Chelle was still trying to remember that the clock was ticking on this whole limited-time marriage, but it was hard when she was at Gable House with Nash and his family.

Fiona Hartigan—soon to be Beckett—had already gotten her to agree to be her date for the next Ice Knights game, since Dixon rooted for the hated Cajun Rage. Kinsey, who had a delicate engagement ring on her left hand, had tied a tea towel apron around Chelle’s waist the second she said she’d help make the cranberry biscuits. The secret ingredient, she’d learned, was enough butter to clog every artery in Harbor City—in other words, the first batch was absolutely delicious. Griff had become best friends with Sir Hiss the moment the cat had landed on his shoulders, and the giant, tattooed guy grunted at him, then proceeded to ignore the feline completely as he worked on stringing the lights around the Christmas tree in the front room.

Meanwhile, Mary Puppins and Groucho Barks were having the time of their lives out in the massive yard between the house and the lake, chasing after Maurice the attack goose, who was racing after Dixon, who was sneaking the huge bird squares of watermelon from a plastic baggie in his pocket while he added metallic red garland to the shrubs with Fiona’s help. Bristol and Macon had teamed up to unpack all of the Christmas dishes their grandmother had collected while Karmel told them all the good gossip about everyone in Hollywood.

And Nash? Well, if he wasn’t next to Chelle, using a water glass to cut out biscuits after she rolled the dough, he was checking on her pets, or sneaking kisses in the butler’s pantry, or exchanging covert high fives with Alexandra, the housekeeper and knower of all things big and small when it came to the Becketts. The woman was a character, all regal silver hair and sparkling green eyes that never missed a thing. She’d given everyone their decorating assignments as soon as they’d walked in the front door of the brightly painted Victorian mansion. As a first timer, Chelle won the coveted job of putting the angels on all of the Christmas trees throughout the house.

And there were a lot—like fifteen—all with their own themed decor and filled with handmade decorations signed with one of the cousin’s names and what grade they were in when they made them. She’d spent the last thirty minutes visiting each one with Nash, who carried a giant box of delicate angels that he unwrapped for her. His grandma had knitted each of the angels with such a soft touch and detail that they were works of art.