Chapter Thirty-Three Cole
I check my phone again. No messages from Sloane. I scroll through our text history, stopping at the last exchange before everything fell apart. Her excitement about decorating for Christmas jumps off the screen.
The perfect tree isn’t perfect at all , she’d written. It needs character. A wonky branch or two, maybe even a bald spot. That’s how you know it has a story.
I slip my phone back into my pocket and stare at the rows of Christmas trees in front of me. The lot owner hovers nearby, clearly wondering why this guy in an expensive coat has spent forty-five minutes examining every single tree without buying one.
“Looking for something specific?” he asks.
“Something imperfect,” I say. “Something with character.”
His eyebrows shoot up, but he nods.
I follow him to the back corner of the lot, where several neglected trees lean against the fence. One catches my eye immediately. A six-foot spruce with a dramatic curve in its trunk and a sparse patch on one side that gives it a lopsided appearance. It’s exactly the kind of tree Sloane would love.
“That one,” I point, already pulling out my wallet.
The lot owner looks skeptical. “You sure? Got some much nicer ones up front.”
“This is the one.” I’m certain. “It’s perfect because it’s not.”
Twenty minutes later, I’m strapping the tree to the roof of my car, mentally checking off the first item on my “Win Sloane Back” list. Next stop: decorations.
She’d spent an entire evening telling me about her family’s Christmas traditions—handmade ornaments, popcorn garlands, multicolor light strands, and the ceramic star her grandmother had given her that always tops the tree.
I drive to three different stores before finding everything I need, including a ceramic star that’s a decent stand-in if the original isn’t at the penthouse. My final stop is the most important...
Knox’s apartment is quiet when I knock, which means he’s either not home or ignoring me. I’m about to call him when the door swings open, and he stands there with a knowing smirk.
“About time,” he says, stepping aside to let me in. “The little monster’s been driving me crazy.”
As if on cue, a ball of golden fur comes tumbling around the corner, all paws and floppy ears. The golden retriever puppy skids across the hardwood floor before colliding with my shoes, immediately attacking my shoelaces with fierce determination.
“Jesus, Knox. What have you been feeding him?” I crouch down, and the puppy abandons my shoes to lick my face enthusiastically.
“The usual. Kibble, water, the occasional shoe.” He crosses his arms. “So you’re really doing this? The whole Christmas miracle thing?”
I scoop up the puppy, who settles against my chest with surprising contentment. “I don’t have a choice. I screwed up.”
“Yeah, you did.” Knox disappears into his kitchen and returns with a bag of puppy supplies. “I’m not going to say I told you so.” Knox hands me the puppy’s leash. “He’s already house-trained. Mostly.”
“Mostly?”
“Nah, I’m kidding. You’re screwed. Good luck.”
An hour later, I’m juggling a squirming puppy, carrying bags of decorations, and attempting to maneuver the Christmas tree into the elevator of our building. The doorman tries to hide his amusement as he helps me.
I’ve timed this carefully. Sloane gets so absorbed in her work that she loses track of everything else. If I’m lucky, I can get the tree set up before she realizes I’m home.
The puppy, thankfully, seems to understand the mission.
He sits quietly in the kitchen with a chew toy while I wrestle with the tree stand.
It takes nearly an hour to get the tree balanced—the crooked trunk making it a challenge—but finally, it stands proudly in the corner of the living room by the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the city.
I string the lights carefully, just as Sloane described.
The ornaments go on next, a mix of store-bought ones and the few I found tucked away in a box labeled “Christmas” in her closet at her old apartment.
I make a popcorn garland too, though it looks nothing like the neat strands Sloane had described from her childhood.
Mine has gaps where I broke the thread and pieces that are clearly mangled from my clumsy fingers.
Just as I’m placing the ceramic star on top, I hear the faint sound of her workshop door opening down the hall.
Quickly, I dim the other lights in the apartment and grab the puppy, who’s fallen asleep on the couch. He blinks drowsily as I hold him against my chest, positioning myself next to the tree.
“Cole?” Sloane’s voice carries from the hallway. “Is that you?”
“In here,” I call back, my heart pounding.
She appears in the doorway, still wearing her work clothes—jeans and an oversize sweater, red hair piled messily on top of her head. There’s a smudge of something on her cheek, probably silver dust from the piece she’s been working on. She’s never looked more beautiful.
For a moment, she just stares at the tree, her expression unreadable.
“What is this?” she finally asks, her voice quiet.
“It’s a tree,” I say lamely. “You said you wanted one.”
“That was before—” She stops, noticing the puppy in my arms for the first time. Her eyes widen. “Cole...”
I step forward, the puppy now fully awake and wiggling.
“I know I messed up. I know I should have told you the full truth from the beginning.” I take another step.
“Your work is brilliant, Sloane. I knew it the moment I saw the first piece you created. Yes, initially I thought your line would be a perfect way to fuck over Julian and protect Claire’s legacy.
I was using you as a tool. I can’t deny that.
But you’ve created something beyond what I could imagine.
Something that stands entirely on its own merit.
You aren’t Claire. You have something far darker, edgier, and completely your own. ”
She doesn’t move, but her eyes remain fixed on the puppy.
“I never meant to put you in danger. I let my arrogance get in the way of thinking I was more powerful than Julian. Knox tried to warn me, and I didn’t listen. I also should have never stalked you. Because you are right. That’s exactly what I was doing. No excuse.”
“A tree and a puppy,” she says softly. “That’s how you think you’ll fix this?”
“No.” I shake my head. “Nothing fixes what I did. But I’m hoping it’s a start. I’m hoping you’ll let me spend every day showing you how much I believe in you. In us.”
She looks up at the tree, taking in the crooked trunk, the sparse patches, the messy popcorn garland. Her eyes linger on the ceramic star.
“You bought a star,” she notes.
“I wasn’t sure if you had your grandmother’s.”
The puppy yawns dramatically, making Sloane laugh despite herself.
“Cole...” she whispers, reaching to take the puppy. It immediately starts covering her face in enthusiastic kisses. “This is the puppy from the rescue van. You adopted him? I thought—”
“I know it’s crazy,” I say quickly, my words tumbling out.
“I know puppies are messy and unpredictable and completely against everything I usually—” I break off as the puppy wriggles free from Sloane’s arms and bounds over to me, attacking my tie with delighted ferocity.
I can’t help but smile. “But when I saw the way you looked at the little guy...”
Sloane watches me as I gently detangle my silk tie from the puppy’s mouth, and I’m acutely aware of how undignified I must look—Cole Archer, CEO, completely undone by a handful of fur and enthusiasm. But somehow, I don’t care.
“When did you do this?” she asks, moving closer, taking the puppy into her arms.
“Knox went back for him. He’s been hiding at his place, which has not been good for Knox’s reputation with his security team.” I feel my expression turn serious, the weight of what I’ve done settling in. “I know it’s a big step. A puppy isn’t just a gift, it’s—”
“A commitment,” she finishes. “A responsibility. A complete disruption to your perfectly ordered life.”
“Our life,” I correct her softly. “And maybe it needs disrupting.” The puppy is licking her face and squirming all around.
She catches him just before he face-plants.
“I’ve spent my whole life thinking I needed to control everything.
Then you came along...” I look down at the puppy, now contentedly chewing her finger.
“I thought I was giving you a gift, but really... I think I’m giving us both permission to make a mess. Create something new.”
She takes a deep breath, and I can see the walls she’s built around herself starting to crumble. Carefully, she sets the puppy down on the floor, where he immediately begins investigating his new surroundings.
Sloane steps toward me until we’re just inches apart. Her eyes search mine, and I force myself to stay still, to let her see everything—my regret, my hope, my love.
“I was so angry,” she whispers. “Not just because of what happened, but because I was afraid of my worst fear. That you never really believed in me.”
“I believe in you more than I’ve ever believed in anything,” I say, my voice rough with emotion. “And I swear I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it to you.”
She reaches up, cupping my face in her hands. “You found a crooked Christmas tree.”
“I found the perfect tree.”
A smile breaks across her face, this one reaching all the way to her eyes. “Yes, you did.”
And then she’s rising on her tiptoes, her lips meeting mine in a kiss that feels like coming home. I wrap my arms around her waist, pulling her closer, feeling the tension of the past days dissolving as her body melds against mine. The kiss deepens, filled with forgiveness and promise.
A crash from the kitchen interrupts us, followed by the sound of scampering paws. We break apart and turn to see the puppy streak past the doorway, a dish towel clutched triumphantly in his mouth.
Sloane laughs, a real laugh that makes her eyes crinkle at the corners. She walks over and kisses me. Her lips are soft against mine, and something in my chest unravels.
“You’re really saying yes to shoes being chewed and perfectly arranged pillows being knocked over?” she asks, pulling back with a smile that makes my heart skip.
“I ordered protective covers for all the furniture,” I admit. “And puppy-proofing consultants are coming tomorrow.”
She laughs, the sound filling the space between us as she picks up the puppy again. “Of course they are.” The puppy has discovered her hair and is treating it like the world’s best toy. “I love you,” she says, still smiling as she tries to free her hair from tiny teeth.
The words hang in the air, and I feel my breath catch. She goes very still, clearly realizing what she’s just said—what she’s never said before.
“I—” she starts to say, but I cut her off with a kiss that pours every ounce of what I’m feeling into her. My hands find her face, cradling it like something precious.
“I love you too.” My voice comes out rough with emotion. “God, Sloane, I’ve been trying to find the perfect moment to tell you, and here you are, just saying it while a puppy uses you as a chew toy.”
She lets out a shaky laugh that I feel against my lips. “That’s us, isn’t it? You planning everything to perfection, and me just blurting things out between catastrophes.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” I brush her hair back from her face, my fingertips lingering on her skin. “And for the record, this actually might be the perfect moment.”
“Better than whatever elaborate scenario you had planned?” Her eyes are teasing now, the green in them bright with happiness.
“Way better,” I admit. “I was thinking about renting out The Pierre. I had a whole speech prepared. But this...” I glance around at our living room—the crooked tree, the messy decorations, the puppy chewing everything it sees. “This is us. Real. Messy. Perfect.”
“Yeah?” She leans in to kiss me again, but the puppy chooses that moment to let out an indignant yip, clearly feeling ignored. “Does he have a name?”
“I thought we could figure that out together.” I watch her untangle her hair from tiny puppy teeth, her fingers nimble against the golden fur. “Though given his clear disregard for proper order and expensive accessories, might I suggest Havoc?”
Sloane’s smile widens as she lifts the puppy higher, holding him at eye level. “Havoc,” she says as she tests the name. “I like it.”
“Welcome to our beautiful mess,” she tells him, and my laugh joins hers as Havoc suddenly wriggles free and makes a beeline for the Christmas tree, immediately batting at a low-hanging ornament.
I pull Sloane against me, arms wrapping around her waist as we watch our new puppy circle the tree with boundless enthusiasm. Her body fits perfectly against mine, and when she tilts her head back to look at me, I see everything I’ve ever wanted reflected in her eyes.
“I love you,” I say again, because now that I’ve said it, I never want to stop.
Her answer is a kiss that starts soft but quickly deepens, her fingers threading through my hair. Havoc is completely forgotten as I lift her into my arms, her legs wrapping around my waist. I carry her toward our bedroom, leaving a trail of decorations and puppy toys in our wake.
For the first time in my life, I don’t care about the mess.