Chapter Forty
Nate
Jo was hunched over her laptop, looking like she could command global scientific revolutions before breakfast. I’d bought a massively overqualified ergonomic chair so I could run my billion-dollar company run from a garage.
There were no floor to ceiling windows, but honestly I couldn’t imagine a better view than the one across from me.
She glanced up, eyes bright, cheeks flushed from focus. “I’m close,” she whispered, like she was confessing a crime. “Really fucking close. I think I have it this time.”
My heart thudded. Did she have it this time? Something told me yes.
“I wish my dad were here to test it,” she said. “Because this—this is it. I can feel it. And once I solve this, I’m going to open-source the shit out of it.” She spread her hands like presenting a gift to the universe. “Imagine that. Energy for everyone, everywhere. Merry Christmas, world.”
I smiled, my heart unbearably full of hope. “I believe in you,” I said. “And yeah . . . I wish he were here too.”
My phone rang.
Tanner.
The timing was so perfect it felt scripted.
I answered and put him on speaker. His voice shot through the lab like he’d been waiting his whole life to deliver this punchline. “Guess who’s being released today?”
Jo froze mid-breath.
I forgot how to breathe entirely.
Tanner didn’t make us wait. “Roy Ashby. As in bags packed, signatures signed, guards unlocking the damn door. Today.”
Jo’s hands flew to her mouth. She made a sound like a choked laugh-sob hybrid and launched herself across the room into my arms. “You did it!” she cried against my chest. “Oh my God, you did it. He’s coming home—Nate, he’s coming HOME—”
Home.
She meant HERE.
My knees nearly forgot their job.
Tanner kept talking, smug as hell. “Dominoes are falling left and right. Just like we planned. Unless you think this is too big a Christmas gift, I’m sending your father straight to some snowy New Hampshire farm with one hell of a security escort.”
Jo squeezed me like she wanted to absorb the moment through her skin. Tears sparkled in her eyes—happy ones, bright ones, ones I wanted to spend my life earning.
I cleared my throat, which was not cooperating. “You realize that was the Christmas present I was going to get her, right?”
“Don’t worry,” Tanner said. “I’ll write ‘From both of us’ on the card.”
I laughed—actually laughed—while Jo clung to me like gravity meant nothing.
“Tanner,” I said, sobering. “Thank you. Truly.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Tanner replied. “Actually—there is one thing I need.”
I tensed. “Tell me.”
“My holiday plans fell through,” he said casually. “Rumor is you’re spending Christmas somewhere that actually knows how to celebrate it. Feel like hosting a guy who just saved your ass?”
I snorted. “Are you angling for an invitation?”
“Maybe.”
“You were always welcome, man. But fair warning—it’s not the kind of guesthouse you’re used to. Think glorified shed.”
Tanner barked a laugh. “Perfect. I’ll bring extra blankets.”
After we hung up, Jo pulled back just far enough to look at me, face glowing. “Should we fly out there? To meet him?”
I shook my head slowly, brushing a thumb over her jaw. “Sounds like he’s already on his way here. But if this keeps up”—I glanced toward the tiny guesthouse—“we’re definitely going to need more space.”
She sniffed a laugh. “Big billionaire like you can’t solve that problem?”
“I was trying not to show off.”
“My dad is coming home,” she whispered. “And the man who saved him is coming here for the holidays? And your father and Claire want to be here too?” She laughed at the absurdity of it. “Nate. We need a holiday miracle renovation.”
I grinned. “You don’t have to give me permission twice. It’s winter, so what I can do right now will be temporary. But by next year . . .” I leaned close. “We’ll have permanent space for everyone we love to visit anytime they want.”
Her eyes widened, soft and astonished. “You’re already planning for next Christmas?”
“Jo,” I said. “I’m already planning the rest of our lives.”
Something shifted in her and she smiled like it was the first sunrise of the year. I wiggled my eyebrows at her suggestively.
She slid her hands up my chest. “What? Do you think I have time to get naked with you in the middle of the day?”
I raised an eyebrow. “Do you?”
“Always.” She jumped—arms around my shoulders, legs around my waist—and I caught her automatically, laughing as my security team scrambled to clear our path like they were evacuating a blast zone.
As I carried her through the house, she nipped my ear and murmured, “How long until my father gets here?”
“At least a few hours.”
She wriggled against me in a way that scrambled my brain.
“That sounds,” she whispered, “absolutely perfect.”
And I didn’t disagree.