"But you—" My voice cracks. "You're making me want things I never thought I'd want. You're making me want to stay. You're making me want everything. And that's terrifying, but also—"
I reach out, taking his hand.
"Will you be my boyfriend?"
He just stares at me, hot chocolate forgotten, eyes wide.
"Too soon?" My heart is pounding so hard it might break through my ribcage.
"Yes."
I blink. "Yes?"
"Yes." He's smiles. "Yes, I'll be your boyfriend. That's actually perfect timing because—" He pauses. "I have something to show you too."
"What?"
He sets down his mug and takes my hand. "Come with me."
CHAPTER 33
ACE
THE HOUSE HAS transformed from a war room into a full-blown celebration. Every corner is packed with people. Someone's started music. Mariah Carey, because of course. It's December, and that's the law.
I'm navigating through the chaos, Devon's hand in mine, weaving between bodies and discarded winter gear, pulling him through the living room where Becker's reenacting his goal with elaborate hand gestures while Wall provides unnecessary commentary.
"Where are we going?" Devon asks, squeezing my hand.
"You'll see."
We pass through the kitchen where Frank, Kayla, and Hunter are distributing soup and hot chocolate and coffee like they're running a field hospital. The smell of cinnamon hangs thick in the air, mixing with wet wool and that specific scent of too many people in too small a space.
I lead him toward the garage, the noise level decreasing slightly as we move away from the main party. My heart's hammering against my ribs, and my palms are sweating despite the lingering cold.
The garage is warmer than the rest of the house, portable heaters still blasting, and the adoption station is somehow still operational. Leila's at the laptop, video-chatting with what appears to be a family on the other end, gesturing enthusiastically at photos of a tabby cat.
Mama Paws is nearby, phone pressed to her ear, and when she spots us, her face lights up. She holds up one finger—wait—and finishes her conversation. "Yes, of course. We'll send you all the information. Thank you so much. Merry Christmas." She ends the call and walks over, beaming. "Ready?"
Devon looks between us, brow furrowed. "Ready for what?"
I catch Mama Paws's eye and nod.
She moves to the mudroom door, a small space off the garage that Washington uses for coats and boots, and opens it slowly.
There she is, sitting patiently in the doorway, her cloudy eyes pointed in our general direction but her tail already wagging like she knows exactly who we are.
Devon gasps, the sound punched out of him. "Candy!"
He's on his knees before I can blink, crawling across the garage floor, and Candy's whole body starts wiggling with joy, her tail going into overdrive. The second Devon's hands touch her, she's all over him, licking his face, pressing into his chest, making these happy whining sounds that dogs make when they've been reunited with their person.
"What are you doing here, babes?" Devon's voice is muffled against her fur. "Huh? What are you doing?"
I crouch down beside them, my knee protesting slightly, and reach out to scratch behind Candy's ears. She leans into the touch without taking her attention away from Devon, like she can love us both at once.
"So," I start, and my voice comes out raspy. I clear my throat. "I know it's not Christmas yet."
Devon looks up at me, confusion written all over his face.
