"I haven't felt this much peace with my pack mates in years, Reverie. Actual genuine peace. Not just absence of conflict or temporary calm between inevitable storms but real contentment and harmony and feeling settled in my soul."
He continues quietly, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper, "I'm resting right now—really truly resting for the first time in longer than I can remember—because it's the first time I've felt relaxed enough and safe enough to let my guard down completely without fear. It's the first time in months that Theo is sleeping past four in the morning instead of having those terrible PTSD episodes that wake him up in a panic thinking he's still deployed in a war zone. It's the first time Nash hasn't needed to compulsively fix something or work on a complicated project just to distract himself from his thoughts and traumatic memories."
His voice drops even lower, more intimate, more raw and exposed.
"We're at peace. All three of us. Genuinely, deeply, fundamentally at peace for the first time in years. And the one person who suddenly caused this fundamental change—thecatalyst for everything feeling right and settled and good—is standing directly in front of me right now."
I stare at him in absolute disbelief, my heart pounding so hard and fast I'm surprised it doesn't bruise my ribs from the inside. Tears prick sharply at the corners of my eyes, threatening to fall and ruin this perfect moment.
Me? I did that? I helped them find peace and healing? I'm the reason they're resting and recovering and feeling safe enough to let their guards down? How is that even possible? I'm just... me. Just regular unremarkable Reverie who can't even stay awake through a self-defense class. Who burns toast half the time. Who trips over nothing. How could I possibly be important enough to change anything for anyone, let alone three incredible Alphas?
But he's looking at me like I hung the moon.
Like I'm the most important person in his world. As though I truly do matter. Like I'm enough exactly as I am.
He whispers, barely audible, his lips still brushing mine with each word.
"So what if we make things official? What if we ask you to stay permanently with us? What would you say to that?"
"Seriously?" The word comes out small and uncertain and slightly choked with overwhelming emotion. "You're being serious right now? This isn't a joke or a hypothetical scenario or wishful thinking on my part?"
He nods slowly, deliberately, his eyes never leaving mine for even a second.
"Completely serious. We've talked about it extensively and thoroughly. All three of us. Multiple long conversations over the past few days while you've been sleeping or creating content or reading. We're in complete agreement. Unanimous decision. No doubts."
They talked about me. About keeping me. About wanting me permanently. They all agreed. All three of them want this. Want me?
Then he adds with a slight smile that doesn't quite reach his suddenly desperate eyes, "And I'm so desperate to kiss you right now that I'll probably actually die if I don't. So if you could give me explicit verbal permission that would be great because I'm hanging by a thread here."
I giggle despite the overwhelming emotional intensity of the moment, despite the tears threatening to fall, despite feeling like my heart might burst with too much feeling.
"You can kiss?—"
He closes the remaining microscopic distance before I finish the sentence, his lips capturing mine in a kiss that's long and deep and absolutely perfect and everything I've ever wanted but never thought I'd have.
His hands move from my face to tangle in my hair, tilting my head to deepen the kiss even further. My soapy wet hands come up to grip his shirt desperately, not caring at all that I'm probably leaving wet handprints and soap stains on the white fabric.
The kiss tastes like maple honey with a pinch of promise, possibility, and permanent belonging.
To think I didn't need a mistletoe to get the sweetest kiss from my shirtless cowboy.
CHAPTER 33
Losing My Mind
~GRAYSON~
Reverie squeals—loud and high-pitched and absolutely delighted—fanning her face dramatically with one hand while staring at the manuscript pages in her other hand with wide, slightly scandalized, completely entertained eyes.
We're in the cozy living room of our luxury cabin at Winter Pine Lodge.
The fireplace crackles warmly, casting dancing shadows across the exposed timber beams and rustic furniture. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, snow continues falling steadily, adding to the already impressive accumulation that's kept us beautifully trapped here for days.
She's curled up on the oversized leather couch, wearing one of the cashmere sweaters we bought her—the cream-colored one that makes her look impossibly soft—and those knitted thigh-high socks that drive me insane every time I see them. Her hair is in a messy bun, a few strands escaping to frame her face.
She looks adorable.
And scandalized.
