"No. I'm not taking it back."

"You have to."

"I do not." Barney folded his arms across his chest, hands tucked away.

Robin brandished the ring, stone up, her arm fully extended. "This is an engagement ring."

Barney returned her grave look with one of his own. "That is what the jeweler told me when I bought it."

"But we're not engaged. We cannot be engaged. I brought another man to our-" she broke off there. She'd brought Kevin to their what? Their date? Meeting? Assignation? She didn't know the word for what she and Barney would have done that night if she hadn't let him down. "I brought Kevin to our bar. You broke up with Nora and I chickened out." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I broke your heart. I don't deserve this."

"You deserve everything." His voice came in a whisper so serious she had to look away.

Christmas lights reflected off metal and stone. She didn't. She really didn't. Damn, that was a nice ring. She fortified herself with a deep breath and forced herself to look him in the eye. "I can't keep this ring. We haven't seen each other in a year and a half. We're different people now. You cook. You have a plant. How do you know I haven't taken up some weird hobby, like roller derby, or turned into a rabid Cubs fan?"

He held up one hand, palm out, to stop her. "First, you would totally kill at Roller Derby. I would be there to cheer you on every single time. Second, are you a rabid Cubs fan? Because that would be a dealbreaker."

She shook her head. "Of course I'm not, you dork. That's not the point. What if we've both changed too much, and the only reason things are this good between us now is because it's Christmas and we're snowed in, away from the rest of the world? How do we go from thinking we were each married to other people to," she waved the ring, her throat too thick to form any more words. "I can't be engaged three times in two years."

The creases on each side of his mouth deepened. "Okay. You're right, we do need to get to know each other again. I'm not proposing right now. You do not have to wear the ring. I mean, you can, if you want to." He scrubbed one hand over the back of his neck. "When you're ready. That would be cool. You decide. Whatever. The point is, I am not taking the ring back, so you are going to have to deal with that, because I still have my present to open." He reached past her and grabbed the newspaper-wrapped box beneath the cardboard reindeer that dangled from a low hanging branch.

Robin tugged at the hem of his t-shirt. "Leave it. Please."

"Nothing doing. It's Christmas morning, that present is under the tree, therefore it is mine. No takebacks."

"I can't give you that, when you gave me this." She gestured to the jewelry box with the hand that still held the ring. "These."

Barney ripped a wide swath of newspaper from the box. His eyes glittered with anticipation. "Plain brown cardboard. Very promising. You have not lost your touch." One fingernail slid along the scrap of cellophane tape that held the flap of the box closed.

It didn't even matter to him that the present was an afterthought. He still tore into the wrapping like a little kid who knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that the toy he'd begged for all year was in there. "Yes, I have. This is a stupid present. The only reason I even bought that was in case there might be an extra guest."

"And there is. It all worked out. Tissue paper and bubble wrap, very fancy." He pulled the tissue from the box in handfuls and unwound the bubble wrap. "We are popping every single one of these bubbles later, just so you know." He set the bubble wrap aside and pinched one bubble between thumb and forefinger before he returned to the actual box. "Oh my God, is this a snow globe?" He tore the last scrap of tissue away and lifted the globe from the box. White plastic flakes drifted down over the Chicago skyline as he gave it a shake. "Look at that stuff fall."

"Lame,I know. I can be back from the bodega with something better before you're even out of the shower." She dropped the ring into the pocket of her pajama top and scrambled to her feet.

A quick tug at the leg of her pajama pants coaxed her back down. "Not so fast there. What could be better than an awesome snow globe that plays, let's see," he turned the key on the bottom of the base. The tinny notes tinkled to life. Barney laughed, rich and full. "'Hard To Say I'm Sorry?' Okay, that makes it official. Best present ever."

A song by Chicago, not about Chicago. Robin groaned. "I had no idea that was the song it played."

He turned the globe, his mouth curved in pure delight. "Doesn't matter. Still perfect." A glob of artificial snow perched on top of the Lake Point Tower. "This is going right on my desk; all year, too, not just Christmas. I want to be reminded of my awesome girlfriend in Chicago every chance I get until I can see her again." His forehead creased. He turned questioning eyes on Robin. "Um, that is if I have a girlfriend in Chicago. Do I? Because none of that other stuff makes any sense otherwise."

Robin twirled the end of her ponytail. His girlfriend. It could be that easy. Maybe not any other time of year, but here, beneath the tree with its twinkling lights and snow still falling outside, with snow globes and jewelry boxes and his ring in her pocket -even if that was only because he wouldn't take it back- the thought of giving a name to what they had between them didn't scare her at all. "Yeah. You do. Funny how that works. My boyfriend lives in New York. You really want to do long distance?"

"Yeah, to start, sure, but what if it didn't stay long distance? What if we both lived in the same city? That worked pretty well before."

Before didn't belong in this magical Christmas bubble they'd created. Before had real life and broken engagements and jobs that wanted all of their time. "Do we have to have this conversation now? I'm under contract. I can't just pick up and leave because my boyfriend wants me to live in the same province. City. Same city. I'm not sixteen. See, we've just defined the relationship and we're already fighting."

Barney's hands cupped the wooden base of the snow globe. "If you were sixteen, I would be in a whole world of trouble for what we did last night." His grin flashed, then faded at her lack of response. "We're not fighting." His voice came softer this time. "I never said you had to be the one who moves. I'll come to you."

Robin blinked. "You want to move to Chicago?"

The cluster of plastic snow fell from its perch. "I want to be where you are. If you need to stay in Chicago,

I can start flying in on weekends, get a feel for the area, maybe scout out the job market. Transferring to the Chicago office of GNB would be easiest, but that would only work if they have an opening at my level."

A shiver of anticipation danced along Robin's spine. "You're serious."

Barney glanced down at the globe and then back at her. "I am. If this is what it takes to give us a fighting chance, then that's what I'm going to do. First and most important question: do you have a Chicago bar?"

"There are lots of bars."

"But do you have a regular bar, like MacLaren's?" The light of an idea sparked behind his eyes. "We are totally going to MacLaren's before you leave. You have to promise we hit MacLaren's at least once every time we're in New York."

There weren't any bars like MacLaren's, couldn't ever be, because there weren't any other bars where she could see him for the first time. "If we see anybody in our booth, no matter who, we kick them out."

"That's the spirit. First order of business for my first visit, we find our bar."

Their bar. She liked the sound of that. They'd have their bar, their park, their deli, their coffee shop, their supermarket. Maybe their vet. He'd look hot with a leash in one hand, pooper scooper in the other. She pulled at he hem of her pajama top, then smoothed it down. The flannel stuck to her heated skin. "Only one problem with that. My apartment only has one bedroom."

Barney set the snow globe aside and scooted close enough to drape an arm about her shoulder. "I do not see that as a problem. Stubble rasped against the sensitive skin of her cheek.

"Not like that. I mean there's no room for your suits." He'd want to bring the suits. She wanted him to bring the suits. The suits and the giant screens and all his crazy gadgets. She leaned her head against his chest, his heartbeat strong and steady beneath her ear. Chicago would never know what hit it.

"Good point. Option one, I could get my own place."

She shot that down with a loud buzzing sound that needed no further explanation.

His laugh echoed off the walls as he draped both arms around her and drew her into his lap. "Okay, I stay with you and the suits get their own place. They'll be confused at first, but they'll understand. Maybe you could throw a few of your dresses in there to keep them company. Maybe pipe in a little R&B to make sure they have a good time." He rocked her back and forth. The tune he hummed surged through her blood. "Maybe open a good scotch and dim the lights. Or we could look for a new apartment together. Maybe a house, but still throw a few dresses in with the suits once in a while?"

"Are you trying to breed our clothes?"

"Nah, they're all in garment bags. We won't have any surprises, unless we want some. They only breed when we want them to breed. I'm thinking the charcoal Dolce and Gabbana three piece with that red dress with the plunging neckline and handkerchief hem. Do you still have that one? Did you pack it?"

Only Barney would suit up his suits. Only Barney would even think of breeding their clothes. "What kind of babies would a suit and a dress have?" Tiny suits, the sharp pain that sliced her heart told her. Tiny dresses. Tiny mini-thems who could never be. She swallowed, hard, and willed the pain to be silent.

He pulled the elastic from her ponytail and combed through her hair with his fingers. "I don't know. Guess we're going to have to find out." He placed both thumbs on her temples and sectioned off a handful of hair, then repeated the action twice more on either side. "Only question there is, how are we going to raise them; deep dish or thin crust?" His fingers wove through her hair with effortless ease.

She stiffened in his arms. "It doesn't matter."

"I get where you're going with this. We feed them both and let them decide when they're big enough to place their own order." His touch tugged on her scalp with gentle pressure. "God, I hope the girls get your hair. Mine was a bitch to braid, but that might have been because I could never get my hands in the right—"

She wrenched herself away from him. The image of him, a little girl in his lap, his hands in her hair, was too much. "I can't have kids."