Chapter 47
Chapter Forty-Seven
AUDRA
The company Christmas party is the first time we walk in together without caution. No spacing. No careful choreography. Just… together.
The no-fraternization policy has been formally retired—replaced with a stack of forms HR pretends are scandalous but really amount to paperwork and a mutual acknowledgment of consent. We filled them out weeks ago. Signed. Filed. Done.
So Derek’s arm settles around my waist without hesitation. It stays there. He leans in now and then, brushing a kiss against my temple—unshowy, familiar. Not claiming. Just connected. The way couples look when they’ve already said the important things in private.
People notice. Of course they do.
But there’s no whispering. No spectacle. Just smiles. Acceptance. A few raised brows from people who missed the middle chapters.
Jamie catches my eye from across the room and lifts her glass.
Finally, her expression says.
I smile back.
Across the room, Jamie has claimed a high-top with Mark and Alex. Levi is with them, loud in the way only Levi can be—half storytelling, half performance, arms moving like punctuation.
“…and I’m just saying,” he’s saying, gesturing with his drink, “if your GPS tells you to turn left into a lake, at some point personal responsibility has to kick in.”
Jamie laughs outright.
Mark’s mouth twitches, which for him is practically a standing ovation.
Alex shakes his head. “That’s not what happened.”
“It is emotionally what happened,” Levi insists. “The vibes were aquatic.”
Jamie snorts. “You’re impossible.”
“Thank you,” Levi says solemnly. “I work very hard at it.”
Mark adds something dry under his breath that I can’t quite hear, but it sets Alex off again—laughter sharp and unrestrained.
They’re too loud. Too animated. Absolutely unconcerned with who’s watching.
I catch Jamie’s eye for a second. She lifts her glass at me, grin unapologetic.
See? it says. We’re fine.
I smile back.
Levi launches into another story—this one involving a disastrous Secret Santa exchange and a ceramic llama that apparently haunts him to this day.
“Still have it,” he says proudly. “Sits on my shelf. Judges me.”
“That tracks,” Alex says.
“Honestly,” Jamie adds, “I’m just impressed you didn’t set it on fire.”
Levi gasps. “I am a grown man.”
Mark raises his glass. “Debatable.”
The group dissolves into laughter again, the sound carrying across the room—warm and unfiltered.
For a moment, I just watch them. This strange, loud constellation of people who somehow became mine.
Then Derek’s hand settles more firmly at my waist, grounding me back where I belong.
Later, when the music shifts and the room softens into that end-of-night warmth, Derek murmurs, “You okay?”
I nod. “Better than okay.”
His thumb presses once at my waist. “Good.”
Christmas comes quietly.
We decorate together—first his house, then mine. He’s methodical. I’m not. We negotiate ornament placement like it matters, laughing when he insists symmetry counts and I hang something crooked on purpose.
His tree is tall and understated. White lights. Gold accents.
Mine is… not.
There are ornaments from years I pretend don’t matter anymore. He listens when I tell him the stories anyway.
It feels intimate in a way I didn’t expect. Like we’re learning how to inhabit each other’s spaces without asking permission first.
Christmas morning is at his place.
The living room smells like coffee and pine and something warm in the oven.
There’s a large present under the tree with my name on it. Large enough that my stomach tightens. I eye it.
“That’s not a ring box,” I say carefully.
He smiles. “No.”
I exhale. “Good.”
“Still,” he adds, “I’d like you to open it.”
I kneel and tear into the paper, laughing when I pull out—of all things—a wooden drawer.
From his dresser.
I look up at him. “You’re kidding.”
“I’m not.”
My smile falters when I see his expression. Not playful. Not teasing. Just… steady. The same steadiness I’ve learned to trust because it doesn’t ask anything of me.
“I’ve got another one just like it,” he says.
I tilt my head. “Why.”
“So you have space,” he replies. “Here.”
I stare at the drawer in my hands. Solid. Ordinary. Unromantic in a way that somehow makes my chest tighten.
“You’re asking me to—”
“Move in with me,” he says.
There it is.
A thousand thoughts rush in at once. Too soon. Too fast. What if—what if not?
I let them pass.
I look at him. Really look.
No pressure. No performance. No quiet expectation waiting for me to make it okay.
Just an offer. Clean and open and mine to refuse if I want to.
He shrugs lightly. “Why not.”
I laugh softly. Then stop.
Why not indeed.
I think about mornings that don’t feel heavy. Coffee made without keeping score. Shared space that doesn’t feel like surrender. A drawer becoming two—not because I was absorbed into his life, but because he made room for mine.
I nod. “Okay,” I say.
His breath leaves him like he didn’t realize he was holding it, and something in me loosens in response—not fear, not adrenaline.
Relief.
He takes the drawer from my hands and pulls me into his arms, resting his forehead against mine. The contact is warm. Grounding. Chosen.
“Merry Christmas,” he murmurs.
“Merry Christmas,” I reply.
And for the first time, it doesn’t feel like I’m stepping into something uncertain.
It feels like we’re not just moving forward.
We’re building something that lasts.