Page 78 of Filthy Rich Santas

“Thank you so much,” I tell him sincerely as I accept the bags. “You’re a lifesaver.”

A lifesaver that I tip very, very well for braving the weather like that for me once I put the bags down in the kitchen.

As I start to unpack the groceries, I hear the rustle of sheets from the bedroom, and low murmurs that tell me the guys are starting to stir. Tristan wanders into the kitchen a few minutes later, his hair adorably mussed and his glasses slightly askew.

Gentle heat curls in my core as I smile at him, the intimacy of seeing his bedhead just as sexy as the kinks he’s helping me explore.

“Good morning.”

“Morning.” His voice is still rough with sleep, and a thrill goes through me when he walks over and adds a casual one-armed hug to his greeting, kissing my temple. “What are you up to in here?”

I grin up at him. “Well, since we’re stuck here, I figured we need breakfast. So, I’m going to make it.”

He raises an eyebrow, looking both amused and a little concerned. “You cook?”

I laugh, swatting at him with a dish towel. “What has Caleb been telling you? I’m not completely hopeless in the kitchen, thank you very much. And I’ll have you know, I make the best pancakes in the world.”

I lift my chin defiantly, but instead of the lecture on the dangers of eating too many carbs I would have gotten from my mother, he just gives me another lazy smile.

“Mmm. I love pancakes.”

I bite my lip to keep from blurting that I love how accepted the three of them make me feel. How validating it is to actually be myself and not hear any criticism about it.

That’s too much, though, so instead I point toward the living room. “Out of my kitchen, mister. Go shower or something. I’ve got this.”

Ryder’s head pops around the corner, a devilish grin on his face. “Did I hear something about Lana’s kitchen? Are you staking a claim here?”

I’d love to, but not the way he means.

“Don’t even start,” I warn him playfully, determined to keep things light. “This is a sacred space right now. You’ll just interfere with my mojo.”

“Your mojo?” Beckett rumbles, appearing behind Ryder and raising a single eyebrow. “Sounds serious.”

I roll my eyes, fighting back a smile and secretly thrilled that Mr. Grumpy Pants is actually joining in the banter. “You’re all impossible. Now shoo. Let me work my magic in peace.”

They grumble good-naturedly but eventually clear out, leaving me alone with my ingredients and my thoughts. As I start mixing the batter, using the recipe I’ve perfected over the years, I hum to myself as I work.

The sex with these three has been mind-blowing, but it’s the little moments like this that truly mean happiness to me. Snowed in like this, I’ve got no obligations right now other than relishing this quiet moment alone and looking forward to sharing the meal I’m making with the guys.

It may just be temporary, but it’s perfect.

By the time I hear the shower shut off for the last time, I’m sliding the final pancake onto a towering stack.

“Breakfast is served!” I call out.

It doesn’t take them long to wander in, each one of them looking freshly showered and irresistibly relaxed.

I try not to stare too obviously as I set the platter of pancakes in the center of the table. Just like me, none of the guys bothered to really dress for the day, and the soft sweatpants and snug t-shirts they’ve got on give them a casual kind of sexiness that has my heart racing a little.

“Holy shit,” Tristan breathes, eyeing the stack with something close to reverence. “Those look amazing.”

I beam at him, warmth blooming in my chest. “They taste even better,” I tell him shamelessly. “Prepare to have your minds blown.”

“You know, confidence is fucking sexy on you,” Ryder says with a grin, making me blush.

I could really get used to this.

I serve them up, and as they all take their first bites, I hold my breath, watching their reactions.

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