"Even then," she confirms with a laugh. "Though I did occasionally fantasize about dumping said lattes over your perfect hair."
"Violent tendencies noted," I murmur, leaning in to brush my lips against hers. "Should I be concerned about my safety as your husband?"
"Only if you leave the toothpaste cap off," she warns, deepening the kiss momentarily before pulling back. "Or work past dinner without calling."
"Reasonable boundaries," I agree, chasing her lips for another kiss. "Anything else I should know before we make this official?"
Her expression turns more serious. "Just that I love you. More than I ever thought possible. And whatever comes next, New York board meetings or Hope Peak snow days, we'll figure it out together."
"Together," I echo, the word a promise and a future rolled into one. "I like the sound of that."
"Me too," she whispers against my lips before kissing me again, this time with an intensity that makes me grateful her office door is closed.
When we eventually break apart, both slightly breathless, the intercom on her desk buzzes. Jenna's voice filters through: "Sorry to interrupt, lovebirds, but the children's pageant director is on line one. Something about needing Atticus for an emergency star-hanging situation?"
Sloane's laugh is bright and infectious as I groan, pressing my forehead to hers. "Duty calls, future husband," she teases. "Your public needs you."
"The sacrifices I make for community integration," I mutter, though there's no real complaint behind it.
"Just wait until they recruit you for the Santa role," she warns, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Red suit, fake beard, the works."
"That's where I draw the line," I inform her firmly, stealing one more kiss before releasing her. "CEO dignity has its limits."
"We'll see," is all she says, the challenge in her voice suggesting this is a battle I'm destined to lose.
Oddly, the thought doesn't bother me as it once would have. Perhaps because I know whatever ridiculous holiday tradition I'm roped into, whatever community event requires my presence, whatever small-town obligation comes next, Sloane will be by my side, making it all not just bearable, but somehow wonderful.
As I head to the children's pageant rehearsal, the emerald ring on her finger catching the light as she waves goodbye, I find myself looking forward to every moment of our shared future, board meetings and holiday pageants alike.
Because with Sloane Parker, soon to be Sloane Morgan, even hanging paper stars in a school gymnasium feels like exactly where I'm meant to be.
Epilogue
SLOANE
"Merry Christmas, everyone!" Jenna's cheerful voice rises above the festive chatter filling the Blackwood Winter HQ lobby. "Grab some cocoa and join us by the tree!"
I survey the transformed space with a sense of accomplishment and joy. The towering pine in the corner sparkles with lights and ornaments, a mix of corporate-approved silver and blue baubles alongside handmade contributions from local artisans. Pine garlands wrap around timber beams, their scent mingling with gingerbread and cinnamon from the refreshment table. Outside, snow falls gently against the floor-to-ceiling windows, nature's own contribution to our picture-perfect Christmas morning.
Three weeks ago, I couldn't have imagined this scene, a corporate headquarters turned into a warm gathering place where staff members mingle with their families, locals drop by with homemade treats, and my ruthless CEO fiancé chats comfortably with Spencer Sullivan about spring construction plans, not a hint of his boardroom intensity in sight.
The emerald on my left hand catches the light as I adjust a tray of Carly's gingerbread cookies. The ring still startles me sometimes; a tangible reminder of how dramatically my life has changed since Atticus arrived in Hope Peak. From best friends to lovers to engaged in less than a month. It should feel rushed, impulsive, maybe even reckless.
Instead, it feels like the most natural progression imaginable, as if we've been walking this path together for years, just waiting for the right moment to acknowledge where it was leading.
"Deep thoughts for Christmas morning?" Marisol appears at my elbow, two mugs of peppermint cocoa in hand. She offers one to me with a knowing smile.
"Just appreciating the moment," I admit, accepting the cocoa gratefully. "It's been quite a month."
"That's one way of putting it." Her gaze drifts to where Atticus stands, his tall frame easy to spot among the gathering. "Who would have thought the infamous Atticus Morgan would be wearing a Santa hat and discussing snowshoe trails with Levi Voss?"
I follow her gaze, warmth blooming in my chest at the sight. The Santa hat, jaunty red with white trim, sits slightly askew on his dark hair, a concession to the holiday spirit that would have been unthinkable three weeks ago. He'd drawn the line at the full Santa suit for the children's pageant, but the hat had been a compromise I'd won with persuasive methods that still bring color to my cheeks when I remember them.
"He's full of surprises," I say, unable to keep the affection from my voice.
"So are you." Marisol bumps my shoulder gently. "Operations Manager to fiancée of the CEO in three weeks? That's got to be some kind of corporate record."
"Best friends to fiancés," I correct her. "The rest is just titles."
