Killian moved toward the massive couch pit, already adjusting cushions.
April stood, legs slightly stiff from sitting, and let herself be guided toward comfort.
The tower stayed on the table, still standing, her block buried somewhere in the middle, unread. The thing she'd hoped someone would find, staying hidden after all.
Maybe that was safer anyway.
TWENTY EIGHT
Christmas in April
April
The couch pit was absurdly comfortable. April walked over and sat at the edge, sinking into cushions that felt like they'd been engineered by someone who took the concept of "plush" personally. The fabric was soft against her palms, the support just firm enough to keep her from feeling swallowed.
The men followed.
Killian reached for the remote on the side table.
"No," Jax said immediately.
"Absolutely not," Caleb added.
Killian picked it up anyway, his mouth curved into a definite grin. "Earnings calls are educational."
April leaned forward and took the remote out of Killian’s hand like she was removing a weapon. “No work,” she said. “Not even pretend work.”
Jax grinned. “She’s issuing operational policy.”
Killian handed over the remote without protest, still grinning.
Jax leaned over Caleb’s shoulder. "Why don't we watch someone save Christmas?"
Silence. Then Mateo’s voice, carefully innocent. "Oh, yes. Let's watch Caleb save Christmas."
"Which time?" Liam asked, deadpan.
"There are multiple Christmas salvation events," Jiro added quietly.
Caleb's face went through several emotions in rapid succession. "You're all terrible."
"We're supportive," Jax corrected, grinning.
Liam plucked the remote from Caleb's hand and navigated to the Heartland channel. "We're in luck. The one where he rescues the town's Christmas pageant from a snowstorm is on right now."
He pressed play.
The screen flickered to life with opening credits and snow-covered small-town aesthetics. And there was Caleb. In a cable-knit sweater, earnest and windswept, visibly invested in whether the children got their pageant.
April had the strange thought that he existed in two places at once, here beside her and up there on that giant screen, saving fictional Christmas.
She opened her mouth to comment on it, but the remote-jostling had created a ripple effect through the couch. She was being gently bobbled toward the center.
Mateo settled beside her properly now, his thigh pressing against hers. His hand found her ankle before the opening credits finished, thumb tracing a slow circle against the bone.
"Comfortable?" he asked, and his voice was warm honey.
"Yes."
