Page 28 of Christmas With The Tycoon

“Oh, definitely.” I laugh. “Hope Peak doesn’t forget gifts like that. Those kids will be waiting every year now.”

He groans quietly but there’s a smile tugging at his mouth. “Guess I’d better keep showing up then.”

“You will,” I say without hesitation.

“I will,” he repeats quietly.

A soft hush settles between us — not awkward, not unsure. Just full of possibility. It’s an awareness that we’re alone together in my home … and the day is far from over.

Graham sets his wine glass aside, eyes lingering on me with gentle heat. I take a slow breath, my pulse fluttering.

“Willow,” he says, his voice low, steady, wanting, “come here.”

Epilogue

Willow

Day After Christmas

Morning arrives softly, like the world is trying not to wake us too quickly. Graham is beside me, half-sitting against my pillows, hair tousled, eyes warm with that slow, sleepy softness I never thought I’d get to see from him. One of his arms is around my waist, absentmindedly tracing tiny patterns along my hip beneath the blankets.

I never imagined a man like him would look this at home in my bed. In my house. In my life.

“Morning,” he murmurs, voice low and rough from sleep.

“Morning,” I whisper back.

He brushes a strand of my hair behind my ear, smiling in that quiet, private way he’s only ever shown me. “You good?”

I nod, my chest too full for words.

We spend a few peaceful minutes listening to the muffled sounds of the neighborhood waking up, dogs barking, and someone scraping ice from their windshield.

I lean close, tracing a fingertip along his collarbone. “You’ve written yourself into Hope Peak history now. You’re stuck with us.”

He hooks an arm around me and pulls me gently into his chest, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. “I could get used to being stuck with you.”

Emotion swells inside me that is overwhelming in the best way. “Graham…”

He cups my cheek, guiding my gaze back to his. “I’m not going anywhere, Willow.”

I press my forehead to his, breathing him in, letting his certainty settle me. “Good.”

We eventually make our way to the kitchen, bare feet on cool floorboards. He brews coffee while I slice leftover cinnamon bread. The simple domesticity of it — his mug beside mine, his hand brushing my lower back as he reaches for the butter knife makes something inside me unfurl, warm and trusting.

This isn’t flashy. This isn’t dramatic. It’s safe and sweet. And it feels like home.

We eat breakfast at my small table, legs tangled beneath it, laughing about parade mishaps. At one point, he reaches across the table and touches the Hearthstone key, still tied with its red ribbon which I brought out earlier last night.

“That stays with you,” he says softly. “Always.”

I thread my fingers through his. “I know.”

Outside, snow keeps falling. Inside, the future settles in around us full of promise.

Whatever comes next for us, for Hope Peak, for the lodge … we’ll build it together.

Hand in hand.

Heart to heart.

Stone by stone.

Just the way it was always meant to be.

♥♥♥