Page 20 of Triplet Babies for Pucking Christmas

I sigh, knowing I don’t really have a choice. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

Millie grins. “Perfect. I’ll set it up. And don’t worry, Savannah. Things are going to get better.”

I nod, smiling through my tears, hoping to God she’s right.

Chapter Eight

Troy

Jamie’s still passed out on the bed, tangled up with the bartender from Inferno, both of them completely wrecked after last night. I stand in the doorway for a second, smirking at the scene—two bodies sprawled across the sheets, clothes half on, half off. Typical Jamie.

It had been a wild night. We’d both hooked up with the same puck bunny, trading off between the bar, the car, and eventually Jamie’s place. The girl was insatiable, clearly out for some bragging rights.

It was fun, no doubt about it, but now I’m over it. Time to get back to real life.

I leave them to it, hit the shower, and head to the gym. I like my mornings quiet. Just me, my workout, and the weights. No distractions.

It’s the one time I get to clear my head before the season starts up again and everything goes full throttle.

I’m halfway through my reps when my phone buzzes. I glance at the screen and see Millie’s name flash. With a grunt, I drop the barbell and swipe to answer, catching my breath.

“Millie, what’s up?” I lean back against the bench, wiping sweat off my face with a towel.

“Troy!” she chirps, her voice too damn cheerful for this early. “I’ve got some news for you.”

I grin, already knowing what she’s about to say. “You got the puppy ready for me?”

I’ve been waiting for this Doberman for weeks. One of Chase’s clients at the clinic had a litter, and I’ve had my eye on the runt since day one. A small one, but a fighter—just like me.

“Not yet,” Millie says, sounding apologetic. “He still needs all his vaccines, but you should be able to pick him up by the end of the week.”

“End of the week, huh?” I grunt, a little disappointed. “Fine. But if Chase is holding out on me just to make sure the dog’s perfect, tell him I’ll kick his ass in one of those boxing matches he’s been bragging about.”

Millie laughs, the sound light and easy. “I’ll let him know you’re getting antsy.”

I’m about to hang up, but she stops me. “Hey, Troy, one more thing. You still have that extra room in your house, right?”

I frown, immediately suspicious. “Yeah, why?”

“Well…” she drags the word out, her tone sweet as honey, and I already think I know where this is going. “How do you feel about having a live-in chef?”

I blink, not sure if I heard her right. “Awhat?”

“A chef, Troy,” she repeats. “With the season starting, you could use someone cooking for you. You’ll be so busy, andhaving someone who can make meals for you would be a lifesaver.”

“I don’t need some random person moving into my house,” I grumble, already annoyed at the idea. “I was gonna turn that room into a home office.”

Millie’s voice softens, switching to herconvincingtone. “Come on, Troy. It’s not permanent. Just a trial period. A week. You can see how it goes, and if it doesn’t work out, no harm, no foul.”

I rub the back of my neck, my thoughts already resisting the idea. “A week? That’s it?”

“One week,” she promises. “Her name’s Savannah. She’s been through some tough times, but she’s a great chef. It’d be good for her and good for you.”

I let out a long breath, still not convinced. “I don’t know, Millie. I like my space.”

“And you’ll still have your space,” she insists. “It’s just a week. She’ll cook, you’ll eat, and maybe you’ll find out it’s not so bad having someone around.”

I stare at the wall, thinking it over. Having a chef does sound nice—especially with how crazy the season gets. But the idea of sharing my space with someone, even for a week, feels like an invasion. I’m used to my routine, my quiet mornings, and my mess. But it’s all mine.Everything.

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