She laughs again, the sound pure and bright, relaxed instead of the tense, forced laughter we’ve been hearing for the last few days. “Thank you.”
Dillon finally steps forward too, his hands tucked in his pockets like he’s trying to pretend he isn’t proud of himself. “Since they’re all exposing themselves, I should probably admit I ordered these last week. They were supposed to get here tomorrow, but the package showed up early.”
He lifts a sleek, wrapped box from a luxury womenswear brand off the floor behind the couch and hands it over, his cheeks faintly pink. I groan. “Well, now you’ve gone and made it a competition.”
“That means I win.” He smirks at me, but both of us glance back at Roxie when she gasps after opening the box.
“Dillon.” She gleams as she pulls out the soft cotton loungewear, the expensive kind most women rarely buy for themselves, and Roxie probably never would.
He shrugs, his ears even pinker now. “I just thought you’d be more comfortable in it this winter.”
“We told Boone not to spoil you, but this one?” Chance jerks a thumb at Dillon. “This one told me not to buy anything and now look at him.”
Dillon glares halfheartedly. “That was before you bought candles that cost more than my internet bill.”
“They’reartisanal,” Chance shoots back.
I lift my own bag. “Are you guys done? Because mine is actually practical.”
Roxie giggles into her hands. “Oh, my God. What is happening right now?”
“We’re taking care of you,” I say simply. “No offense, sweetheart, but you packed sort of light, and now that you’re going to be staying here, you’re going to need a lot more stuff. This is only the beginning. This is what we bought when we didn’t know how long you’d be here, but now that it’s forever…”
Her expression softens, something warm and glowing settling into her features. She leans into the middle of us, letting Chance kiss her temple, Dillon touch her back, and me tip her chin up.
“If this is just a normal Wednesday,” she murmurs, glancing between us one by one. “What the heck is Christmas like in this house?”
I grin. Chance laughs. Dillon shakes his head, but I already know the truth. Christmas is going to be magical this year.
Because she’ll be here, and next year, so will the baby. All of which suddenly makes even ordinary fucking Wednesdays feel pretty damn extraordinary.
24
CHANCE
Over the next few weeks, everything settles into a weirdly beautiful rhythm. Life with three men and one pregnant woman under one roof is chaotic in ways none of us anticipates, but it becomes strangely familiar and warm.
I wake up every morning looking for Roxie without even thinking about it, checking for the sound of her humming in the kitchen or the scent of whatever lotion she’s stolen from Dillon’s bathroom that day. Boone hovers like a proud guard dog while Dillon analyzes every vitamin label like he’s prepping for a medical exam. And me?
I watch. I notice. Every tiny shift in her energy. Every variation of her smile. Every time she tries too hard to pretend she isn’t scared.
When her first prenatal appointment rolls around, there isn’t a question. We’re all going.
As always this time of year, the drive into town feels like something out of a postcard. Snow powders the rooftops and crews string lights across Main Street, wrapping garland aroundthe lampposts. A giant wreath hangs on the diner’s door, and holiday music drifts out of every store.
“Oh, wow,” Roxie murmurs from the backseat. “It’s already the holiday season?”
Boone shoots her a grin in the rearview mirror. “Time flies when you’re having fun.”
“I can’t believe I’ve been here this long already,” she says, leaning back and turning toward the window. “I thought I was only coming for a couple weeks. Tops.”
Personally, I can believe it’s been this long either. I feel every day how she’s becoming part of us in ways I can’t articulate without sounding like a lovesick idiot.
At the doctor’s office, a soft instrumental Christmas carol spills out as Boone pulls the door open.
On instinct, I look around the office, scanning for any trace of a threat even though I doubt Caruso’s men are hiding behind Pap smear pamphlets or whatever else they keep in here. A small, lit tree stands in the corner, decorated with tiny, knitted ornaments, and the air smells faintly like cinnamon tea.
Roxie hugs her arms around herself. “This feels, I don’t know, real, doesn’t it?”
