I shove my phone into the pocket of the hoodie I stole from Knox, cozy and smelling like his cologne. Then, I turn off the kettle and carefully pour the hot water into two mugs, each already lined with cocoa mix and a few lazy curls of shaved dark chocolate. Knox always says I make cocoa better than he does. I say he just likes being spoiled and refuses to admit it.
Padding toward the family room, mugs warming my palms, I pass the Christmas tree glowing in the corner, a few low-hanging ornaments already askew. Tiny paws skitter across thehardwood a beat later, followed by the rustle of wrapping paper and a sharp thud against a gift box.
“Are they racing again?” I ask Knox, who’s sitting on the oversized sofa, scrolling through Netflix, looking forDie Hard, even though I’ve told him, at least a thousand times, that it’s not a Christmas movie.
“Yep. Stripe’s in the lead,” he says, taking his mug as I wedge myself under the blanket, my legs tangling with his. “And yes—Die Hardstill counts.”
“Sure it does,” I say with a smirk. “Anyway, I heard from Paxton. He’s flying in on the company jet.” I grin. “It’s going to be fun having everyone here.”
Knox shifts slightly and slides his arm around me, pulling me in closer. “Would’ve been nice to have the Trouble Triplets here.”
“I know.” I take a sip of cocoa. “Can’t wait to hear about their Christmas cruise and all the scandal they stir up onboard.”
With a chuckle, Knox hits play, andDie Hardflashes onto the big screen like it’s tradition, and apparently, in this house, it is.
We settle in under the blanket. Stripe is curled into a gift bag, and Shadow’s playing crown soldier by the tree like she’s guarding state secrets. Knox’s legs tangle with mine beneath the blanket, and the room feels still. Warm and quiet.
Too quiet.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see a flash of movement. Stripe and Shadow, suddenly energized, are batting something small and velvet across the hardwood floor like it’s a prize.
I blink. “Wait. Is that?—”
A ring box?
Knox sets his mug on the side table, leans over, then scoops the little box off the floor. He brushes off a shred of ribbon, grinning like this was the plan all along.
“I needed them to do the delivery,” he says, flipping the box open with one hand. “They’ve got better timing than I do.”
My heart stops. Because inside the boxisa ring, gorgeous and elegant.
“Baby, you already know what you mean to me,” he says. “You turned my whole world right side up. Made it better in every way. And every version of forever I can imagine starts with you.”
My pulse trips over itself as the man I love drops to one knee, his onyx gaze locked on mine, tears falling down my cheeks.
“I want you next to me. For all of it. The big moments. The quiet days. The messy in-betweens. I want a life that looks like this. Us. Cocoa and kittens and love I stopped believing in until you.”
As he lifts the ring from the box, it catches the glow of the tree lights. The world narrows to a single heartbeat.
“Francesca Camille Beaumont”—his breath hitches just slightly, but his words don’t waver—“will you marry me?”
Tears blur the room into hazy gold and pine. “Oh my God, yes!” I nod once, twice, three times. “One million times, yes!”
After setting my mug down, I practically tackle him, arms looping around his neck, knocking us both into a laugh-filled tangle before he steadies me with warm hands.
Then, onto my shaky finger, Knox slides an emerald-cut diamond ring flanked by tapered baguettes, and before I can say anything else, my phone chirps.
“Might want to check that.” He leans in, lips tilted like he already knows. “Could be important.”
Butterflies do cartwheels in my belly as I dig the cell out of my hoodie pocket, a message from my dad lighting up the screen.
Dad: I gave him my blessing. See you tomorrow.
His words fall like snow, gentle and impossible to ignore.
Knox got Dad’s blessing first.
Every part of me feels warm, fuzzy, and adored.
