She kissed him back and opened her note. “To my dearest, Calla, the love of my heart. Ahh, Guthrie,” she said and pulled him into a tighter hug and another kiss.

“I’m afraid I’m not much of a poet and that was the best I could do.” He opened her note to him and smiled. “To the hottest wolf in a kilt, fighting or not, with the sexiest legs a lassie ever set eyes on.” He chuckled and ran his hand over her lap, covered in her new plaid skirt.

A bonfire was lit outside after the meal, and everyone went out to dance and sing while the bagpiper played. Calla hadn’t realized all the fun she’d missed out on when she was living alone. She loved the big pack’s traditions and danced the afternoon away with Guthrie, glad he loved to dance too. An English Christmas tea followed that with cheeses, crackers, pigs-in-blankets, Christmas pies, and snowman buns.

She didn’t think she’d ever had this much fun—until she retired to be with Guthrie that night. Who knew that she could live on so little sleep?

The day after Christmas, they planted the Christmas tree in the ground—a new tradition for the pack—so no one was saddened about the tree decorations coming down. Besides, next up was Hogmanay, the Scottish New Year, and the anticipation of those celebrations was just beginning.

And then there’d be a wedding that the whole clan was taking part in, using Calla’s book on planning parties on a budget.

Best of all, although Calla and Guthrie were starting the New Year a little broke, they had all the love they could share—and that they would never find lacking.