She gawks at us. Actually gawks. Sets down her fork with a clatter that draws looks from nearby tables.
Her scent spikes again—this time with genuine shock and something that might be offense.
"What?!" Her voice comes out louder than intended. She leans forward, pressing both hands flat on the table. "Who doesn't celebrate Christmas? Who's the Grinch of the group who thought that was a good idea?"
I can't help it—I glance at Theo. So does Grayson. It's automatic. Instinctive. Because yeah, if anyone in our pack is the Grinch, it's the ex-military Alpha who thinks emotions are weaknesses and sentimentality is a waste of time.
Theo catches our looks and rolls his eyes.
"I didn't suggest shit."
"You absolutely did," Grayson counters. "Last year when I tried to?—"
"Last year doesn't count because I got unexpectedly deployed." Theo's voice is flat. Final.
The tone that says the subject is closed.
Right. Last year. We'd actually planned to do something—Grayson had been excited about it, bought decorations and everything.Then Theo got the call that he was being deployed overseas for three months with barely forty-eight hours notice. By the time he got back, Christmas was over and Grayson had packed away all the decorations without comment.
We decided as a pack not to try again.
Seemed easier to just skip the whole thing than deal with the disappointment.
"Okay, so deployment screwed up last year," Reverie says, her tone softening slightly. "But what about your families? Don't you do anything with them?"
Families. Right. That complicated subject none of us like discussing.
Grayson shifts uncomfortably.
"My family's in Montana. It's a fifteen-hour drive or an expensive flight. We're not... particularly close anymore."
That's putting it mildly. Grayson's family basically disowned him when he quit being a paramedic to become a romance novelist. They saw it as throwing away his potential. Wasting his life on 'trashy books.' He hasn't been home in three years.
"Mine are in Oregon," I say. "Similar situation. Distance makes things complicated."
What I don't say is that my parents wanted me to join the family firm—a prestigious law practice that's been in the family for generations. Instead, I chose to open my own practice in a small town defending people who can't afford big-city lawyers. They took it as a personal insult.
We exchange Christmas cards. That's the extent of our relationship now.
Theo doesn't say anything for a long moment.
Just stares at his black coffee like it holds the secrets of the universe.
"Most of my family is dead," he says finally, his voice carefully neutral. "Military casualties or accidents. The ones who aren't dead, I'm not in contact with. It's just us now."
The table goes quiet.
Even the diner noise seems to fade—the clink of dishes, the Christmas music, the chatter from other tables. Just the three of us and Reverie in this booth with our collective family baggage spread out between us like unwrapped presents nobody wants.
Reverie's scent shifts again. The shock fades, replaced by something softer. Sadness mixed with understanding.
Like she gets it on a level most people wouldn't.
"So it's just the three of you," she says quietly.
Not a question. A statement.
"Just us," Grayson confirms.
