Page 58 of Gator

I laughed, knowing full well that Wade’s charm was his greatest weapon. “Fine,” I relented, patting his chest.

Henley grabbed her small suitcase and flopped onto the bed, letting out a long sigh. “I don’t know about you all, but I coulduse some coffee. Holiday travel is no joke, especially with a baby.”

“And where is my brother-in-law and nephew?” I asked.

“Downstairs,” Henley said, sitting up. “As soon as Wade’s mother saw Orion, she snatched him right out of Scribe’s hands. It wasn’t pretty.”

“And on that note, I’ll leave you two ladies alone to catch up. Though I don’ know what y’all have to talk about it. Ya FaceTime twice a fuckin’ day,” Wade muttered, mainly to himself, as he walked to the door, shutting it behind him.

Hugging my sister once more, she asked, “Alright, Devlyn. How are you doing really? Tell me the truth. Are you happy here? Is Wade treating you well? Do I need to get Scribe to have a talk with him?”

Sighing, I simply said, “It’s different here. Everything is different.”

“Well, Dev, New Orleans isn’t Rosewood. NOLA is a major city, not some quiet mountain town. There are similarities. Tourists for one, and Wade owns a bar, and he’s the president of a motorcycle club, so it can’t be that different.”

I scoffed, shaking my head. “Oh, it’s way different. The Bourbon Kings are nothing like the Sons of Hell. That is for damn sure.”

Henley brushed a strand of hair away from her face. Her expression softened with understanding. “I get it, Devlyn. Change is hard, even when it’s for love. But Wade seems... solid in his own outrageous way.”

I rolled my eyes, leaning against the bedpost. “Solid? He’s unpredictable, charmingly infuriating, and the king of chaos. But somehow, he’s also my chaos. And New Orleans, well, it has its own rhythm. I just need to find mine.”

Henley smiled knowingly. “You will. New Orleans has a vibe like no other. It’ll shake you, but then it will settle into yourbones. And the Bourbon Kings? They sound like a handful. Are they—how should I put it—manageable?”

“Manageable would be generous,” I replied with a dry laugh. “They’re more like creatures of habit who thrive on adrenaline and loyalty. Wade’s in the middle of it, running his bar and his club like the master of organized madness.”

Henley tilted her head. “And you? Do you fit into all of that?”

I hesitated but nodded. “I’m learning. Wade’s world is loud and bold, completely different from what I’m used to. But there’s a certain freedom in it. A vitality that makes me feel awake in ways I hadn’t before.”

Henley reached over and squeezed my hand. “That’s all that matters then. You finding your place, even if it’s chaotic. And maybe someday, you’ll tell me all about the Bourbon Kings without the filters.”

I laughed as my tension eased. “Oh, trust me, the stories I could tell already would take days. But for now, let’s get that coffee you wanted. NOLA might be a major city, but caffeine is still a universal necessity.”

She nodded eagerly, and together, we headed downstairs, where the hum of voices and the scent of strong coffee awaited us.

Christmas in New Orleans was unlike anything I had ever experienced. Marabella had outdone herself decorating the large Crawley antebellum home. From large uniquely decorated trees in every room, to poinsettia plants, holly, and mistletoe hanging above every entry way.

The woman left nothing out.

Everywhere I looked there was something new to see.

Even the air smelled of celebration, a mix of cinnamon, pine, and something sweet I couldn’t quite place. The grand dining table was a masterpiece in itself, laden with silver candelabras and garlands of fresh greenery, while crystal glasses caught the twinkling light from the chandeliers above.

Making my way to the heart of the Crawley home, I found Marabella placing a bag of cold peas on Wade’s nose as Scribe laughed at him. My nephew Orion was sitting in an old wooden highchair as he chewed on some rubber ring.

“Môman, it’s fine,” Wade grumbled, trying to duck away from his mother.

“Well, thank goodness it’s not broken,” she snapped, slapping her son on the arm. “What were you thinking, surprising a pregnant woman like that?”

“I was trying to be romantic!”

“Well stop it,” Marabella snarked. “Crawley men have never been good at that.”

Before Wade could retort, Scribe chimed in, his grin as wide as the Mississippi, “You know, Marabella, if romance were measured in bruised noses, Wade would be a Casanova.”

Marabella rolled her eyes and muttered something about Crawley men and their foolhardy ways. Orion let out a gurgling giggle from his highchair, as though even he found the entire scene amusing.

The happy moment was interrupted by the sound of the back door swinging open, followed by the loud, familiar ostentatious voices of the Bourbon Kings.

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