Page 108 of Oathbreaker

Thanks, SoCal heat.

Except it’s not just the fact that it’s December and nearly eighty degrees…it’s also the fact that Colt is sawing and I’m watching the muscles on his forearms, along with his biceps and triceps flex as he cuts through the trunk.

Then there’s the fact that his shirt has ridden up a couple of inches, exposing those dips near his hips that I ran my tongue over only the night before.

And also maybe his words.

My girls are getting what they want.

Sigh.

I really, really love my man.

“Are you going to help Daddy cut down our super-duper big tree, Mommy?” Frankie asks, skipping around the branches.

“No,” Atlas says, bumping his shoulder against mine as he and Royal walk by, his voice dropping when he adds for my ears only, “she’s too busy drooling.”

I swat at his chest.

“He’s not lying.” Royal smirks. “Pull it together, Thorny.”

I swat at him too, but he just grins and loops an arm around Jade as she studies a nearby tree—though it’s not nearly as big as ours—pulling her back against his chest.

Banks is already lugging his tree to the road, Aspen, who’s holding Maisie (adorably decked out in a Christmas-themed outfit) trailing him.

And Willow’s supervising Dash as he ties their tree to the roof of their SUV.

Lily’s on tour, but I don’t miss that Atlas has finished teasing me and started getting serious about cutting down a nearby pine.

Everyone’s paired up.

Domesticated.

I smile.

Because this year, Christmas spirit is all around us.

And truly, life can’t get any better.

“What if he says my list is too long?” Frankie asks, her fingers laced with mine, gently swinging our hands back and forth, back and forth.

I glance ahead of us at the line to see Santa, see that it’s showing no sign of moving.

So, I crouch down in front of my daughter and gently grasp her shoulders.

“You know that the real magic of Santa is not that he gives you everything you want, but what you need, baby.”

“But you said we need to go shopping for underwear after this. What if he knows that’s what I need, and he doesn’t get me anything on my list?”

My lips twitch.

Because fuck my daughter is the best.

She never fails to leave me smiling.

“Sometimes Santa brings underwear,” I tell her because that’s the reality of the world we live in, and lots of kids aren’t as privileged as my girl is (who’s getting the number one item on the list she’s holding so tightly—a Polly Panda doll—because I preordered it a month ago when it looked like it was going to be this Christmas’s hottest item for four and three-quarters-year-olds). “But oftentimes Santa does his best to make it both something you want and something you need.”

She considers that for a long moment.