Page 40 of Tangled In Tinsel & Knots
But neither of us moves to help.
Then Chris appears, sees what’s happening, and immediately shoos the goat away from Hannah.
Kane and I both glare at him.
He catches our expressions and grins, completely unrepentant.
Traitor.
Hannah finally notices the goat situation, examines the damage to her dress, and gasps at the mess. Then she stares up at us from across the pen, catching the two of us watching, fully aware we’ve been enjoying the spectacle. The goat bleats, stretching toward her hem again as Chris holds it back, and she mutters that she’s going to grab a bucket of grain.
I should look away and get back to work. Give her distance. But my body refuses. My instincts have already decided that she’s the center of my map now. Even if she’s not ready.
I’ve lived with enough empty places to know what it feels like when something fills the quiet. Too many rescues came too late. Too many names I could not save. I have carried the weight of that since I was young, and I told myself I would never fail again.
So when she walked into my life smelling like fate, I refused to look away. I can’t. This is a gift I never thought I’d be trusted with. Someone who might choose me back. Someone I could protect and worship like the sky at midnight. I have lost enough. I will not lose her.
7
HANNAH
The petting zoo event was perfect.
Which is great. Fantastic. Exactly what I needed to prove I can handle events without the Confetti & Meatballs name attached.
So then why do I feel like I’m about to throw up?
I’m gripping the steering wheel of my Honda like it might escape if I let go, navigating Main Street at seven in the morning while my brain replays the same conversation on a loop.
Did you ever think you’d find your scent match at a petting zoo?
Noel’s voice. Those intense blue eyes. The way he said it like it was already decided, like my biology had made the choice before my brain could catch up.
Three gorgeous, dangerous, competent Alphas who smell like everything I’ve been craving without knowing it. And my life is a goddamn dumpster fire.
I just left Scot’s uncle Giuseppe’s house, desperate to talk to him. His car wasn’t there. Lights off. No answer when I knocked. Phone goes straight to voicemail.
Scot got to him. I know he did. Probably spun some story about me being unstable, unprofessional, a liability to the business. And Giuseppe, whom I’ve been trying to impress for six months, is ghosting me like I’m a telemarketer selling timeshares.
My phone rings through the car’s Bluetooth, and Dad’s name flashes on the screen. I answer. “Hey, Dad.”
“Morning, sweetheart. Just calling to remind you about tomorrow night.”
My mind goes blank. “Hmm. Remind me again.”
“Your mother’s family’s Christmas dinner.” His voice is gentle, patient, like he’s talking to a child. “We discussed this last month, remember?”
Oh, shit. Oh, no. The annual gathering at my aunt’s Victorian nightmare where Mom’s family pretends they care about us for exactly three hours before going back to ignoring our existence for another year.
“Dad, I really don’t think I can make it. Work’s been crazy, and there’s so much I need to figure out with?—”
“This is something we do for your mom. You know this.”
The guilt trip. The one I can never argue with because he’s right. A memory surfaces, sharp and painful. I’m standing on a stool in our kitchen, watching Mom frost sugar cookies shaped like stars. She’s humming “Silent Night,” dark hair pulled back in the same ponytail I always wear, flour dusting her red apron.
“Why do we go to Great-Aunt Martha’s if she’s always mean to us?” I’d asked, watching her create perfect frosting swirls.
Mom had smiled. “Because family is important, baby. Even when they make it hard. Sometimes showing up is the most loving thing we can do.”
