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“Right. My mistake.”

He goes back to his patients, and Maverick stands, offering me his hand.

“Come with me.”

I glance at Shiloh. “Where?”

“I have something for you.”

“You already gave me something.”

His eyebrows rise.

I feel my cheeks heat. “I meant the slippers. And the books. And the very expensive coat that I’m still not convinced I needed.”

“You needed a coat.”

“I had a coat.”

“You had a jacket.”

“It had sleeves.”

“It’s seventeen degrees outside.”

“You’re very bossy.”

“I’m aware.” He tugs gently on my hand. “Come on.”

I follow him into his office, which is one of the few rooms in the house that escaped my Christmas decorating spree. Mostly because Maverick informed me that a six-foot inflatable Santa was not appropriate office decor.

I still think he’s wrong.

He closes the door behind us.

My stomach does a little flip.

“Are we having another sleepover?” I ask.

His mouth curves. “Tempting.”

“Because I feel like Shiloh might object to being excluded again.”

“He’ll survive.”

“Cold, Maverick. Very cold.”

He laughs, then crosses to his desk and opens the top drawer.

When he turns around, there’s a small velvet box in his hand.

Oh.

“Maverick.”

“Before you say anything, it’s Christmas.”

“That is generally when people give gifts, yes.”