Page 104 of Santa's Girl
I came undone, my body shattering around him, a cry tearing from my throat as waves of pleasure crashed through me. He followed, his grip tightening, his breath ragged as he spilled inside me, his lips finding mine, kissing me through the aftershocks, sweaty and messy and perfect.
We collapsed onto the rug by the fire, still tangled, my head on his chest, his heart pounding under my cheek. The cookies were definitely burning now, the smell of charred sugar faint in the air, but I didn’t care. Bear’s fingers traced lazy circles on my back, his skin still slick with sweat, and I pressed a kiss to his chest, tasting salt and him.
“Magical enough for you?” he murmured, his voice hoarse but soft.
I smiled, looking up at him, the firelight catching the warmth in his eyes. “Yeah,” I said. “But we’re still baking more cookies.”
He laughed, pulling me closer, and I knew this was it—our Christmas, our home, our everything. The record spun on, the fire crackled, and for the first time in a long time, we were whole.
26
BEAR
The clubhouse was a damn circus, and for once, I didn’t mind. The place was decked out like a Christmas card exploded—tinsel draped over the bar, a tree so big it barely fit under the ceiling, lights strung up crooked but glowing bright. Jinx had gone overboard, as usual, with a Santa hat perched on his head and a string of bells around his neck that jingled every time he moved. He was in the middle of the room, holding court with a bottle of whiskey in one hand, telling some exaggerated story about a run-in with a rival club that had Caroline doubled over, laughing so hard she was snorting. Margie and Becca’s mom, was right there with them, her cheeks flushed from the spiked eggnog, her laugh loud and warm, like she’d always belonged here. Even Becca’s little mutt, Stanley, was in on it, yapping and chasing tinsel scraps across the floor, his tail wagging like he was part of the crew.
I leaned against the bar, a beer in hand, watching it all unfold. Becca was across the room, her green sweater catching the light, her hair loose and wild, a tray of cookies in her hands as she passed them out to the boys. Pico grabbed three, grinning like a kid, while Axel pretended to inspect one like it wasevidence before shoving it in his mouth. She caught my eye, and that smile—that smile—hit me like a punch to the chest. It was Christmas Day, and for the first time in decades, it didn’t feel like a ghost was sitting on my shoulder. It felt like home.
I’d spent years dodging this holiday, letting it pass like just another day. Too many memories of empty tables, broken promises, people who weren’t there anymore. But today, the clubhouse was alive with, loud with laughter and bad singing, the air thick with pine and bourbon and the faint burn of Margie’s overbaked ham. Becca had done this—dragged me back into it, made me want it again. Her and her damn mug, her stubborn heart, her way of looking at me like I was worth saving. And now, here we were, surrounded by family—not just blood, but the kind you choose.
Jinx caught me staring at Becca and sauntered over, his bells jingling like a damn sleigh. “You’re lookin’ soft, Prez,” he said, smirking. “This girl’s got you wrapped around her finger.”
“Shut it,” I muttered, but there was no heat in it. He wasn’t wrong.
Caroline sidled up, looping her arm through Jinx’s. “Let him be, babe. Man’s in love. It’s cute.”
I rolled my eyes, but Becca was heading my way now, her hips swaying just enough to make my blood heat. She slid in next to me, her shoulder brushing mine, and handed me a cookie shaped like a lopsided star. “Made this one special for you,” she said, her voice teasing but soft.
I took a bite, the sugar melting on my tongue, and pulled her closer, my arm around her waist. “You’re trouble,” I said, low enough for just her to hear.
“You love it,” she whispered back, her lips brushing my ear, and damn if my whole body didn’t spark at the contact.
Back at thecabin that night, it was quieter, just us and the glow of the fire. The tree we’d chopped stood proud in the corner, lights twinkling, ornaments mismatched but perfect. The record player spun some old Sinatra Christmas tune, smooth and nostalgic, and the air smelled of pine and the cookies we’d salvaged from yesterday’s chaos. Becca was curled up on the couch, Stanley snoring at her feet, her head on my chest, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on my arm. The mug—hermug—sat on the coffee table, half-full of hot cocoa she’d spiked with a little whiskey.
“This feels right,” she murmured, her voice sleepy but content. “Like it’s always been this way.”
I kissed the top of her head, my chest tight. “Yeah,” I said. “It does.”
I didn’t say it out loud, but I was thinking it—how this was the first Christmas in forever that didn’t hurt. The cabin was full again, not just with lights and garland but with her. Her laugh, her warmth, her stubborn way of making everything better. My heart was full too, like it’d been cracked open and filled with something I thought I’d lost for good.
A few days later,I was downtown, the snow still clinging to the streets, the holiday buzz fading but not gone. I walked into the bank, the fancy one with the marble floors and the clerk who always looked at me like I didn’t belong in my kutte and boots. Didn’t care. I was there for one thing: the safe deposit box. The one I hadn’t touched in years.
The clerk handed it over, and I opened it alone in the vault, the metal cold under my fingers. Inside was the Boone family heirloom—a diamond ring, simple but heavy with history. My grandmother’s, then my mother’s. A single stone, set in gold, worn but shining like it carried every promise my family ever made. I held it up, the light catching the facets, and pictured it on Becca’s left finger. Pictured her face when I’d ask, her eyes bright, her hands trembling like they did in the snow when she took that compass. Pictured her saying yes, not just to a ring but to me, to us, to this life we were building.
I slipped the ring into my pocket, right next to my heart, and walked out into the cold. The future was waiting, and for the first time in a long damn time, I was ready for it.
EPILOGUE
AUNT MARGIE
Today felt magical.
And not just because of the snow-dusted trees or the ridiculous number of white roses Bear had shipped in from who-knows-where. It was her. Becca.
My niece.
My girl.
The same one who rolled into Pigeon Forge with her heart in pieces and somehow found something whole again. In the arms of a man I wouldn’t have picked for her in a million years—but now couldn’t imagine her without. Big, gruff, guarded Bear. Who treated her like treasure. Who loved her like it cost him nothing and everything at once.
