” we both say simultaneously just as Kane and Chris say the same thing, standing several feet away.
The guys share looks, then all three start laughing.
“Unanimous decision,” Kane says, shaking his head. “That’s got to be fate or something.”
“Or we all just have excellent taste,” I counter.
They get to work immediately, and I step back to watch because there’s no way I’m getting in the way of three large Alphas wielding sharp implements.
Chris and Noel clear snow from around the base, using their boots to push it away, revealing the trunk. Kane positions himself with the saw, testing his grip, adjusting his stance.
And, okay, I’m definitely enjoying the show way more than I should be.
Kane grips the long-handled saw with Noel on the other end, boots planted in the snow as they line it up against the trunk, thick as my thigh.
The first drag of the blade bites in with a harsh rasp, metal teeth chewing into wood.
Kane’s shoulders bunch beneath his jacket, his whole body working with the motion like he’s done this every winter since before he could drive.
They fall into a steady push-and-pull, breath fogging the cold air, the saw singing through the tree in rough strokes. It doesn’t take forever, but it takes long enough. Noel adjusts his grip, jaw set, as he leans into the next pull, boots sliding just a fraction before he steadies.
By the time the blade is almost through, my fingers are numb, but the rest of me is embarrassingly warm.
With a final, brutal pull, the trunk gives.
The tree cracks, a sharp, splintering sound, and the whole thing tips away from where I’m standing.
The guys are already moving, hands braced, guiding it down so it falls cleanly into the snow without crushing the lower branches.
It lands with a soft, muffled thud, sending up a puff of white, and just like that, our Christmas tree is down.
“You three sure you weren’t lumberjacks in a past life?” I call as they start hauling the tree toward the trail, and I turn, staring at the tip of the tree leaving a neat groove through the snow.
A snowball nails me square between the shoulder blades.
I yelp, spinning around. All three of them freeze mid-step, identical innocent expressions pasted on like they rehearsed it.
“Cowards,” I accuse. “Own your crimes.”
Kane shrugs, completely unbothered. “You started it. You throw around compliments like that, we’re gonna get cocky.”
“You were already cocky,” I mutter.
Chris’s mouth curves. “She’s not wrong.”
They drag the tree back to the truck together. I’ve got one hand on a branch, more for moral support than actual help, but no one calls me on it. Every time I stumble, one of them steadies me with a hand at my elbow or the small of my back, and my dignity slowly dies a festive, glittery death.
At the truck, they hoist the tree up to the roof rack in one smooth surge of muscle that makes my stomach go warm. Chris tosses the rope over, then sets to work tying it down. The knots he makes look complicated, the rope cinching tight around the trunk.
“Show-offs,” I say under my breath, but I can’t stop smiling.
“You love it,” Kane tosses back, not even looking up.
He’s not wrong.
“Don’t worry,” Noel adds, glancing at me from under his lashes as he checks the last strap. “We’ll teach you to tie knots eventually. Hands-on lesson.”
Heat pricks the back of my neck. “I can tie knots.”
Chris’s gaze drops to my mouth for a beat too long. “We’ll test that theory another time.”
We pile into the truck. A blast of hot air hits, and I groan in relief. My cheeks are numb. My fingers ache as they thaw.
“That was incredible,” I admit, peeling off my gloves and shoving my hands as close to the vents as I can. “I’ve never cut down a tree before. Never even thought about it. I feel like I’ve committed a very specific form of Christmas crime, and I like it.”
“First of many traditions,” Kane says from the front.
The drive back feels faster. Maybe because we’re all buzzing from having successfully wrestled a tree out of the forest.
Back at the house, they manhandle the tree inside with the same unbothered strength they used in the forest. “Hold up,” Noel states, and they pause on the porch to shake off the snow. Needles rain down in a fragrant green shower, the scent of pine punching through the cold air.
Then comes the doorway. They angle the trunk, tilt, shuffle, reverse, try again. Noel walks backward, one hand on the bark, calling out directions, while Kane and Chris do most of the lifting.
“Watch the top,” Noel warns.
“I am watching the top,” Kane grunts. “The top is fine. The doorway is the problem.”
“Try not to remodel the house with the tree,” I offer helpfully, hugging my arms around myself.
Three heads swivel toward me at once. For a heartbeat, they all just… look. Snow in their hair, cheeks flushed from the cold, big bodies filling the entryway like this is the most natural thing in the world, like I belong here, standing in their foyer, bossing them around about Christmas décor.
Something tightens in my chest.
“Eyes on the tree, sweetheart,” Chris says, but his gaze lingers a little longer on me before he turns back.
They finally get it positioned over the heavy-duty stand waiting in front of the massive windows in the corner of the room.
Noel braces the trunk upright, both hands wrapped around the bark, forearms flexing. Kane crouches to adjust the screws at the base, jaw working as he tightens each one. Chris steps back, circling, squinting at the angle like he’s personally offended by the concept of it being slightly crooked.
“Left a bit,” Chris instructs.
“That’s what you said last night,” Kane mutters.
I choke on absolutely nothing. Noel snorts, trying and failing to hide a grin. Chris goes still for a beat, then very deliberately doesn’t look at me, which only makes it worse because now I’m imagining what he’s not saying.
“Up,” Chris says, voice a little rougher. “Just a hair.”
“That’s what—” Kane starts.
“Noel,” Chris cuts in, deadpan. “Please hit him for me.”
Noel obliges with a sharp elbow to Kane’s ribs. “Behave. There’s a lady present.”
My face is blazing. “Pretty sure that ship sailed the second someone started making knot jokes.”
Kane flashes me a wicked smile but lifts his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, you’re the one who said we were good with wood.”
“I did not say that.”
“You were thinking it,” Noel adds mildly.
I absolutely was.
Eventually, Chris straightens, gives the trunk one last assessing look, and then nods. They all step back. The top of the tree stretches for the ceiling, leaving enough space for a star.
“God, it’s huge,” I breathe, staring up at it.
Silence.
I can feel the way all three sets of eyes land on me in unison. The air charges, something electric and shameless crackling between us.