Chapter 10
Jules
Christmas Eve
Five weeks later, Jules stood in the middle of her childhood home and marveled at how much could change in such a short time.
The kitchen where she'd once waded through floodwater now gleamed with fresh paint and new cabinets.
The pipes behind the walls had been completely replaced—not just patched, but upgraded to modern standards.
The floors that had warped and buckled were now smooth hardwood, salvaged from a barn two towns over that Adam had somehow known about.
Even the old furnace that had wheezed and clanked through every winter of her memory had been replaced with a system so quiet she sometimes forgot it was running.
And she hadn't paid for any of it.
Oh, she'd tried. She'd argued and protested and flat-out refused, but it turned out that wolves were just as stubborn as she was.
More so, actually. The pack had descended on her house like a furry construction crew, and every time she'd attempted to write a check or hand over cash, someone had conveniently lost it, or returned it, or—in one memorable instance—eaten it.
"That was Lex," Riko had told her with a completely straight face. "He gets peckish."
She still wasn't sure if he'd been joking.
"You're going to freeze standing there with the door open."
Jules turned to find Lex leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching her with those amber eyes that still made her stomach flip.
He wore a dark henley that stretched across his shoulders and jeans that did very nice things for his thighs.
A month of being mated to him, and she still couldn't quite believe he was hers.
"Just taking it all in," she said. "It looks so different."
He crossed the room and wrapped his arms around her from behind, his chin resting on top of her head. Through the bond, she felt his contentment, warm and steady like a banked fire.
"Different good or different bad?"
"Different good." She leaned back into his warmth. "I keep expecting to see the water stains on the ceiling or hear the faucet dripping. But it's all just... fixed."
"That's what pack does." His arms tightened. "Takes care of its own."
Its own. She was pack now. Not just Lex's mate, but a member of the Central Colorado Pack in her own right.
Riko had made that official two weeks ago, in a ceremony that had involved a lot of howling and very little clothing.
She'd stood in a clearing under the full moon while wolves circled her, and instead of being terrified, she'd felt. .. welcomed. Accepted.
Like she finally belonged somewhere.
"We should head over," Lex said. "Faye will kill us if we're late."
Tonight was the pack's Christmas Eve gathering at Adam and Faye's place.
Her best friend had been planning it for weeks, determined to merge human holiday traditions with whatever wolves did to celebrate the winter solstice.
The result, according to the group text Jules had been added to, would involve "food, booze, and absolutely no fighting unless it's over the last piece of pie. "
Jules grabbed her coat and the basket of homemade cookies she'd spent all afternoon baking. Lex took the basket from her—he always took things from her, always insisted on carrying whatever she held—and ushered her out to his truck.
The drive to Adam and Faye's was short, the roads finally clear after weeks of snow.
Christmas lights twinkled from every house they passed, and somewhere in town, she could hear carolers singing.
Snow Ridge at Christmas was like something out of a Hallmark movie, all cozy charm and small-town magic.
She loved it. She'd always loved it. But this year, for the first time, she wasn't watching the magic from the outside.
She was part of it.
"You're doing that thing again," Lex said.
"What thing?"
"The thing where you get quiet and I can feel you being all happy but you won't tell me why."
She laughed, reaching over to take his hand where it rested on the gear shift. "I'm just... grateful. For all of this. For you."
He lifted her hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. "I'm the grateful one. You could have run. Most humans would have."
"Most humans don't have a grumpy wolf following them around for months, learning their coffee order and giving them succulent plant care advice."
"Fred needed better light. I was being helpful."
"You were being a stalker."
"Watched," he corrected, but she could feel his amusement through the bond. "I watched you."
They pulled up to Adam and Faye's new cabin, which was lit up like a beacon in the darkness.
Cars and trucks lined the long driveway, and through the windows, Jules could see people moving around inside.
The door burst open before they'd even made it up the porch steps, and Faye launched herself at Jules in a hug that nearly knocked them both into a snowbank.
"You're here! Finally! I was starting to think Lex had kidnapped you again."
"It was one time," Lex muttered. "And technically, you're the one who started it when you kidnapped her and left her in my cabin."
"Best decision I ever made." Faye grabbed Jules's arm and dragged her inside, leaving Lex to follow with the cookies.
The cabin was warm and loud and packed with people. Jules recognized most of them now. Addison waved from across the room where she stood with Riko, both of them wearing matching ugly Christmas sweaters that Jules suspected Faye had forced on them.
"Drinks are in the kitchen, food's everywhere, and there's a pool going on whether Lex will actually smile tonight," Faye informed her. "I've got twenty bucks on yes, so don't let me down."
"I'll do my best."
The evening passed in a blur of laughter and food and warmth.
Jules found herself welcomed into conversations, pulled onto the couch between Faye and Addison, handed drinks and plates of food by pack members whose names she was still learning.
Lex stayed close, never more than an arm's reach away, his presence a steady anchor.
At some point, someone produced a guitar, and the pack started singing badly, enthusiastically, and with far too many verses that Jules was pretty sure they were making up on the spot.
She laughed until her sides hurt, leaning against Lex's chest while he rumbled along to songs she'd never heard before.
"Having fun?" he murmured against her ear.
"The best." She tilted her head back to look at him. "Thank you for this."
"For what?"
"For everything. For not giving up on me. For letting me in." She laid her palm against the side of his face. "For choosing me."
His eyes softened, that hard amber going warm and liquid. "I didn't choose you, Jules. You were always mine. I just finally stopped being too scared to do something about it."
She kissed him hard, right there in the middle of the party, not caring who saw. Someone wolf-whistled. Someone else yelled "Get a room!" But Lex just smiled against her mouth and kissed her deeper.
Later, when the party had wound down and they'd said their goodbyes, Lex drove them back to his cabin.
Their cabin now, really. Jules had officially moved in two weeks ago, her few salvageable belongings merged with his sparse furnishings.
It still felt new, this life they were building together.
But it also felt right. She wasn't sure what she was going to do with her parent's house yet, but she figured she'd worry about that after the holidays.
"I have something for you," Lex said as they walked through the door.
"Christmas isn't until tomorrow."
"It's after midnight. Close enough."
He disappeared into the bedroom and returned with a small wrapped box. Jules took it, suddenly nervous, and carefully peeled back the paper.
Inside was a necklace. A delicate silver chain with a small pendant—a wolf and a sun, intertwined.
"Lex..." Her throat tightened.
"The sun is you," he said, as if she couldn't figure that out. "And the wolf is—"
"You." She looked up at him, eyes burning. "It's beautiful."
He took the necklace from her trembling fingers and fastened it around her neck. The pendant settled just below her collarbone, cool against her skin.
"There's something else." He pulled a folded piece of paper from his back pocket. "This is the real gift."
Jules unfolded it, scanning the contents. It took her a moment to understand what she was looking at, and when she did, she gasped.
"This is... Lex, this is the deed to my house."
"Paid off. Free and clear." He shifted uncomfortably, looking anywhere but at her. "I know you didn't want the pack to pay for the repairs, and I know you're stubborn as hell about money, but I figured if it was already done, you couldn't argue."
"I can absolutely argue—"
"It's your family home, Jules. It should be yours.
Really yours. No mortgage, no debt, no stress.
" He finally met her eyes. "And before you say anything, this isn't charity.
This is me taking care of what's mine. And you're mine.
Your home is my home. Your debts are my debts. That's how this works."
She stared at him, this grumpy, grunting, impossibly generous man who had somehow become the center of her entire world.
"I don't know what to say."
"Say you'll stop arguing with me about money."
A laugh bubbled up through her tears. "I absolutely will not."
"Stubborn woman."
"Grumpy wolf."
He pulled her into his arms, and she went willingly, pressing her face against his chest and breathing in the scent that had become home. Pine and snow and something wild underneath. Her man.
Her wolf.
"I love you," she whispered.
"I love you too." He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "Merry Christmas, sunshine."
"Merry Christmas."
From his spot on the windowsill, Fred watched them with silent, succulent judgment.
Jules had moved him back here after her house was finished—the light in Lex's bedroom really was better—and he'd thrived in the weeks since.
New growth sprouted from his base, tiny green shoots reaching toward the winter sun.
New beginnings, Jules thought. For all of them.
Outside, snow began to fall, soft and silent, blanketing Snow Ridge in white. Inside, wrapped in the arms of her mate, Jules watched the flakes drift past the window and felt, for the first time in longer than she could remember, completely and utterly at peace.
She'd walked into that garage with a broken-down car and a dying succulent and a life that was falling apart at the seams.
And she'd found a home. A new family. A man who loved her despite—or maybe because of—her tendency to babble when nervous and name her houseplants.
Not bad for a small-town girl who talked too much.
Not bad at all.