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Xar is in the kitchen. Focused, purposeful. Creating something maybe, or just cleaning up after breakfast perhaps.

And Blaise— Blaise is trying to block me out.

I smile to myself. He’s not worried or upset or anything. Just up to something. I can feel the edges of it: excitement, anticipation, a little smugness. Typical Blaise.

I don’t push. I let him have it.

I’m stretching on the living room sofa watching some sequel drama-comedy movie with Hollywood A-listers in when the knock comes. Before I can stand, Blaise is already moving toward the door with an easy “Thanks, mate,” and then?—

Bleating?

I freeze.

“Is that a goat?”

Blaise reappears in the doorway, grinning like he’s won the lottery. “Technically, it’s three, honeybee.”

I rush to the front hall – and nearly collapse when I see the crate.

Three tiny pygmy goats, no bigger than throw pillows, wrapped in ribboned collars and stomping around like royal toddlers. One tries to headbutt Dane’s shin. Another attempts to eat the mail.

I drop to my knees.

“Oh mygod!”

“They’re yours,” Blaise says indulgently, his arms crossed and smug. “Happy late Christmas, baby.”

I scoop up the tiniest one – black with a white starburst on her head – and burst into tears.

“Oh my god. You got megoats.This is the best Christmas-courting-bonding gift ever!” I sob, completely overwhelmed and already in love with the little bundles of fur.

“You’re Mochi,” I whisper into the soft fuzz of the black and white one. “You little menace.”

The other two are quickly dubbedGremlinbecause he’s white (who immediately tries to climb the stairs) andPeanut,a gorgeous soft caramel coloured one (who chews on my fluffy socks).

“They’re amazing. I love them! Thank you!”

We spend the rest of the afternoon outside. Dane has already built them a makeshift pen at some point and Blaise has filled it with a collection of toddler toys, from a small trampoline to a see-saw, a slide and a swing. We feed them, watch them bounce and play and eventually, they fall asleep in my lap.

At some point, Blaise brings me my new winter coat and accessories, kisses my cheek before slipping away again, but I don’t follow.

I stay outside until the sun dips low and the sky turns a smoky mauve, just reflecting on how I went from being the loneliest girl in the world, to the most loved and happiest omega.

The smell hits me first when I step back inside.

“What is that?” I ask, blinking. “It’s too late for lunch, too early for dinner.”

“Surprise feast,” Xar says, tugging me close for a kiss. “We’ve got a movie marathon queued up. We’re feeding you now so we can fully cocoon later.”

“You’ve been cooking all day?”

“And hiding goats,” Blaise adds proudly. “We multitask.”

I laugh but let Blaise lead me into the kitchen where Dane is following Xar’s orders. I love that two of my alphas can cook and Blaise is a liability.

There’s an absolute feast laid out on the table – Xar wasn’t messing around. The spread is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Charred octopus with lemon aioli. Duck confit spring rolls. Roasted bone marrow. Tarte flambée with lardons and caramelized onions. Miso black cod with wild rice. A miniature feast fit for royalty.

I try not to cry.