Yes, they were competitive jerks, but it’s who they were, and Grandma Betty had known how to use that to her advantage—turned out the Last Man Standing bet had been to their advantage, too, now that each of them had gone from confirmed bachelor to happily in love in the past year.

Nash picked up one of the sweaters and held it up as if he was judging the size. “A race to produce the next generation of Becketts?”

Kinsey, Fiona, and Chelle all rolled their eyes. Griff couldn’t blame them any more than he could turn down the bet that was about to be agreed to.

Cocky as ever, Dixon shot his cousins a shit-eating grin. “Oh, the sacrifices I have to make just to beat you two again.”

“So you’re both agreed?” Nash held out his hand. “Babies win?”

Griff and Dixon nodded and took turns shaking his hand. It wasn’t until Nash started laughing that Griff realized where he’d gone wrong.

“Asshole,” he grumbled at Nash.

…

Nash

Victory wasn’t just sweet. It was fucking perfect.

“I believe those are mine.” He held out his hand. “I did adopt them, after all.”

Chelle smothered a laugh before adding, “He insisted the lawyer draw up the papers before the holiday.”

Dixon looked over at him in confusion for half a second before his smart-ass grin faded and the realization hit. He looked over at Griff as if searching for an ally, but their cousin just shrugged and grunted. Translation: Nash Beckett had won. While Fiona giggled and Kinsey lifted her teacup in toast, Dixon rolled his eyes and handed over Grandma Betty’s gift.

Nash lifted the three red, white, and green sweaters over his head in triumph. “To the fur baby winners—Sir Hiss Finch-Beckett, Mary Puppins Finch-Beckett, and Groucho Barks Finch-Beckett.”

The animals had no clue what all the fuss was about, but the pugs still yapped as they accepted snickerdoodle crumb bribes while he pulled the sweaters over their heads, and the cat just stayed laying on its side on the floor, meowing pitifully about the humiliation of having to wear a sweater when his turn arrived.

“You’re loving this, aren’t you?” Chelle asked as she took pictures of him holding up the very unenthusiastic Sir Hiss.

“Absolutely,” he said before putting the cat down and joining his fiancée on the couch. “Somewhere up there, Grandma Betty has to be smiling, because her brilliant ploy had worked exactly as she’d planned.”

It was true—even for him. And he couldn’t be happier. He had the woman he loved, the fur babies he adored, and a life that he hadn’t imagined possible. Plus, now he’d won the latest competition. Did it get better than that? He didn’t think so.