Chapter 12 #3
Kane is the first to crack. “That’s what you said last night,” he blurts, this time with zero shame, and looks unreasonably pleased with himself.
Noel groans. Chris finally looks at me, heat and humor tangled in his gaze, like he’s picturing the same things I am.
My stomach swoops. I roll my eyes, desperately trying to claw back some dignity. “You know, at some point, one of you is going to say something that doesn’t sound like it belongs on late-night cable.”
“Doubtful,” Noel says.
“Not when you keep setting us up like that,” Kane adds.
Chris’s mouth tilts, that slow, dangerous smile that grabs my attention. “Careful, Hannah. Keep talking about how big it is, and we’re going to start thinking you’re flirting.”
I stare at the tree instead of them, heart racing, ridiculously aware of every inch between us, and every place I suddenly wish there wasn’t distance at all.
They disappear into what I assume is storage, returning with multiple boxes stacked in their arms. I watch them unpack strings of white lights still in their packaging, wooden ornaments that look handmade, dried orange slices that smell like Christmas, cinnamon sticks tied together with twine, those hand-wrapped chocolates Noel mentioned, candy canes still in their wrappers.
Chris moves to a sound system I hadn’t noticed, and music fills the room, classic Christmas songs, Bing Crosby and Nat King Cole, the kind that makes everything feel warm and nostalgic.
Then he disappears into the kitchen, and soon the smell of baking apples fills the entire house, sweet and spiced with cinnamon and maybe nutmeg, making my mouth water.
We all start decorating the tree, beginning with lights. Then we hang ornaments of wooden reindeer, carved snowflakes, some that look like they might be from their childhood based on the worn edges and faded paint.
Chris vanishes down the hall again and returns with a massive ball of twine, a smug look on his face like he’s just saved Christmas. “Emergency sugar rations,” he says, dropping it on the coffee table beside a mountain of candy canes and wrapped chocolates. “We decorate, we snack. Win-win.”
We start tying little loops and hanging them on the branches, and somewhere between the first candy cane and the sixth chocolate, the space around me… shrinks.
Kane steps in close behind me to reach a higher branch, his chest brushing my shoulder. One big hand settles on my waist, steadying me like he’s worried I might topple over from the sheer weight of existing.
“Easy there,” he murmurs, breath warm against my ear. “Can’t have you face-planting into the tree. Bad for the ornaments.”
“I am perfectly stable,” I say, even as my pulse kicks up. “You’re the one crowding.”
His thumb strokes once across the curve of my hip before he lets go.
Noel moves in on my other side with a string of tinsel. He ducks under my arm, his shoulder sliding along mine as he reaches past. Knuckles skim down my spine by accident, leaving a trail of sparks in their wake.
“Hold this?” he asks, looping the strand into my hands without waiting for an answer.
I lift my arms, and he steps in behind me to adjust the angle, his chest pressing against my back, voice low by my ear. “Just like that. Don’t move.”
“As if I could,” I mutter. My heart is pounding so loudly I’m terrified someone will comment on it.
A moment later, my hair slips forward over my shoulder. Chris is suddenly in front of me, close enough that I can see the darker ring around his irises.
“Hang on,” he says softly.
His fingers slide into my hair, tucking the strand back behind my ear with unnecessary care. His knuckles brush my cheekbone, warm and rough, and instead of pulling away, he lets his hand linger along my jaw for a heartbeat. Maybe two.
“You’re going to get sap all over it if you’re not careful,” he adds, his thumb grazing the corner of my mouth like he’s checking for smudges.
“I am very careful,” I say, a little too breathless. “You’re all the ones behaving like unsupervised teenagers in a tinsel factory.”
“All I’m hearing,” Kane says from somewhere to my left, “is that you volunteered to supervise us.”
I should feel boxed in. Three big men bracketing me, reaching around me, close enough that every breath brings a different mix of cedar, cold air, and something purely them.
Instead, I find myself leaning in. Testing it.
When I step to the side, I accidentally bump into Noel’s chest. His hand slides to my hip instantly, steady and sure.
When I reach for a higher branch, Kane is suddenly there, palm flat against the small of my back, holding me like I’m something precious and breakable.
Chris passes me another candy cane, our fingers tangling for a second longer than necessary.
My brain keeps whispering, Too much, too close, too fast.
My body keeps whispering, More.
“Hand me that star?” Noel asks eventually, nodding toward the wooden star, dark-stained and smooth, like someone loved it enough to wear the edges down over time.
I pass it to him, and he heads for the ladder they’ve set up beside the tree. He climbs, the muscles in his thighs flexing under worn denim, jacket stretching over his back with every step. I try—really try—not to stare.
I fail immediately.
He reaches the top, bracing one hand on the ceiling while squeezing it up there. The movement pulls his shirt tight over his stomach, and I swear I see God for a second. He is bulging…
When he climbs back down, I drag my gaze up way too late. He catches it; of course he does. That slow, knowing grin spreads across his face.
“See something you like, sweetheart?” he drawls.
Caught.
“Maybe. Possibly,” I say, lifting my chin. “I’m not admitting anything without a lawyer present.”
Kane barks out a laugh. “Your face is admitting plenty.”
“It’s fine,” Noel says, unbothered. “Equal opportunity. She can objectify all of us. I vote in favor.”
Chris returns with more tinsel. “Focus,” he says mildly, though there’s amusement tugging at his mouth. “Horny later. Sparkly now.”
Kane produces a red fabric tree skirt from a closet, thick and soft, and we crouch together to spread it around the base, shoulders bumping, knees brushing. Every small touch feels intentional now. Every glance lingers a second too long.
Finally, we step back in a line, shoulder to shoulder, facing the tree.
Outside, the world beyond the glass is falling snow growing heavier. Inside, it’s just us and the soft glow of lamps and the sharp scent of pine.
“Oh, wow,” I breathe. “That’s… that’s absolutely spectacular.”
“Moment of truth,” Noel says, moving to the wall.
He flips a switch.
The tree explodes into light. White bulbs wink to life between branches, catching on tinsel, bouncing off glass ornaments and foil-wrapped chocolates. The wooden star glows softly at the top, haloed by tiny points of light.
It’s… perfect. Warm and wild and a bit over the top. Theirs. And somehow, looking at it, it feels a little like mine too.
We drift toward the couches without anyone having to say it. Kane and Chris take the bigger sofa, spreading out like they own it. Noel and I drop onto the smaller one. Before I can overthink it, his arm slides around my shoulders, firm and easy, pulling me in against his side like I belong there.
The worst part? I do. My body just slots in, my head finding the space beneath his jaw as if it’s done this a hundred times.
Across the room, Kane sprawls back, his ankle hooked over one knee, gaze flicking from the tree to me and back again, like he’s not sure which he likes looking at more.
Chris leans forward, forearms on his thighs, eyes on the lights but attention clearly not on the lights, if the way it keeps drifting to me is any indication.
“I feel like this might be our best Christmas yet,” Chris says eventually. “Like we’re finally… I don’t know. Complete.” His gaze lifts to mine and holds. “Like a real family.”
Something in my chest squeezes. Hard. It feels like an invitation.
I don’t say anything because I don’t trust my voice not to crack, but part of me desperately wants it to be real. Wants to believe I deserve this happiness, this warmth, these men who look at me like I’m something precious.
Chris heads into the kitchen and returns with bowls of the baked apples that are soft and caramelized, swimming in custard that’s rich and vanilla scented and still warm.
He hands them out, and we eat in comfortable silence, just the crackling of the fire Kane started and the soft Christmas music still playing.
The apples are incredible. “I absolutely love this,” I say finally, setting my empty bowl on the coffee table. “I’m not sure how I got so lucky to experience this. To be here with you three.”
“It’s simple,” Noel says, his deep voice rumbling through his chest where I’m leaning against him. “You’re ours. We’re yours. You just need to accept that truth as we slowly convince you.”
“We’re patient when it matters,” Chris adds, his grin softer than usual.
I glance around at these three dangerous Alphas who hunt criminals for a living, who could probably break someone in half without trying, who’ve somehow made space for me in their lives, their home, their pack.
It’s too good. Too perfect. Too much like every fantasy I’ve had but never believed could be real.
And in my experience, when something seems too good to be true, it usually is. Something always goes wrong. Someone always leaves. Happiness like this doesn’t last.
But sitting here, full of apples and warmth and belonging, surrounded by the smell of cinnamon and pine and them, watching the tree lights twinkle while it snows outside and the fire crackles, maybe I can let myself hope.
Just for today.