Chapter 7 Atticus #2
"Some things matter more than plans." The conviction in my voice surprises even me. "You matter more."
She blinks rapidly, emotion making her eyes shine. "Who are you and what have you done with Atticus Morgan?"
"He's currently being held hostage by a woman who makes him forget why spreadsheets ever seemed important."
"Poor man," she teases, though I can see my words have affected her deeply. "Will he ever escape?"
"Not if I have anything to say about it."
The moment stretches between us, weighted with everything we're not quite ready to name aloud. Then Sloane glances at the clock, sighing regretfully.
"It's almost seven-thirty," she points out. "If breakfast is coming at eight, we should probably shower."
"Probably," I agree, making no move to release her. "Though I hate to wash your scent off me."
Heat blooms in her cheeks at my words. "That's... surprisingly possessive of you."
"I'm discovering all sorts of new things about myself lately," I admit. "Most of them involve how much I want you to be mine."
"I already am," she says simply, the sincerity in her voice touching something deep inside me.
I capture her lips in a kiss that starts gentle but quickly reignites the embers of desire. Her hands slide into my hair, body pressing closer as the kiss deepens. When we finally break apart, we're both breathing harder.
"Shower," she says firmly, though regret colors her voice. "Separately, or we'll never make it to breakfast."
"Voice of reason," I grumble, releasing her reluctantly. "Fine. You first."
She slips from the bed, gloriously naked in the morning light, and I can't help but watch appreciatively as she walks to the bathroom. At the door, she turns, catching me staring.
"See something you like?" she asks, a teasing lilt to her voice.
"Everything," I answer honestly. "I like everything I see."
Her expression softens at my sincerity. "Charmer."
"Only with you," I call as she disappears into the bathroom.
While Sloane showers, I check my phone again.
Marcus has confirmed breakfast delivery at eight sharp.
The board update call has been pushed to eleven-thirty.
Jenna has sent the daily schedule with three separate events highlighted in red, apparently, I've committed to judging a gingerbread house competition, attending a rehearsal for the children's holiday pageant, and making an appearance at the town’s tree lighting ceremony.
I should be annoyed at the packed schedule, at the demands on my time that have nothing to do with quarterly projections or shareholder value. Instead, I find myself looking forward to experiencing these small-town traditions with Sloane by my side.
When she emerges from the bathroom, wrapped in one of the lodge's plush robes with her hair damp around her shoulders, I'm momentarily distracted from my thoughts.
"Your turn," she says, gesturing to the bathroom. "I left you some hot water."
"Appreciated." I rise from the bed, unself-conscious in my nakedness. "Though a cold shower might have been more appropriate given what you do to me."
Her eyes travel over me appreciatively. "Flatterer."
I catch her around the waist as I pass, stealing a quick kiss that tastes of mint toothpaste. "Simple truth."
The bathroom is still steamy from her shower, the air scented with the lodge's pine and cedarwood products she's used. I make quick work of my morning routine, eager to rejoin her, only to find her on the phone when I return to the bedroom.
"Yes, Jenna, he'll be there," she's saying, her back to me as she gazes out the window at the snow-covered pines. "I promise. Three o'clock sharp."
She listens for a moment, then laughs. "I have my ways." Another pause. "Yes, well, those too. See you at the office."
When she turns and sees me, dressed in just a towel slung low on my hips, her voice falters slightly. "I should go. Yes. Later."
She disconnects, setting the phone aside with deliberate care. "Hi."
"Hi yourself," I reply, amused by her reaction. "Making promises on my behalf?"
"Children's pageant rehearsal," she admits, crossing to where I stand. "They need someone tall to help with the star backdrop."
"And you volunteered me?"
"You did say you were 'all in’," she reminds me, fingers tracing the droplets of water still clinging to my chest. "Besides, you'll look adorable with glitter in your hair."
I catch her wandering hand, bringing it to my lips. "The things I do for you, Parker."
Her smile is soft, intimate in a way that makes my chest tight. "I appreciate it more than you know, Morgan."
A knock at the door interrupts whatever I might have said in response. "Breakfast," I surmise, releasing her reluctantly. "Let me get dressed."
While I pull on casual clothes, jeans and a sweater that would give Marcus a heart attack if he saw me in the office, Sloane answers the door. I hear a murmured thanks, then the click of the door closing.
When I emerge from the bedroom, she's arranging a veritable feast on the small dining table beneath the window, coffee in a thermal carafe, fresh pastries, fruit, and what appears to be eggs benedict steaming gently beneath silver covers.
"Marcus outdid himself," she observes, pouring coffee into two mugs emblazoned with the lodge's logo. "Though I'm not sure we need this much food after last night's dinner."
"You'll be grateful for the calories later," I promise, accepting the coffee she offers. "We have a full day ahead."
"Do we?" Her eyebrow arches as she settles into one of the chairs. "I thought your schedule was clear until ten."
"After that," I clarify, joining her at the table. "Apparently, I'm judging gingerbread houses, hanging stars for the children's pageant, and attending the tree lighting ceremony tonight."
"Busy man," she teases, selecting a croissant from the basket. "Sure you wouldn't rather be reviewing quarterly projections?"
"Strangely, no." I reach for the eggs, suddenly ravenous. "Though I do have that board call at eleven-thirty."
"Duty calls," she sighs dramatically. "Back to reality."
"Not entirely," I correct, reaching across the table to take her hand. "Reality has significantly improved lately."
Her smile is worth every community event I'll endure today.
After breakfast, we dress for the day, Sloane in clothes she'd packed in a small overnight bag I hadn't noticed her bringing.
“Ready?” She questions, once we’re finished.
"Yes, we wouldn’t want to be late," I note as we prepare to leave. "Can't judge gingerbread houses if we are."
"God forbid," she agrees, eyes twinkling. "What would the townspeople say? Blackwood CEO so busy romancing a local girl he couldn't be bothered to turn up?"
"Is that what I'm doing?" I ask, drawing her into my arms. "Romancing you?"
"Among other things," she murmurs, rising on tiptoes to brush her lips against mine. "Very successfully, I might add."
The HQ building is bustling when we arrive, the team in full swing preparing for the afternoon's events. Jenna spots us immediately, hurrying over with a tablet in hand.
"There you are!" she exclaims. "The gingerbread judges need to be at the community center by noon, and Brynn has marketing mock-ups ready for review before then."
"Good morning to you too, Jenna," I say dryly. "I'll review the mock-ups in my office in ten minutes."
She nods briskly, then her gaze shifts to Sloane, something knowing in her expression. " That sweater’s making another appearance? Very eco-conscious of you."
Sloane's cheeks pink slightly, but she doesn't miss a beat. "I'm all about sustainability. Plus, this sweater brings out my eyes."
"Mmm-hmm." Jenna's smile is just shy of smug. "Well, Marisol is looking for you. Something about the charity auction seating arrangements."
"I'll find her," Sloane promises, turning to me. "See you at noon for the gingerbread judging?"
"I'll be there," I assure her. "Save me a seat with the least creative contestants."
Her laughter follows her as she heads off to find Marisol, leaving me with a smiling Jenna.
"Not a word," I warn, though there's no real authority in my voice.
"Wouldn't dream of it, sir." Her professional tone is belied by the twinkle in her eyes. "Though I will say, it's nice to see you happy."
The simple observation catches me off guard. Am I happy? The foreign emotion is difficult to identify after years of pursuit and accomplishment rather than joy. But yes, I realize, I am happy, in a way I can't remember feeling since childhood.
"Thank you, Jenna," I say quietly. "It's nice to feel happy."
She looks momentarily startled by my candor, then her expression softens. "You're welcome, sir. Now, about those mock-ups?"
Just like that, we're back to business, the moment of personal connection tucked away beneath professional courtesy. I head to my office, bracing myself for the transition from Atticus-and-Sloane back to CEO Morgan.
To my surprise, it's easier than expected.
The morning passes in a blur of marketing reviews, board calls, and community event coordination.
Yet beneath it all runs a current of anticipation, for seeing Sloane at the gingerbread judging, for the evening's tree lighting ceremony, for whatever moments we can steal together between obligations.
When noon approaches, I find myself checking the time more frequently than usual, eager to leave the confines of my office. Marcus notices, of course.
"The car is waiting whenever you're ready, sir," he informs me, a hint of amusement in his voice. "I've cleared your schedule until four, with a window to return here before the tree lighting at six."
"Efficient as always, Marcus." I gather my coat, pausing at the door. "Thank you. For everything."
He inclines his head slightly. "My pleasure, sir. If I may say so, Ms. Parker is an excellent influence."
"She is," I agree, surprising myself with the readiness of the admission. "In more ways than I can count."
The community center is packed when I arrive, the air sweet with the scent of gingerbread and spices.
Children of all ages proudly stand beside their creations, parents hovering nearby with cameras at the ready.
The scene is chaotic, colorful, and completely foreign to my usual experience, yet somehow I find myself enjoying it.
I spot Sloane across the room, crouched beside a young girl explaining her gingerbread replica of what appears to be Blackwood Winter HQ, complete with tiny pine trees and a miniature coffee bar.
The sight of her, animated, engaged, completely in her element, sends warmth spreading through my chest.
As if sensing my presence, she looks up, her smile widening when our eyes meet. She says something to the girl, who nods enthusiastically, then makes her way toward me through the crowd.
"Atticus Morgan at a children's gingerbread competition," she marvels, reaching my side. "I should document this historic moment."
"Very funny," I mutter, though I can't help smiling. "I'm here under duress."
"Liar." She bumps her shoulder against mine. "You're enjoying yourself."
"I'm enjoying being with you," I correct, voice low enough that only she can hear. "The gingerbread is a bonus."
Her cheeks flush slightly at my words. "Careful, or people will realize you're actually a softie under all that corporate armor."
"Only with you," I assure her, the truth of it resonating through me. "Always only with you."
The depth of emotion in my voice catches us both by surprise. For a heartbeat, we're alone in the crowded room, everything else falling away as our eyes meet.
"Atticus," she begins, something serious in her expression.
Before she can continue, we're interrupted by the mayor announcing the start of judging. The moment breaks, reality rushing back in with all its noise and obligations.
"Later," I promise, sensing the weight of whatever she was about to say. "We'll talk later."
She nods, professional mask sliding back into place as she leads me toward the judging table. But as we take our seats, her hand finds mine beneath the tablecloth, fingers interlacing with quiet certainty.
And in that simple touch, I find all the reassurance I need that whatever comes next, whatever challenges we face, whatever distance might separate us after the holidays, what we've found together is worth fighting for.
Sloane Parker has become essential to me, as necessary as breathing. And while I don't know exactly what that means for our future, I know with absolute clarity that there is no going back.
I am hers, completely and irrevocably.
And somehow, miraculously, she is mine.