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She says it so simply, like it’s a matter-of-fact, and maybe, I think… It is.

Pizza arrives fresh from Enzo’s oven faster than any of us can eat it. At my insistence he finally sits down with us instead of fussing around serving everyone else.

“You are part of this family too,” I tell him.

He smiles. “I like that.”

The next few hours dissolve into pizza, wine, chocolate cake and stories, with Saint somehow managing to spin three different tales at once. Whilst Lennie insists his military career made him an expert pizza critic. Nobody believes him.

As dinner wraps up, we naturally migrate to the outdoor sofas where Saint theatrically announces that it’s present time.

Opening each one slowly, my breath catches. Every single gift is so thoughtful.

Jax’s gift is a beautiful handcrafted leather bookmark, embossed with a dragon, just like the one I wanted when I was a little girl. Nestled beneath it are several notebooks with matching pens.

“You remembered,” I whisper, blinking back tears.

He smiles. “I remember everything you tell me.”

Tears flow softly down my cheeks. Not because of the gifts, but because nobody has ever paid attention to the little things before.

I look around the courtyard at Luna, Lennie, Saint, Ember, Enzo, and Jax. “I don’t know what I did to deserve finding all of you.”

Saint reaches across and squeezes my hand. “You showed up.”

The others nod as though that alone was enough.

For the first time in my life, I don’t feel like someone standing on the outside, looking in. I feel like I’ve finally found myself and with that, I’ve found love, family, and a home.

Chapter 53

Luna

Christmas at Honeypot Lodge feels different. The countryside sparkles under the winter sun and the snow-dusted fields are impossibly beautiful. In the lounge, the fireplace crackles softly bathing the room in a warm amber glow, and it feels like coming home.

Enzo is humming Italian Christmas songs far too loudly as he moves around the kitchen, happiness radiating from him.

“I tell you,” he says, waving a wooden spoon in my direction. “If you steal one more roasted potato, I charge you double.” I pop the offending potato into my mouth anyway and he sighs theatrically. I don’t miss the smile tugging at his lips. “You are impossible.”

“You love me, admit it.”

“I tolerate you.”

Laughing, I wrap my arms around him in a quick hug before returning to basting the turkey.

Five months. It’s only been five months since we all met, and yet it feels impossible to remember life before them.

“You know,” he says, checking the gravy simmering gently on the hob. “My Maria always helped me cook Christmas dinner.” His smile softens, turning more wistful than sad. “I think…” He clears his throat. “I think she would have liked you.”

Emotion catches unexpectedly behind my ribs. “I’d have liked her too.”

“Sì, I know.”

For a moment neither of us speaks. The first time we all came here, I met a lonely widower trying to keep his wife's dream alive, thousands of miles from the family he'd left behind in Italy. Now he's surrounded by family again.

Not the one he lost, the one he found.

“I was worried about today,” he admits quietly. “But then I realise…” His smile returns. “I no spend Christmas alone. You all keep coming back.”