“Oxford, you can’t eat the garland!” I laugh, pulling the shiny decoration away from his investigating mouth. “No matter how fancy it looks, it’s not edible.”
Oxford gives me a look that clearly says he’s considering this advisory information rather than a firm rule. His new Christmas scarf—that Granny May finished knitting yesterday—is secured at his neck.
“One more nibble and no strawberry tarts for you,” I warn, wagging my finger.
He huffs and turns away, pride wounded, but strawberry addiction is stronger than his curiosity. I smile as I watch him trot over to his bed, now a custom-built platform with memory foam that rivals our own mattress. The “OXFORD” nameplateabove it was Finn’s idea, gold-plated because, as he put it, “our llama deserves luxury.”
It’s hard to believe that a year has passed since I first arrived in Snowflake Valley. What started as a “hot mess” Christmas has become my forever home, complete with a job I adore, a town that knows me as more than just “the twerking omega,”… thank God!, and three mates who love me in ways I never thought possible.
My little room, the one tucked under the eaves with a window seat overlooking the forest, has been transformed into my nest. The guys wanted me to choose one of the larger bedrooms, but this one felt right.
The front door bursts open, bringing a gust of cold air and the scent of pine. Gabe and Everett stomp in, carrying what must be the tenth Christmas tree we’ve acquired this season.
“Another one?” I laugh. “We’re running out of rooms!”
“This one’s for Charlie,” Everett explains, brushing snow from his coat. “She’s coming for dinner and mentioned her apartment feels empty.”
“So naturally, you cut down an entire tree,” I tease.
Gabe sets it carefully by the door. “It’s a small one.”
“By whose standards? A giant’s?” I ask, but I’m smiling as I cross the room to kiss them both, first Everett, then Gabe. Everett’s crisp, fresh scent and Gabe’s warm, spicy scent still make my omega purr.
Both are thriving.
Gabe’s consulting firm has been a great success, even in this small town. He started with just three clients, renting a tiny office above Frosty’s Ice Cream store, but word quickly spread about the “city finance guy” who could work miracles.
“How’s the new mayor doing today?” I ask Everett, straightening his collar. The special election after Mayor Reynolds’ conviction was a landslide—no one else even wantedto run against Everett after he helped save the town’s Christmas, and there was no one better for the job.
“Exhausted,” he admits with a smile. “The budget meeting ran late, but we finally approved funding for the community center renovation.”
I still get a little thrill every time someone calls him “Mayor Pine.” It suits him perfectly, the way he listens to everyone, remembers their concerns, and actually follows through on his promises, the complete opposite of his predecessor.
The court’s decision to sentence former Mayor Reynolds to community service involving replanting every single tree he’d orchestrated the theft of, was perhaps the most poetic justice I’ve ever witnessed. Especially since Everett, as the new mayor, gets to supervise his progress.
The kitchen timer dings, pulling me back to the present.
“That’s the gingerbread,” I say, hurrying to the oven. “Finn should be back from the library any minute.”
Finn has adapted surprisingly well to rural life. He’s started a book club at the library that has the reading community absolutely smitten, especially Walter, who debates literary theory with him for hours. He still has his editor’s job and works from home most days, especially when it’s cold.
As if on cue, the front door opens again, bringing in Finn’s chatter and the scent of old books and winter air.
“It’s officially cold season,” he announces, stomping snow from his boots. “I’m considering hibernation until April. And I’ve brought reinforcements!” Finn calls out, stepping aside to reveal my parents standing behind him, suitcases in hand.
“Mom! Dad!” I squeal, rushing to embrace them. “You’re early!”
My mother hugs me tight. “We couldn’t wait another day,” she says, pulling back to look at me. “And it seems we arrived just in time for gingerbread.”
“The drive wasn’t too bad?” I ask as Gabe helps my Dad with their bags.
“Not at all, and your mother only asked if we were there yet about twenty times.”
“It was thirty, at least,” Mom corrects, already making her way to Oxford. “And how’s my favorite grandllama?”
Oxford preens under her attention, accepting her scratches.
“Everyone else arrives tomorrow,” I explain, taking their coats. “Finn’s parents, Everett’s mom, and Charlie. They’re all staying here at the Grand Cabin with us for Christmas.”