Page 48 of A Pack of Mistletoe
His usual grin falters. What replaces it is smaller. Realer. He sighs and leads me to the couch, tugging me into his lap before I can protest. I squeak, half-laughing, worried I’ll crush him, but he’s solid and unbothered.
Logan sits beside us, calm but alert, like he already knows where this conversation is headed.
“I love Christmas,” Evander says.
I glance at his outfit, then at the massive list on the wall, and raise a brow. He chuckles at the expression I’m sure screamsobviously.But something in my chest tugs painfully. I’ve never loved Christmas. I’ve never… understood it.
“I haven’t always loved it,” Logan adds.
I blink, surprised. He doesn’t strike me as jolly, but I’d still seen him smile at the festival, even buy a few ornaments.
“Logan’s downplaying it,” Evander teases, running a hand through Logan’s hair. “He was a total Scrooge. Wouldn’t even stay in the room if Christmas music was playing.”
Logan hums, leaning into Evander’s touch. The soft purr that rumbles from his chest warms the air between us.
Then Logan’s hands slide to my waist, guiding me until I’m half sprawled across both of them—my legs draped over Evander’s, my back pressed against Logan’s chest. I shift slightly, and his cock hardens beneath me. My breath catches. Evander’s eyes flick between us, darkening.
“What changed?” I ask softly, trying to ignore how my pulse is pounding in my ears.
“Evander,” Logan murmurs, voice rough.
Evander rolls his eyes, but his cheeks go pink. “Do you know why most people love Christmas?”
I tilt my head. “Gifts? Pretty lights? Religious obligation?”
He chuckles. “No. It’s nostalgia.”
I blink, caught off guard.
“Childhoods are made of moments—good and bad. They shape how we see the whole world. Holidays sit right at the center of the good ones. People love Christmas because they remember what it felt like to be loved, safe, seen. But the ones who don’t—” He pauses, his voice gentling. His nose brushes behind my ear, scent-marking softly, and my breath stutters. “The ones who don’t… never got to feel that in the first place.”
My chest tightens until it hurts. Tears sting my eyes.
“I… Christmas was always about adult parties,” I manage. “Networking. Appearances. I was either tucked away in my room or left with a nanny. Presents were about status. Never… never about love.”
Logan’s voice is low. “Mine were shouting matches. Fights about money. When my mom was alive, she tried. After she died, we stopped trying.”
The grief in his eyes steals my breath. I twist, throwing my arms around his neck. He pulls me in hard, his face buried in my throat. I can feel his lips press there—soft, reverent.
When I pull back, my cheeks are wet. Evander wipes one tear away with his thumb.
“So,” he says quietly, “we start over. We make new memories. New nostalgia. We build your Christmas from scratch, until it’s everything it should’ve been all along.”
Logan's voice is rough. “You deserve that, Rose.”
Tears spill freely now. Evander’s thumb catches them as he whispers, “Please don’t cry, sweet girl.”
I shake my head, curls falling in my face. “It’s just—no one’s ever thought to do something like this for me. To give me somethinggoodto remember.”
Evander smiles softly. I press my face into his shoulder, and he hums, holding me close while Logan wraps himself around us from behind—his warmth, his steadiness, his quiet care. I’m cocooned between them, safe and seen in a way that undoes me completely.
“Not to break up this moment,” Harlan’s voice rumbles from the doorway, “but I need you to sign something.”
I laugh weakly, swiping at my eyes as he hands me a stack of papers. “What’s this?”
“City permits,” he says. “For an accessory nest in your backyard.”
My mouth drops open.
