Chapter 23
HANNAH
The town square is absolutely packed, and I’m about thirty seconds from losing my mind completely.
Families crowd every available inch of space in front of the enormous Christmas tree, children perched on parents’ shoulders, couples pressed together sharing body heat.
The choir is singing carols to fill the awkward waiting time, their voices rising into the crisp night air, and the sky above is black and absolutely dripping with stars.
It’s perfect. The decorations I spent weeks coordinating. The atmosphere and crowd are exactly what I wanted.
Except my reindeer isn’t here.
My star attraction that I promised the council would blow everyone’s minds—currently missing somewhere between a mountain cabin and this town square.
I’m going to throw up. Or pass out. Or both, in some order I haven’t determined yet.
“They’re on their way,” Chris says quietly, his arm wrapped around my shoulders, his solid warmth the only thing keeping me from falling apart. “Won’t be long now.”
That slight tension threading through his voice tells me he’s just as worried as I am but doing a better job of hiding it than me.
I check my phone for what has to be the hundredth time. No new messages. The last text from Kane just said “Driving fast” with about seventeen exclamation points and what I think was supposed to be a reindeer emoji but came out as a horse wearing a party hat.
Margaret, the council woman who’s been alternating between being my biggest champion and my harshest critic throughout this entire process, is approaching with that tight-lipped smile that means bad news is coming wrapped in professional politeness.
My stomach clenches.
“Hannah.” She checks her watch. “We really need to start. The schedule called for the lighting to begin ten minutes ago. We can’t keep everyone waiting much longer. Parents have children who need to get to bed, the elderly are getting cold, and frankly, people are starting to get restless.”
I straighten my spine and force every ounce of confidence I don’t actually possess into my voice. “Just a few more minutes. I promise. We’re starting very soon.”
“You said that five minutes ago.”
“And now we’re five minutes closer to it being true.”
Her eyebrow arches, but I hold my ground, keeping my expression pleasant and professional even though my insides are staging a full rebellion.
“Trust me,” I add, because apparently I’ve lost all sense of self-preservation. “It will be worth the wait.”
Margaret’s expression says she’s not remotely convinced, but she nods curtly and retreats to where the other council members are clustered together like a flock of judgmental birds, all checking their watches and exchanging meaningful glances.
The second she’s out of earshot, I deflate against Chris. “I’m dying. This is what dying feels like.”
“You’re going to be okay.”
“My organs are liquefying from stress. I can feel it happening.”
He chuckles. “That’s not how organs work.”
I check my phone again. Still nothing. “What if they don’t make it? What if something happened? What if Scot did something else and they’re hurt or—”
“Hey.” Chris turns me to face him, his hands on my shoulders. “They’re coming. Kane and Noel are the best at what they do. If anyone can pull off a miracle, it’s them.”
I force myself to actually stare out at the crowd instead of just seeing a blur of anxiety-inducing faces. Children are laughing, pointing at the decorations, their eyes wide with wonder. Couples are swaying to the choir music. People are smiling, genuinely happy to be here.
I did this. I coordinated all of this. Whatever happens with the reindeer, this moment exists because of my work.
It helps. A little.
“Thank you,” I whisper. “I really needed to hear that.”
“I know.” He presses a kiss to my temple.
My eyes keep drifting to the street at the edge of the square, scanning desperately for any sign of a familiar truck, faces, or a certain troublemaking reindeer who’d better appreciate everything I’ve gone through for him.
Then I see them.
Kane and Noel, sprinting down the street toward the square like demons are chasing them.
And Noel is carrying Corn Dog in his arms. The animal’s legs dangle awkwardly, his head bobbing with each of Noel’s powerful strides.
Relief rushes through me. I give Margaret a thumbs-up with probably way too much enthusiasm, and I see her signal to someone near the sound system. The choir music begins to shift, transitioning into the processional piece we rehearsed.
“They made it,” Chris breathes.
Noel reaches the edge of the crowd, panting hard, sweat on his face despite the freezing temperature, and sets Corn Dog down on the ground—
And Corn Dog immediately bolts.
My heart plummets. “No, no, no—”
The reindeer takes off running, weaving between startled audience members who jump out of his way with surprised yelps and nervous laughter.
Chris is already moving, ready to chase him down, except—
Wait.
Corn Dog is running directly toward me.
Not away into the crowd to wreak havoc or to the food vendors or the shiny decorations. Straight toward where I’m standing near the stage like I’m a beacon calling him home.
People are pointing at him, phones appearing everywhere to capture the moment. Children are squealing with delight, calling out, “Rudolph! Rudolph!” even though he doesn’t have a red nose.
I step forward, dropping to one knee on the cold cobblestones. “Come here, buddy! Come on!”
He rushes to me like I’m the only person in the entire world who matters, his hooves clattering on the snow-cleared stones, and I barely have time to brace myself before he’s there.
He almost bowls me over completely, his momentum carrying us both backward, but I manage to stay upright and wrap my arms around his neck.
He licks my face with his rough tongue, and I’m laughing. “Oh, I missed you too, you ridiculous creature. I’m so glad you could make it.”
He unleashes that happy bleating sound, nuzzling against me like we’ve been separated for years instead of hours, and I swear on everything I own that this reindeer is smiling.
Cameras are flashing everywhere. Everyone is watching and filming, and for once, the attention doesn’t make me want to crawl into a hole.
“Okay, superstar,” I whisper in his ear. “Ready to do your thing? Don’t make me look bad.”
I stand and walk him up the small ramp to the stage, moving slowly so he follows without resistance. He’s being remarkably well behaved, probably exhausted from whatever insane adventure he’s been on today. I’ll get the full story later, and something tells me it’s going to be wild.
At the side of the enormous tree—which seems to stretch forever into the night sky, decorated with thousands of ornaments and wrapped in lights that are currently dark and waiting—sits the prop we set up earlier. A beautiful red carriage styled to look like Santa’s sleigh.
I pick up the leather reins with bells attached and the decorative harness, carefully securing it around Corn Dog’s body so it looks like he’s drawing the sleigh. The bells jingle softly with his movements, and the crowd coos appreciatively.
“Look at him!” someone calls out. “He’s adorable!”
“Mommy, is that really one of Santa’s reindeer?”
Corn Dog seems to understand he’s being admired, because he stands taller and lifts his head regally. Of course he loves being the center of attention. That’s peak Corn Dog energy right there.
He starts sniffing the tree with intense focus, his nose working overtime, and I gently redirect his attention before he can try to eat any ornaments. “Not tonight, buddy. We’ve come too far for you to ruin it by snacking on decorations,” I whisper.
Chris winks at me from his position on the far side of the tree. He’s holding the lighting controller, ready to work his magic on my signal.
The festive music fades to silence.
My heart hammers so hard I hear it in my ears. I stand up straighter in my red dress, a fitted number with a sweetheart neckline, and adjust my stance in my red heels. My hair is loose around my face, curled softly, and I’m suddenly very aware of how many people are staring at me.
Hundreds of faces. Families. Children. The council members with their judging eyes. My Alphas watching with pride.
I activate the small microphone clipped to my neckline.
“Good evening, everyone, and welcome to Whispering Grove’s annual tree lighting ceremony!”
The crowd cheers, and something settles in my chest. I can do this. I was born to do this.
“For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Hannah Parker, and I’ve had the incredible honor of coordinating this year’s holiday celebrations. And what fun they’ve been.”
More cheers. My shoulders relax a fraction.
“Whispering Grove is a special place. A beautiful community where I’ve experienced more kindness, more warmth, and more genuine holiday spirit than I ever imagined possible.”
I glance at Kane and Noel in the audience, then at Chris by the tree, my heart fluttering.
“Christmas is a time to remember the people we love and celebrate how much they mean to us. It’s a time for family, whether that’s the family we were born into or the family we’ve chosen along the way. It’s a time for gratitude, for hope, and for believing that magic is real.”
The crowd has gone quiet, listening, and unexpected tears prick at my eyes.
“This year, I found my family. I found my home. And I found magic in the most unexpected places.”
Corn Dog perks up at the sound of my voice and nudges me.
“Speaking of which, we’re incredibly lucky tonight to have a very special guest. One of Santa’s own reindeer has traveled all the way from the North Pole to help us with our tree lighting.”
The children in the audience start bouncing with excitement. “He is still in training, and his name is Corn Dog. So, he’s going to do us the honor of turning on our lights this year. Everyone, please give him a warm Whispering Grove welcome!”