Page 78
The fire crackles softly in the lounge as everyone settles into the comfortable kind of contentment that only comes after a spectacular Christmas dinner. Enzo insisted he’d wash up. Naturally, nobody let him. Instead, we’d all squeezed into the kitchen—drying dishes, stealing leftovers, and arguing over the correct way to stack plates while Saint somehow turned loading the dishwasher into a full theatrical production.
The lights on the Christmas tree twinkle quietly in the corner and the room smells faintly of cinnamon, pine needles, and mulled wine. Lennie tops everyone’s glasses up while Chloe curls into Ember’s side beneath a tartan blanket. Saint has claimed an entire armchair for himself, insisting he needed a throne. And Bri is tucked beside me on the sofa, her socked feet disappearing beneath another blanket as she leans against my shoulder. It feels… Normal. Wonderfully, beautifully normal.
Enzo disappears for a moment before returning carrying an oversized wicker basket tied with red ribbon. “Now,” he announces. “Presents.”
Saint claps enthusiastically. “My favourite love language.”
“I thought your favourite love language was compliments,” I tease him.
“They’re tied.”
Laughter circles the room as Lennie and Luna settle on the sofa together and Enzo takes up the other armchair near Saint.
Slowly gifts circulate the room.
Lennie gives Enzo a beautifully engraved chef’s knife with La Famiglia etched into the blade. Tears well in Enzo's eyes that he insists aren't there.
Luna receives a leather sketchbook embossed with wildflowers from Bri. “I thought,” Bri says nervously, “you could use it for painting ideas.” Luna hugs her before she’s even finished speaking.
Saint unwraps a vintage tailoring book Ember somehow tracked down online. “I could kiss you.”
“Always hitting on me,” she jokes.
Saint laughs, rolling his eyes. “Darling, you’re not my type. I prefer men remember.”
“You flirt with everyone, Saint. It’s in your DNA.”
“It’s a gift, darling. Don’t be jealous."
Ember grins, unbothered, pulling Chloe closer under the blanket. “I’m not the one who needs to explain myself. I like men and women. I just happened to fall for someone who rocks eyeliner and combat boots better than everyone else.”
“Speaking of eyeliner,” Saint says, a little too quickly, reaching for his wine.
“Oh, don’t you dare deflect.” Ember’s eyes light up. “How is Jason, by the way?”
The room’s attention drifts toward him—unhurried but unmistakable. Saint’s ears go faintly pink. “We’re just friends.”
“Mm-hm, sure.”
He sighs, finally setting his glass down. “I’m just not ready yet. That’s all.”
The teasing softens without anyone announcing it has. Bri leans forward. “That’s allowed, you know. Nobody’s putting a clock on it.”
“Love’s patient like that,” I add. “It will wait. Or it will find you again when you are ready.”
Saint’s smile wobbles for a second before he waves it off with a flourish. “Careful. All of you being lovely at once. I might cry into my tailoring book.”
Laughter ripples around the room once more.
When Ember opens the necklace Chloe has secretly commissioned—a tiny ghost holding a black heart—she goes completely quiet for a moment.
“I love it,” she whispers, finding her voice as their foreheads touch.
Bri gifts me a photo of all of us from one of the first nights we met. Enzo insisted on taking a group photo—it was his late wife Maria's tradition, photographing guests for the wall. Bri convinced him he should be in this one too, so he set the timer on his phone, and I'm so glad she did. She must have snuck a copy from him at some point. Funny how back then I thought this was just another fan photo, a trophy for someone's wall. Now it's everything.
“I thought,” she says softly, “everyone deserves proof of where they found home.” Tears swell at the corners of my eyes. I swipe them away, pressing a tender kiss to her lips.
As the last ribbons are cleared away and wrapping paper litters the rug, conversation drifts lazily around the room. Glancing towards Lennie, I catch his eye, and he raises one eyebrow in acknowledgement. Nodding, I turn to Enzo, who gives the smallest salute.
