Lily nods, then freezes, her eyes fixed on something beyond my shoulder. "Um, Sophie?" Her voice drops to a stage whisper. "Your billionaire just walked in. And he's carrying flowers. A lot of flowers."
My heart does a ridiculous little flip as I turn to see Christian entering the shop, indeed carrying an enormous bouquet of white roses—an echo of the flowers he sent when he first began pursuing me. He's dressed impeccably as always, the charcoal suit and blue tie a stark contrast to the casual holiday sweaters and winter coats of my regular customers. Every head turns to watch as he approaches, his focus entirely on me despite the curious stares.
"Sophie," he says simply, stopping before the counter that separates us. "These are for you."
I accept the roses, their familiar scent bringing back memories of that first delivery that filled my shop and made Lily squeal with delight. "Thank you. They're beautiful."
"Not as beautiful as you," he replies without a hint of self-consciousness, despite our audience of fascinated customerswho have abandoned any pretense of shopping to watch this scene unfold.
I feel my cheeks heating with a blush, acutely aware of the public nature of this interaction. "Christian, there are people?—"
"I know," he interrupts gently. "That's intentional."
Before I can ask what he means, he turns to address the shop at large. "Excuse me," he says, his commanding voice immediately capturing everyone's attention. "I apologize for the interruption, but I need a moment of your time."
The shop falls silent, customers frozen between ornament displays and gift tables, all eyes on Christian. Lily has her phone out, not even pretending she isn't recording this. Mrs. Henderson—who must have arrived while I was distracted—looks like she's witnessing the climax of her favorite soap opera.
Christian turns back to me, his expression more open, more vulnerable than I've ever seen it in public. "Sophie Winters," he begins, his voice carrying clearly through the hushed shop, "I've made a mistake. Several, in fact. I pursued you with intensity but without complete honesty. I claimed you as mine without earning that right. I compartmentalized when I should have integrated you into every aspect of my life."
I stand frozen behind the counter, clutching the roses, hardly breathing as he continues.
"Two days ago, I nearly lost you because of those mistakes," he says, holding my gaze with an intensity that makes the rest of the world fade away. "I've spent my life ensuring I never lose anything that matters. But in doing so, I nearly lost the one thing—the one person—who matters most."
A collective sigh ripples through the shop. Someone in the back—I think it's the elderly man who comes in every Christmas for an ornament for his wife—whispers "Go on, son" just loud enough to be heard.
Christian steps around the counter, closing the distance between us. And then, to my complete shock, he kneels. Right there on the floor of Winter Wishes, surrounded by Christmas ornaments and wide-eyed customers, Christian Hawthorne—billionaire CEO, notorious control freak, the man who commands boardrooms with a single look—kneels before me.
"I promise you this," he says, looking up at me with those storm-gray eyes that now hold nothing but sincerity, "from this day forward, you will always come first. Before business, before ambition, before empire. I will never again make a decision that affects us without consulting you. I will never again withhold information out of fear or strategic calculation. I will never again let you doubt, even for a moment, that you are the priority in my life."
My vision blurs with unexpected tears. I'm vaguely aware of Lily sniffling nearby, of Mrs. Henderson pressing a handkerchief to her eyes, of the absolute silence that has fallen over the usually bustling shop.
"I'm falling in love with you, Sophie Winters," Christian continues, his voice steady despite the vulnerability of his position, his declaration. "Actually, that's not accurate. I have fallen in love with you. Completely. Irrevocably. And I'm asking—not commanding, not claiming, but asking—if you might consider falling in love with me too. If you might give me the chance to prove, every day, that you will always come first. Always."
The roses tremble in my hands as emotion washes through me—happiness, uncertainty, hope, and beneath it all, a recognition of the magnitude of what Christian is offering. Not just love, but primacy in a life that has never prioritized personal connection over professional achievement. Not just affection, but a fundamental reorganization of values that places me at the center rather than the periphery.
"Christian," I manage, my voice thick with unshed tears. "Get up. Please."
He rises slowly, his eyes never leaving mine, uncertainty flickering across his usually confident features. I set the roses carefully on the counter, then step forward, eliminating the small distance between us.
"You didn't have to do this," I whisper, though in the silence of the shop, my words carry farther than intended. "Not publicly. Not with an audience."
"Yes, I did," he counters softly. "You deserved a declaration as public as my commitment is profound. No hiding, no compartmentalizing, no separation between who I am with you and who I am with the world."
From somewhere in the shop, a woman sighs audibly. Someone else—I think it's the teenage boy who works part-time at the coffee shop next door—whispers "Damn, that's smooth."
Despite the tension of the moment, I feel a smile tugging at my lips. "Do you always make romantic declarations with an audience?"
"I've never made a romantic declaration before," Christian admits, his honesty continuing to disarm me. "To anyone. You're the first. The only."
And just like that, the last of my hesitation dissolves. This man—this powerful, complex, occasionally infuriating man—has laid himself bare before me, before the curious eyes of my customers, before the recording phone of my best friend. Has made himself vulnerable in a way that goes against every instinct he's built over a lifetime of control and calculation. For me.
I reach for his hand, twining my fingers with his in a gesture of connection, of acceptance, of promise returned. "I've fallen in love with you too," I tell him, the words emerging with surprising ease given their significance. "Despite my better judgment. Despite the complications. Despite everything."
Joy transforms his features, making him look younger, lighter, more accessible than the commanding CEO who first walked into my shop weeks ago. He lifts our joined hands, pressing a kiss to my knuckles that sends warmth spiraling through me.
The shop erupts in applause, startling me back to awareness of our surroundings. Mrs. Henderson is openly weeping. The elderly man nods in approval. Lily looks like she might explode with excitement as she continues filming. Even the usually stoic UPS driver, who must have entered during Christian's declaration, is smiling broadly from the doorway.
"Well," Christian says, his thumb tracing small circles on the back of my hand, "I believe I've thoroughly disrupted your business day."
