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“I love it,” she’d cried, throwing her arms around me. “It’s… It’s so…”

“Utterly perfect?”

“Yes!”

“Relax,” I grinned, as she squeezed me tight. “This doesn’t mean we’re engaged or anything.”

She turned her nose up and scoffed at me. “As if you could ever handle me anyway.”

The rest of the day I lounged around the house, listening to old Christmas songs and watching cheesy holiday movies. A Christmas Story turned into Scrooged turned into Elf, which finally made me laugh. It could’ve just been the wine though. I didn’t care either way.

Sarge spent the day chewing on his own gift: a rawhide bone bigger than he was. He’d made for good company, and a great sleeping partner… although he was in for a rude awakening in that regard when the guys finally returned.

My thoughts wandered to Kyle and Ryan, whom I hadn’t heard from in way too long. Their promise to keep in touch with me made me even more worried now, and I almost wish they hadn’t made it. Wherever they were, whatever they were doing, I hoped they were safe. Christmas or no Christmas, all that mattered was they come home in one piece.

At the end of the night I lined up five shots of rum-spiked eggnog, another one of our stupid traditions. I drank mine, then proceeded to drink one for each of my fiancés, one right after the other. By the time I was done I wasn’t sure whether I was giddy or nauseous… maybe a little of both. I’d done it, though. I’d toasted each of them by name, pulling up our happiest memories together while Sarge watched me curiously.

“Merry Christmas little guy,” I finally yawned. The couch was comfortable and the fire felt damned good. My bed was so far away, I doubted it was even necessary at this point.

They’re okay, Sammara. All of them.

I felt grateful for the voices in my head. They’d been a lot more reasonable lately. A lot more supportive.

They know what they’re doing.

Eventually the fire died down to the point where I didn’t feel like getting off the couch and adding another log. I pulled a blanket over my body, made sure Sarge was comfortable in his little nest behind my knees, and finally let my eyes droop.

I wasn’t sure if I actually slept. I might’ve just been slipping in and out of consciousness, while the combination of rum and wine did a cute little number on me. One minute Will Ferrell was running all over the screen in yellow tights, then suddenly it was Macaulay Culkin. Home Alone was a Christmas movie too, apparently. I’d totally forgotten.

BEEP BEEP BEEP!

The quick triple-tone of the alarm panel blared, bringing me instantly awake. The front door opened…

Melissa?

It was possible. She had the key, and the code. Then again, it could be also something more sinister. Something like the last time, when the power went out — no, when the power was cut — and it turned out there was an intruder stalking me who—

“DAKOTA!”

I threw the blanket off so quickly it totally buried a very confused Sarge. Then I was rushing… no flying into his arms! Those big, strong arms! Wrapped around me… squeezing me tight… spinning me around…

“Oh my God you’re home!”

The tears came again, but now they were tears of happiness. Tears of relief. Dakota took my cheeks in his hands and our faces crashed together, his lips finding mine, kissing me until I was utterly breathless and dizzy and ready to fall limp in his arms.

“You taste like rum.”

I laughed, and he laughed with me, hard and loud, and suddenly everything in the world was right again. At least for now. At least for a little while…

“Kyle and Ryan are gone!” I said quickly

.

“I know.”

“Jason went missing, and they went to find him, only they promised to keep in touch with me and now—”

“I know, Sammara,” he repeated gently. “I already talked to some people.”