Page 23 of Christmas With The Tycoon

Her mouth falls open. “All of it?”

I nod. “I want them delivered to Santa’s sleigh before the Christmas parade. No note. No publicity. No ‘from’ anyone.”

She stares at me, eyes welling slightly. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Graham Sinclair doesn’t donate to impress people. Not anymore.Not ever again.

“You have no idea how much this will mean,” she whispers.

But I do.

“Consider it done,” she says, voice thick as she starts ringing everything up. “Hope Peak is going to cry when they see this.”

I hope not. But someone will talk. Someone always talks. And maybe that’s okay.

♥♥♥

I’m waiting outside Willow’s house just before six, snow drifting around the streetlamps in lazy spirals. When she steps outside, wrapped in a burgundy coat, my heart does something I didn’t authorize. She’s breathtaking.

She walks toward me slowly, her lips curving. “You’re early.”

“I didn’t want to waste a minute.”

Her eyes lock onto mine and I hold the door of my SUV open as she situates herself in the passenger seat. Our drive there seems all uphill and fast. It’s a blur, like I’m on auto-pilot.

Inside the Summit restaurant, soft light wraps around her like she belongs to every beautiful thing in the world. We order and talk. We laugh in quiet tones that feel intimate enough to make the room disappear.

Halfway through dinner, the moment comes. I reach into my coat pocket and place the small, ribbon-tied box on the table between us.

Her breath catches, a soft gasp that draws my gaze to the rise of her chest under her sweater. “Graham…”

“Open it.”

Her fingers tremble as she unties the ribbon and lifts the lid. When she sees the beautifully aged key glinting under the chandelier's warm glow, she inhales sharply. Her thumb brushes the key’s head.

“It’s from Hearthstone’s era,” I say softly. “Maybe even from the lodge itself.”

Her lips part and she traces the intricate cutouts, the metal cool and worn under her touch. “Why would you give me this?” she whispers, her voice threading with emotion.

I believe she knows, but I tell her anyway.

“Because,” I lean in, the scent of her vanilla perfume mingling with the wine on her breath, “I never want to lose you. The same way you don’t want this town to lose the lodge. Or its memories. Or its heart.”

Tears gather in her eyes, spilling over as she blinks, one tracing a slow path down her cheek. I brush it away with my thumb, her skin soft and warm.

“This key is a promise,” I add, my hand lingering on her jaw. “I’m not here to take anything from Hope Peak. I’m here because you showed me what’s worth protecting.”

Her throat bobs, a swallow that echoes in the quiet space between us. “Graham…”

“I want a future with you. One we’re not afraid to make.”

She closes the box slowly, the lid clicking shut like a seal on unspoken vows, and presses her hand over mine.

“I’m not losing you either,” she says, her fingers interlacing with mine.

This is a turning point -- a commitment etched in the air around us. Willow leans in and kisses me. It’s a soft kiss at first, her lips brushing mine like a question, then deeper, her tongue seeking with a hunger that stirs the embers from last night. In this moment I know, with complete clarity, that this woman is my future. And I’m hers.