And just like that, it was decided.
Cookie dough dusted the counters the next Saturday.Flour everywhere.Laughter echoing off the cabinets.Creed wore an apron Aunt Ruth insisted on tying herself, grumbling under his breath but not stopping her.
I watched him from the doorway, chest tight with something I refused to name.
This wasn’t romance.
This wasintegration.
And that was far more dangerous.
Later that night, after the girls were asleep and the house had settled into its familiar creaks, Creed stood by the Christmas tree, adjusting an ornament that didn’t need adjusting.
“They feel...safe here,” he said quietly.
“They are,” I replied.
He nodded once, like he was filing that away.
Neither of us said the thing hovering between us.
Because saying it would make it real.
And we were both pretending not to notice how real it was becoming.
* * *
THE WEEK BEFORE CHRISTMAS, I found myself standing in the middle of a crowded mall with Mavis, holiday music playing over the speakers.
It was reckless, stupid, dangerous—but I bought him a gift.
A dress shirt.Expensive.Mauve, the color of power and elegance.The color I imagined against the sharp angles of his frame, against the olive hue of his skin.The second I saw it, I knew it was perfect.
I bought Aunt Ruth a cashmere sweater, warm and soft—something she could wrap herself in the way she had wrapped herself around me and the girls when we needed her most.I bought gift cards for Dixie and Mavis, my two best friends, because they never wanted for much except a reason to drink gourmet coffee and drag me along.And as I walked through the aisles, the bags weighing heavy in my hands, I realized how much I had changed.
Because this wasn’t just Christmas shopping.
This was me planning a future that included Creed Kirkland in it.
* * *
THE DAY BEFORE CHRISTMASEve, Creed Kirkland did something no one expected.
He announced he was closing IWM until the day after New Year’s, giving every single employee a paid holiday.
It was a bold move.One that sent a ripple through the company, through the industry.But Creed had never been the kind of man to follow the rules.He made his own.
To cap off the end of the year, he hosted the annual Kirkland Manor Christmas Gala—the most exclusive corporate event of the season.A four-course meal.Live entertainment.Crystal chandeliers glittering over silk-draped tables, and corporate Christmas gift bags—smart notebooks, wireless charging pads, and a subscription to a fitness app.It was the kind of event people would talk about for months, an invitation coveted by every executive in the city.
And Creed made damn sure my family was there.
Aunt Ruth, elegant and warm, glowing beneath the ballroom lights in a deep plum-colored dress.Morgan and Michelle, wide-eyed with wonder, their little hands wrapped in Creed’s as he led them through the grand halls of his estate, answering their million-and-one questions with the patience of a man who had long since stopped resisting their hold on him.
He didn’t leave my side.
Not when he introduced me to my colleagues.Not when he pulled me onto the dance floor, his hand pressing low against my back, his lips at my ear as we swayed to the slow rhythm of a song neither of us were really listening to.
For a moment—just one—I lost him.
