Juney let out a contented sigh as she finally allowed herself to sit down at the head of the table. Rowan was at the other end, and the two of them shared a look of camaraderie and joy over the expanse of decadent food they had lovingly prepared. It was impressive. He had been impressive. Authoritative in the kitchen, confident and capable, but also calm, cool, and collected.

He knew what he was doing, but at the same time, he still valued her help. Every time he sought her out for consult, allowed her to taste his dishes as he prepared them and offer critiques, her heart soared. He made her feel needed and that her opinion and presence at his side were appreciated. And even though he could have easily prepared the entire meal himself, he never once made her feel as though she wasn’t an integral part of the Christmas dinner preparation. When she said he needed more sage or salt or another dash of pepper, he heeded her feedback with a smile and nod. Unlike many of the other chefs she’d worked with and interviewed, Rowan didn’t come off nearly as cocky or conceited. He was confident, but that confidence was tempered in a way that appealed to her. Content and at ease in his surroundings; sure in his abilities but also humble enough to accept help and the opinion of others.

“Wow!” Hunter said on an exhale, draping her linen napkin over the lap of her beautiful dark-green sheath dress. She’d confessed earlier, when Juney had asked, that it was indeed one of her own creations, a simple but flattering bamboo frock with a boat-neck and a subtle stitching embellishment along the cap sleeve and hem. It enhanced Hunter’s amber eyes and, when she pinned her hair up on top of her head in a casual twist, accentuated her long, slender neck. “This all looks fantastic. I don’t know what to try first.”

“The Brussels sprouts first, for sure,” Rowan said with a wink, passing her the bowl where they steamed crispy and caramelized among the crunchy bacon and fragrant garlic. “And then the turkey, the stuffing, and the roasted potatoes.” He reached forward and speared a big slab of sliced turkey breast, and even from her place at the other end of the table, Juney could see how juicy the meat was. Not an easy task. The breast almost always ended up being too dry, no matter at whose house she spent Christmas.

“Mmm,” Hunter hummed, scooping out a big heaping spoonful of sprouts. “I’ll take your word for it, Chef Briggs. But if I don’t like them, I’m blaming you.”

“Don’t wait,” he said. “Pop one of those bad boys in your mouth now and try it.”

He watched patiently as she speared one of the little half-spheres with her fork and popped it into her mouth. Juney could practically feel Rowan’s apprehension. Had he blinked?

Hunter chewed methodically, her face a mask. She swallowed before looking at Rowan.

“I fucking love them,” she said with a big smile, puncturing another one with her fork and then stabbing a bit or two of bacon as well. “You’ve converted me, Chef Briggs.”

Rowan let out a sigh. It didn’t matter how confident he was in his dishes, he was still human, still humble, and he wanted Hunter to enjoy his food. Juney’s heart melted from how relieved he appeared. He really was the whole package.

Once everyone had filled their plates and topped off their drinks, they all sat around the table, gripping the Christmas crackers that Juney had found earlier that day in a box beneath the tree. It had been addressed to “Everyone” and had said “Love, Daisy!”

“Is this Christmas cracker thing a Canadian tradition?” Rowan asked, looking at Juney with a curious smile.

She nodded. “It must be, if this is the first time you Yanks have ever done them. We do them every year in my family. And Daisy is Canadian.”

“They originated in the U.K. and are primarily used for Christmas celebrations by members of the Commonwealth,” Austin put in.

“Huh,” Will said with a slight head shake. “Thanks, Einstein. Much obliged. Everyone ready? My arms are getting tired.” His big arms were awkwardly crossed in front of him as he held on to Amber and Juney’s crackers.

“One . . . two . . . three, pull!” Juney announced. Snaps and sparks filled the table as everyone pulled their crackers. Will pulled so hard on both women’s that they’d torn in two, while Austin had jerked so hard he pulled it right out of Hunter’s hand, but it hadn’t gone off. She was then forced to do her own afterward as Austin’s face turned fifty different shades of red.

Crackers were cracked, flimsy colorful paper hats were unfurled and placed upon heads, and trinkets and toys were unveiled. Juney draped her new whistle necklace around her neck and gave it a light blow, and Rowan went to work at the other end of the table assembling his small six-piece puzzle of a dinosaur.

“Did everyone get a fortune in their cracker, too?” Amber asked, pulling out a piece of paper and unrolling it.

Heads nodded.

“Who wants to read theirs first?” Juney asked, searching inside her cracker for the small piece of paper.

“I’ll go,” Rowan said with a smile. His grin made her belly do a happy flip-flop. The man was full of surprises. He hadn’t struck her as someone who liked Christmas. He wasn’t as ornery or anti-holiday as Amber, but when they’d first arrived, his cynicism and sarcasm had been a tad off-putting. But perhaps that was just nerves? Or residual anger from his lack of a job. Whatever it was, it seemed to evaporate the moment he stepped back into the kitchen, and since then he’d been in a fantastic mood. And, in turn, so had Juney.

“Have at ’er,” she said, giving him a coquettish smile.

He cleared his throat. “Letting go of a bad attitude and a big ego can be its own reward. Release the past and humbly but openly embrace the future.” His eyebrows buried themselves beneath the chunk of blond hair that tumbled over his forehead. “Hmm, that’s rather fitting. I’ve been trying to be less of a cocky ass. Figure that might have been what killed my chance at the promotion.”

She loved his honesty. And unlike a lot of men she’d met, men she’d dated, Rowan recognized his flaw and was consciously trying to make a change for the better.

He took a healthy sip of his wine and sobered, the introspective look on his face gone. Now he was all smiles again. “Your turn, Amber.”

Amber’s lips twisted, and her cheeks turned a vibrant pink as she read her slip of paper a couple of times before saying it out loud. “Express your true self to experience great joy and find your inner peace.” An awkward cough caught in her throat, and she used her napkin to muffle it. “These things are lame,” she finally said, taking a healthy sip of her wine. “I’m surprised it didn’t start out with ‘Confucius says . . . ’ ”

Will eyed her suspiciously but didn’t say anything. Instead he glanced down at his own paper and read. “Not all flat stones skip the same distance on the water.” His nose wrinkled. “Huh?”

“I think it means, not every situation is the same. Don’t judge one moment by the failure or success of previous moments,” Juney said solemnly. “I think that’s advice we can all take to heart. Just because we may have had one crappy relationship or a bad first date, or awful Christmas, doesn’t mean every first date or relationship or Christmas will be terrible.”

“Hmm,” Will hummed in thought, adopting Rowan’s pensive look of introspection. “I suppose. Your turn, Austin,” he said, taking a sip of his wine, clearly eager to deflect the attention away from himself.

Austin’s eyes went wide as he held the paper up. “You are more than what you believe yourself to be. Do not let fear hold you back from finding happiness.”

The guy’s face kept going through the whole paint swatch of red hues. What was he now? Cherry tomato? Fire engine, perhaps?

“Damn, these fortunes are rather spot-on tonight,” Rowan said. “What’s yours say, Juney?”

Juney read the slip, then re-read it, and then read it again. And with each re-read, her mouth dropped open wider and wider.

“What’s it say?” Rowan asked again.

“True love is finding your biggest fan.”

Will scoffed. “I bet you Daisy made these up herself.”

“And we all just happened to get the one that corresponds best to us?” Rowan said blandly. “They’re not labeled or designated to anyone in particular.”

“You think it’s Christmas magic or something stupid like that?” Will asked with a head shake as he reached into the center of the table and pilfered some butter from the dish and started slathering it onto his roll. “You believe in that crap?”

Rowan shot him a snide look but didn’t say anything. “Dinner is getting cold. Everyone eat. Hunter, I think you’re last.”

Hunter had already started eating; all the Brussel sprouts on her plate were gone. With a bashful smile and a quick swallow, she picked up her strip of paper. “Let go of your burdens, spread your wings and soar into the unknown.”

“Well, that could be for anyone,” Will said.

Obviously, he didn’t buy the mystery or the fact that fate alone had bestowed each fortune into the lap of the person it best suited. Oh yeah, no way in hell was Juney a match with Will, he was much too cynical. And even though she prided herself on her practicality and pragmatism, she wrote fantasy and fiction for a living. She couldn’t help but believe that some form of magic, be it fate, kismet or some other universal or otherworldly involvement, may have had a hand in delivering the right fortune to the right person. Elves perhaps? Mischievous sugar plum fairies?

Juney shot Will a look, and just then, the lights in the kitchen, living room and on the tree flickered, off, on, off, on, and from out of nowhere a faint gust of wind swept down across the table and blew out the three tapers in the center.

Six mouths hung slack-jawed.

“I-is there a window open somewhere?” Hunter asked, her eyes darting back and forth between Rowan and Juney.

Juney shook her head. “No.”

“There aren’t any windows in the dining room,” Rowan said slowly.

Austin drew a lighter out of his pocket and stood up, leaning over the table and re-lighting the candles.

“Well, believe what you wish, Dr. Colson,” Juney said smugly. “But I believe we were all meant to receive these specific fortunes. Get us thinking at the very least.”

Will made a face that only men with very little patience and big egos can make and then snorted as he took a bite of his roll, tucking it into his cheek. “Pass the roasted potatoes, please.”

A short while later, Juney rubbed her belly as if a chubby baby kicked inside and it wasn’t just the monster food baby that gurgled happily. Letting out a contented sigh, she leaned back in her chair. “Well, I dare say that was one of the best Christmas dinners I’ve ever had.”

Rowan beamed at her from the other end of the table. She wished he were closer. Will’s arm was draped around Amber’s shoulders as the two sat cozily at the table sipping wine. Hunter and Austin buried their awkwardness in more pie and wine.

“It’s all about the bacon on the turkey skin,” Rowan said with a yawn. “And the sexy helper in the kitchen. Nothing lights a fire under your ass to put out a good spread like a beautiful co-chef.”

Co-chef. She liked the sound of that. And she liked even more that he hadn’t called her a sous-chef. Even though she’d totally been his lackey and wouldn’t have been offended if he’d even demoted her title to line cook. But the fact that he considered her his equal in the galley meant a lot.

She pushed herself away from the table and stood up. “Come cuddle with your co-chef next to the Christmas tree, Chef Briggs. I’m tired of sitting this far away from you.”

Hunter grimaced in her seat and upended the wine bottle into her glass while Austin stared into the candle flame as if hypnotized. Will and Amber followed Juney’s lead, as did Rowan.

“I like the way you think,” Rowan said, coming up behind her and looping an arm around her shoulder. “And I love this dress.”

She grinned up at him as they sauntered into the living room. She was wearing her favorite holiday cocktail dress. It was shimmery gold with long sleeves, a scoop neck and a back so low she had to buy special low-cut underwear to wear underneath it. Only tonight she wasn’t wearing any, something she’d yet to confess to Rowan.

It was dark outside, and the tree reflected magically against the window pane. The fire in the hearth flickered low; Austin from his perch at the table took notice and was over in a flash bending down, removing the protective glass and poking at the flames with the poker. He put on a couple of new logs, then sat staring at it for bit longer. He was an odd guy.

Amber made her way into the kitchen and plunked down a couple of bowls of food. Earlier in the day, she’d mentioned to Juney that she would try to get Will to help her do the dishes. It was beginning to irritate her that the hot doctor wasn’t pulling his weight around the cabin. It didn’t really bother Juney, but she figured there was no harm in Amber asking Will to pitch in a little more, earn his keep, just like the rest of them.

“Well, that was absolutely wonderful,” Amber said as she opened up the dishwasher.

“Yes, I agree,” Hunter replied, bringing in the plate of turkey and a bowl of stuffing. “I’ll have to do some back-to-back yoga sessions and an extra mile or two on the treadmill when I get back home to work all that pie off, but it was well worth it.”

“It was mostly Rowan,” Juney said from her spot on the floor next to Rowan. They’d gathered a bunch of pillows and blankets and were cuddled up in a cozy little nest next to the Christmas tree and up against the big picture window. “He’s the brainchild behind the Christmas feast for kings. I only stewed the cranberry sauce, mashed the potatoes, and made the rolls.”

“Well, the rolls were one of my favorite parts,” Will said, coming in behind everyone in the kitchen, clutching nothing but his scotch and scratching his hard belly with his other hand.

Hunter went to tie an apron around her waist, but Amber stopped her. Her eyes quickly flicked to Juney and then Will before landing back on Hunter. “You go sit down. I’ll do the dishes. Will, you want to help?”

But he was already staring down at his phone. “I’ve gotta go call my aunt. She just texted me. Says the whole family is together and they want to Skype.” Without another word, and still staring at the screen, he wandered off in the direction of his bedroom.

Juney lifted one shoulder. Dr. Colson, master avoider. “What can you do?”

She could see Amber clench her jaw and let out a big huff.

What could she do? They weren’t boyfriend and girlfriend. They’d known each other for all of two days. It didn’t matter that they’d been intimate. There were some things in a relationship that took time. Sex, no, that one could often be immediate, but calling someone out on their shit, depending on who they were, that took skill, time and less alcohol down the hatch. Not that she had any issues with Rowan so far, but she wasn’t sure she’d be ready to point out his faults to him yet, either. Despite the mind-blowing sex and instant chemistry, they were still getting to know each other, and she didn’t want to go and piss him off or worse, scare him off.

But Amber was also a ballsy little thing, unlike Juney. She was a boss in her own right, a boss at work. She held rank over twenty men. She must know how to get men to do what needed to be done without wounding their egos in the process. But instead of saying anything to Will’s back, she just watched it disappear down the hallway, a look on her face that Juney couldn’t quite place. Was it anger? Sadness? Fear?

“I’ll help,” Hunter said, coming in and taking the apron from Amber. She placed it over her neck and then tied it around her waist. “I love your dress, by the way, Amber. Where did you get it?”

The two women started chatting amicably in the kitchen about this, that and the other thing, while Austin took off toward his room, muttering something about calling his sister, leaving Rowan and Juney to their own devices on the floor beneath the beautiful tree.

“I really do love this dress,” he said with a low growl, running his hand down her back and leaning in to kiss her shoulder. “The back is incredibly low, though. Do you have to wear special underwear or something?”

She licked her lips and shifted on the blankets until she straddled him. “Or something.” Reaching for his hand, she guided it down to her lap and beneath her dress.

Rowan’s eyes went wide as his fingers grazed her cleft. “Juney . . . ”

Boldly, having never done anything like this before and turned on by the naughtiness of it, she pushed her hips into his caress. At first, she’d been mortified when she was caught earlier that day, pinned up against the fridge as Rowan hammered into her, but it’d also been exhilarating. She was a grown woman, a sexual being, and it was high time she got a little dirty now and then.

A salacious smile curved up Rowan’s mouth as he cupped her mound with possession and his thumb rubbed her clit. His other hand wrapped around her waist, and he pulled her close until she was straddling his lap. Juney shot a look behind her at the two women in the kitchen. They both stood at the sink, their backs to her and Rowan.

Rowan snagged her bottom lip between his teeth and tugged as he pushed two fingers inside her. A moan fled her before she could stop it, and she bucked into his hands.

“Shh,” he scolded with a chuckle, releasing her waist and scooting them backward toward the big floor-to-ceiling window, hiding them behind the enormous tree. “Don’t want to get caught now, do you?”

She closed her eyes and mewled softly when he rubbed his thumb back and forth against her bud again.

“Unless that’s your thing now, you dirty girl?”

He chuckled low in his throat, a sound that stirred something hot and needy deep in her belly. She was starting to crave his touch. Even when he was near, she was starved for it. The way Rowan looked at her, with such adoration, such awe. The way he cherished her, worshipped her body. She couldn’t remember the last time a man had made her feel so wanted, so desired.

“Rowan,” she whispered, frantic for breath, frantic for an orgasm, frantic for more of him inside her.

“Shh.”

“Rowan, please.”

“Oh baby, I love it when you beg. You’re going to come for me, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“You love it when I’m inside you, don’t you? Pumping your hot, tight little pussy with my fingers.”

“Oh God, yes . . . so much.”

“You’re close. I can feel it.”

“Rowan . . .”

He drew his tongue up the side of her neck. She let her head loll to the side to give him better access and closed her eyes. The way his fingers pushed and grazed her walls, his thumb brushing back and forth against her needy clit, it was all too much. She tensed, squeezed, held her breath and let go. Quiet as could be, she let the climax flood her veins, pooling deep and warm in her core, and spreading out into her limbs until everything was a divine tingly heat and Juney was exhausted.

“Where is everyone?” Will’s deep voice rumbled into the room, causing Juney to snap out of her post-orgasmic daydream. She didn’t move or bother turning to look. Her body was in well-earned atrophy. She would move when she had to.

“Austin’s off in his room,” Amber said dryly. “And Rowan and Juney are having sex over behind the tree.”