42. Cami
Cami
Snow drifts past our kitchen window in slow, dreamy spirals, catching the twinkle of fairy lights we strung along the porch rafters last week, frozen fingers, stolen kisses, and all.
Behind me, the kettle hums, sending wisps of steam through a house already steeped in pine and cinnamon.
Six months ago, a Christmas Eve this picturesque was something I watched in Hallmark movies, envious of the girl who got the guy, the kiss, and the snow-globe ending.
Now, it wraps around me in real life: a steamier take with a hot hero who kisses like sin, worships me like a slow prayer, and still manages to whisper things that make my heart clench before I come undone in his arms.
When we decided to buy a house in Vermont, Knox suggested we find one close to his grandparents since I fell in love with that neighborhood charm the moment we visited last summer.
Our farmhouse sits at the top of a winding, snow-dusted road, just far enough from town.
The only sounds are wind in the trees and the creak of the porch swing when Knox pushes it with his foot.
A home built for peace. A place where we sip cocoa from mismatched mugs and watch the sky blush pink before snowstorms roll in.
His mom and grandparents live down the hill in Putney Hollow, five minutes, three turns, and one gravel driveway away. We see them often. Usually with kittens in tow or a casserole dish we return full because that’s how small-town hospitality works.
Funny how I didn’t know I wanted this life, this man, this love, until it became mine.
We split our time between here and our New York apartment, keeping a careful line between work and us.
Knox still owns Luxe Properties, adding to its portfolio every day with Pamela’s help.
He hasn’t stepped back from Beaumont Group either, especially now that the Everette Hill partnership acquisition is underway.
Knox teaches me what my father calls “the parts of business school they don’t teach,” and I soak up every lesson because my mentor just so happens to be the man who pushes me to be sharper, braver…
and still kisses me like we’re brand new.
Knox says we make a great team. Paxton says we make a sexy, dangerous one.
Speaking of Paxton. I forgot to read his string of text bombs.
Paxton: Cami, darling. Breaking news: Ollie has spared me the joys of commercial air travel and invited me on the company JET.
Paxton: Between my new gig at B-Group and this upgrade, I am now officially Beaumont-adjacent. Please respect my new status.
Paxton: Also, no pickup needed. I’ll be chauffeured from the airport like the festive diva I am. Hasta manana!
My bestie never fails to keep life interesting. I type my replies, beaming inside and out.
Me: Don’t say B-Group. And do NOT call him Ollie unless you plan on getting ejected from the jet.
Me: Also, we’re excited you’ll be here. It’s my first Christmas with Knox. First in the Vermont house. It wouldn’t feel right without you.
Me: Safe flight, diva.
Paxton joined Beaumont Group a couple of weeks after what we now refer to as The Ex Files, which sounds funnier than it was, considering it involved press strategy and more emotional whiplash than a hostile takeover.
And thankfully, Jenna The Ex went quiet after that well-crafted press release, unless you count her publicist’s generic statement about “privacy during transitions.” The New York Times splash did exactly what we hoped: turned our story into something polished and entirely out of her hands.
And somehow, we landed on a “Most Powerful Couples of the Year” list, which still makes me blush whenever Knox brings it up.
I shove my phone into the pocket of the hoodie I stole from Knox, cozy and smelling like his cologne.
Then, I turn off the kettle and carefully pour the hot water into two mugs, each already lined with cocoa mix and a few lazy curls of shaved dark chocolate.
Knox always says I make cocoa better than he does.
I say he just likes being spoiled and refuses to admit it.
Padding toward the family room, mugs warming my palms, I pass the Christmas tree glowing in the corner, a few low-hanging ornaments already askew. Tiny paws skitter across the hardwood a beat later, followed by the rustle of wrapping paper and a sharp thud against a gift box.
“Are they racing again?” I ask Knox, who’s sitting on the oversized sofa, scrolling through Netflix, looking for Die Hard, even though I’ve told him, at least a thousand times, that it’s not a Christmas movie.
“Yep. Stripe’s in the lead,” he says, taking his mug as I wedge myself under the blanket, my legs tangling with his. “And yes—Die Hard still counts.”
“Sure it does,” I say with a smirk. “Anyway, I heard from Paxton. He’s flying in on the company jet.” I grin. “It’s going to be fun having everyone here.”
Knox shifts slightly and slides his arm around me, pulling me in closer. “Would’ve been nice to have the Trouble Triplets here.”
“I know.” I take a sip of cocoa. “Can’t wait to hear about their Christmas cruise and all the scandal they stir up onboard.”
With a chuckle, Knox hits play, and Die Hard flashes onto the big screen like it’s tradition, and apparently, in this house, it is.
We settle in under the blanket. Stripe is curled into a gift bag, and Shadow’s playing crown soldier by the tree like she’s guarding state secrets. Knox’s legs tangle with mine beneath the blanket, and the room feels still. Warm and quiet.
Too quiet.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see a flash of movement. Stripe and Shadow, suddenly energized, are batting something small and velvet across the hardwood floor like it’s a prize.
I blink. “Wait. Is that—”
A ring box?
Knox sets his mug on the side table, leans over, then scoops the little box off the floor. He brushes off a shred of ribbon, grinning like this was the plan all along.
“I needed them to do the delivery,” he says, flipping the box open with one hand. “They’ve got better timing than I do.”
My heart stops. Because inside the box is a ring, gorgeous and elegant.
“Baby, you already know what you mean to me,” he says. “You turned my whole world right side up. Made it better in every way. And every version of forever I can imagine starts with you.”
My pulse trips over itself as the man I love drops to one knee, his onyx gaze locked on mine, tears falling down my cheeks.
“I want you next to me. For all of it. The big moments. The quiet days. The messy in-betweens. I want a life that looks like this. Us. Cocoa and kittens and love I stopped believing in until you.”
As he lifts the ring from the box, it catches the glow of the tree lights. The world narrows to a single heartbeat.
“Francesca Camille Beaumont”—his breath hitches just slightly, but his words don’t waver—“will you marry me?”
Tears blur the room into hazy gold and pine. “Oh my God, yes!” I nod once, twice, three times. “One million times, yes!”
After setting my mug down, I practically tackle him, arms looping around his neck, knocking us both into a laugh-filled tangle before he steadies me with warm hands.
Then, onto my shaky finger, Knox slides an emerald-cut diamond ring flanked by tapered baguettes, and before I can say anything else, my phone chirps.
“Might want to check that.” He leans in, lips tilted like he already knows. “Could be important.”
Butterflies do cartwheels in my belly as I dig the cell out of my hoodie pocket, a message from my dad lighting up the screen.
Dad: I gave him my blessing. See you tomorrow.
His words fall like snow, gentle and impossible to ignore.
Knox got Dad’s blessing first.
Every part of me feels warm, fuzzy, and adored.
The tree glows. Die Hard plays.
And our kittens tear through the room like they’ve been our love story’s main characters ever since the day Wanda gave birth to them in Millie’s attic.
Soft and slow as ever, I kiss my fiancé, his arms wrapping around me like a custom glove.
“So,” I whisper against his lips. “What now?”
Knox pulls me closer, desire simmering behind his steady gaze.
My breath hitches.
“Now?” He lowers me onto the sofa cushions, lips brushing mine, like he’s ready to make me officially his in every way that counts. “We float inside our forever bubble.”
And if this is how our next chapter begins…
I never want our story to end.