Page 169 of Filthy Rich Santas

Tristan snickers. “I think you mean on account of her daughter being married to a Canadian.”

She waves that off. “The point is, I’ve got a lot riding on you boys winning the next game.”

“That’s a lot of pressure,” Caleb jokes. “How much are we talking here?”

“The bet isn’t about money,” Tristan butts in. “The stakes are a lot higher than that.”

“Oh?”

He nods. “The winner bakes the weekly pies for her knitting circle.”

“The winner?” Ryder asks, looking between them with confusion. “Don’t you mean the loser has to do that?”

“Of course not,” Meg scoffs. “The winnergetsto. Every single one of those women think their recipe is the best. We have to take turns baking for our club each week, or else we’d all die of diabetes!”

“Oh, I see.” Ryder grins. “You’re not gonna let Grandma Meg down now, are you, Caleb?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Caleb promises solemnly.

As I watch the easy interaction, the genuine affection flowing between Tristan’s grandmother and everyone in the room, I feel a lump form in my throat. This is what the holidays—no, whatfamilyshould feel like. Warm, supportive, filled with laughter and love.

I’m glad Tristan has that.

Well, I’m glad they all do, since Meg so clearly includes all of “her boys” in her heart.

As if she senses me thinking about her, she turns to me next, her kind eyes crinkling at the corners. “And Lana, dear. How are you doing? Did these boys treat you right on your trip?”

I flush, memories of exactly how ‘right’ they’ve been treating me flashing through my mind.

“They’ve been perfect gentlemen,” I manage, ignoring Ryder’s barely suppressed snort.

As far as I’m concerned, it’s true… at least in spirit.

“Good.” Meg nods decisively. “Because if they weren’t, they’d have me to answer to.”

Conversation flows easily, fueled by warmth and laughter that’s a stark contrast to the stilted, performance-like interactions at my parents’ house. At one point, I find myself drawn to one of the walls covered in photographs.

In one, a much younger Tristan is missing his two front teeth, grinning widely at the camera. In another, he’s on ice skates, looking determined and focused. I’m so engrossed in the photos that I don’t notice Grandma Meg approaching until she’s right beside me.

“He was always such a serious little thing,” she says softly, reaching out to touch one of the frames. “Even before… well, you know.”

I nod, understanding the weight of what goes unsaid. The accident that made Tristan an orphan and left him scarred, both physically and emotionally.

“This one,” Meg continues, pointing to a photo of Tristan holding up a trophy, “was taken just a few months after he came to live with me. His first hockey championship after the accident. I wasn’t sure he’d ever want to play again, but that boy…” She shakes her head, admiration clear in her voice. “He’s got a strength in him that never ceases to amaze me.”

As I listen to Meg talk about Tristan, about his resilience and determination, I feel my heart swell with an emotion I’m not quite ready to name. “He was lucky to have you,” I say, my voice thick with feeling.

Meg smiles, patting my hand. “Not just me, dear. He had your brother, of course, and Ryder and Beckett too. Those four have been thick as thieves since the day they met. And he had you too.”

I blink, surprised. “Me?”

“Oh, yes.” Meg nods. “I remember how you used to toddle after all the boys, determined to keep up. You were like a little ray of sunshine, always making Tristan smile even on his darkest days.”

The lump in my throat grows, and I blink away the sting behind my eyes. If Meg only knew how Tristan makes me feel now, how he lights me up from the inside…

“I… I should probably get back to the others,” I manage, gesturing vaguely toward the living room. “Thank you for sharing these stories with me.”

Meg gives me a curious look that makes me wonder if I’ve been as subtle as I hoped, but she doesn’t press. Instead, she pats my cheek affectionately and lets it go as I rejoin my brother and the guys.

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