Page 84 of Filthy Rich Santas

She gives an exaggerated sigh, rolling her eyes at him. “I’m just going to grab a few things before we go, okay? But none of you are allowed to peek!”

I chuckle as she scampers off. “She’s buying us presents, isn’t she?”

“She doesn’t need to buy us presents,” Beckett grumbles.

Ryder rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning. “Try telling her that.”

“I think you’re wrong,” Beckett insists. “She doesn’t have any reason to buy things for us. We don’t need any of this crap.”

I raise my eyebrows, shooting a pointed look at the festive bag stamped with the tree farm’s logo that he’s carrying.

“That’s different,” he mutters. “That leatherworker was a skilled craftsman.”

Ryder and I give him a little more shit for his shopping choices, then finally head back to the hotel once Lana rejoins us. None of us mention the fact that the weather has cleared up even more—or that, while it’s too late to hit the road tonight, it’s clear that we’ll be able to continue traveling in the morning.

Lana vetoes Ryder’s suggestion for take-out once we’re back in our suite, whipping up a simple but delicious meal for us from the groceries she ordered earlier instead. A meal that she insists we eat while having a Christmas movie marathon.

Ryder, predictably, groans. “Do we have to?”

“Would it be mean of me to say yes?” she asks, shamelessly batting her eyes at him.

He folds immediately, making even Beckett chuckle, but passes on Lana’s offer to let him pick the movie.

“Okay, well, which one do you want to watch first?” she asks, turning to Beckett.

He shrugs. “Anything is fine.”

Lana narrows her eyes a little. “But which Christmas movie is your favorite?”

He grunts, and she turns the spotlight on me.

“Tristan?”

“Uh…” I try to remember what Grandma Meg used to put on while she made Christmas cookies. “The one with the angel?”

“You meanIt’s a Wonderful Life?”

“Sure.”

“Oh my god,” she says, throwing her hands up as she laughs. “You have no idea, do you? Come on, tell me. How many Christmas movies have you guys actually seen?”

The silence echoes.

Then Beckett breaks it. “I likeDie Hard.”

Lana’s jaw drops. “Are you kidding me? That isnota Christmas movie! Okay, that’s it. We’re starting withmyfavorite,Miracle on 34thStreet, and I’m not even going to ask if any of you have seen it or not, because I already know the answer.”

I settle back on the couch as she sets it up, exchanging grins with Ryder as she huffs under her breath while she does it. I’m definitely not as sold on Christmas as Lana is, but even I can admit that her obsession with it is kind of adorable.

So is the way she recites half the movie’s lines under her breath as she watches it.

Once we all finish eating, she puts on another one, something about an elf, and pulls out her sketch pad, curling up with her fuzzy-socked feet on the couch, tucked under my thigh, and her head on Ryder’s shoulder as she divides her attention between drawing and the screen, tossing aside each sketch as she finishes it.

I’ve spent plenty of nights chilling at home with Ryder and Beckett, but something about having Lana in the mix makes this feel different. Just as comfortable, but also somehow better. And the way I keep catching Ryder smiling down at her fondly makes me think I’m not the only one feeling this way.

Beckett, on the other hand, seems a little tense as the last movie wraps up.

“We should clean up,” Lana says, standing up and stretching as the credits start to roll.

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