Page 203 of Filthy Rich Santas

Meg just laughs, patting his cheek. “Oh hush, you. I may be old, but I’m not dead. Now, who’s ready for some Christmas morning pancakes?”

“And bacon?” Beckett asks hopefully.

“Of course,” Meg scoffs. “What kind of monster starts the day without bacon?”

Baldwin lets out a sharp yip of agreement, making us all laugh as we follow her into the kitchen.

As we all take our seats around the table, I look around for a moment. This is what family should feel like—accepting and loving, full of laughter and light-hearted teasing. It really is the perfect Christmas morning.

Ryder catches my eye and smiles, as if reading my thoughts. “Merry Christmas, love,” he murmurs, pressing a quick kiss to my temple.

I lean into him, watching as Tristan helps Meg with the pancakes while Beckett entertains Baldwin with a new squeaky toy.

My heart feels so full it might burst, and by the time we’ve all eaten, helped Meg clean up, and settled around her beautiful tree with more mugs of eggnog, there’s a sweet ache in my chest, as if the happiness is too much for it.

Then her doorbell rings.

Tristan looks up. “Are you expecting someone, Grandma Meg?”

“Expecting? No,” she says, heading for the door. “But hoping? Yes.”

When the door swings wide to reveal Caleb standing on the other side, I blink in surprise.

Last night was so emotional that it didn’t fully register with me when she invited him to join us for Christmas. And I guess a part of me dismissed the possibility that he’d choose us—me—over continuing to be the perfect son who showed up for our parents.

But he’s here, and despite the tension from yesterday, he greets Tristan, Ryder, and Beckett with warm handshakes and back-slapping hugs.

When he turns to me, his eyes are soft. “Hey, Lana. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” I repeat, my throat tight as he pulls me into a hug. “I’m really glad you came.”

“Me too,” he says as we separate, squeezing my shoulders. “And I didn’t say this before, but I’m really proud of you for standing up to Mom and Dad like that. I had no idea things were so rough for you, that you felt under so much pressure. I wish I’d stood up for you more.”

I feel my eyes welling up with tears, but I blink them back, offering him a watery smile. “It’s okay. You had my back plenty. And now…” I glance over at Tristan, Ryder, and Beckett. “I’ve got three more people who have my back too.”

Beckett pins Caleb with a hard stare. “We’ve always had her back.”

Caleb nods, a small smile playing on his lips. If Beckett’s show of protectiveness is supposed to be a challenge, he’s clearly not taking it that way. If anything, he seems pleased, relaxing a little more, like maybe he’s coming around to the idea of his three best friends dating his little sister.

“Yeah,” he agrees, clapping Beckett on the shoulder. “I can see that.”

They hold eye contact for a minute, then Beckett grunts, giving my brother a quick nod.

Caleb snorts and pulls him in for another hug, clapping his back.

“Just don’t fuck it up,” he whispers, quietly enough that I’m pretty sure I wasn’t supposed to hear.

Grandma Meg claps her hands. “Caleb, you look cold, dear. Get that coat off and let’s get you some eggnog. Come on, come on.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Caleb says, laughing as he shrugs off his outerwear and follows us all back into the living room.

His eyes soften as they land on Meg’s tree. It’s nothing like the overdone, themed and color-coordinated ones my mother always puts up.

“I remember this,” he says, walking over and picking up one of the homemade ornaments. It’s a hockey puck, nestled inside a knit sleeve with a date patterned into the yarn. “Our senior year, right, Tristan?”

Tristan laughs. “Winning goal. Grandma wanted to commemorate it.”

Caleb shakes his head, smiling, and when he catches my eye I’m almost certain he’s thinking the same thing I am. Unlike the designer ornaments on the Christmas trees we grew up with, all the ornaments on Meg’s tree commemorate her love for her family and the life they shared.

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