Atticus
Hours later,when the brunch has concluded and the last guests have departed with leftover cookies and warm goodbyes, I findSloane in my office. She stands at the window, watching the snowfall over Hope Peak, the locket gleaming at her throat in the late afternoon light.
"Penny for your thoughts," I say, closing the door quietly behind me.
She turns, her smile warming me more effectively than the fireplace burning cheerfully in the corner. "Just thinking about Christmas miracles."
"Find any?" I ask, crossing to join her at the window.
"A few." She leans into me as my arm circles her waist. "A ruthless CEO with a hidden heart of gold. A best friendship that turned into forever. A corporate expansion that somehow made a town stronger instead of changing its character."
"Quite the holiday haul," I observe, pressing a kiss to her temple.
"I'd say so." She turns in my arms to face me fully. "Thank you for the locket. It means more than I can say, knowing you've been carrying it all this time, waiting."
"I didn't know I was waiting for you specifically," I admit, "but some part of me must have. Nothing else explains why I kept it close all these years."
Her hand comes up to trace my jaw, a touch so gentle it nearly undoes me. "And thank you for today. For all of it, the house, the announcement, staying in Hope Peak. I know it's a major adjustment to your plans."
"Not an adjustment," I correct her. "An improvement. The best deals are the ones where both parties gain something more valuable than what they give up."
"Always the businessman," she teases, though her eyes are soft with understanding.
"Always your businessman," I counter, drawing her closer. "Now and for all the Christmases to come."
"I like the sound of that." She rises on tiptoes, bringing our faces level. "Take me home, Atticus. I believe you mentioned something about Christmas gifts requiring privacy?"
Heat pools low in my stomach at the reminder. "Your wish is my command."
The drive to what is now our temporary home, a luxury rental that will serve until the Ridgeline property renovations are complete, is filled with anticipation. Sloane's hand rests on my thigh, an innocent touch that grows increasingly distracting as we near our destination.
Inside, the space has been transformed since this morning, a fire blazes in the hearth, champagne chills in an ice bucket, and rose petals create a path from the living room to the bedroom. Sloane's eyes widen as she takes it all in.
"Marcus again?" she guesses, slipping off her coat.
"He coordinated, but the details were my instruction," I admit, helping her hang her coat before removing my own. "Too much?"
"Perfect," she counters, turning into my arms. "Absolutely perfect."
The kiss that follows is unhurried yet filled with promise, a slow burn that we've learned to build together over these past weeks. Her hands find my hair, dislodging the Santa hat I'd forgotten I was still wearing. We both laugh as it falls to the floor, the moment of levity only enhancing the intimacy between us.
"I have something for you," I murmur against her lips. "Your actual Christmas gift."
"This isn't it?" she asks, gesturing to the romantic scene around us.
"This is just the setting." I lead her to the sofa, retrieving a wrapped package from beneath the small tree in the corner, another touch Marcus had arranged with his usual efficiency.
She accepts it with curious eyes, carefully unwrapping the distinctive blue box within. "Atticus," she breathes, recognizing the Tiffany packaging immediately. "You didn't have to...”
"Open it," I encourage, watching her face closely.
Inside, she finds not jewelry but a key, sleek and modern, attached to a simple silver keychain. Her brow furrows briefly before understanding dawns.
"Is this...?"
"To the New York apartment," I confirm. "Your name's already on the deed. I had Marcus handle the paperwork last week."
Her eyes widen. "You put me on the deed of your Manhattan apartment? Atticus, that's...”
