Page 111 of Daddies' Holiday Toy

I mean every damn word I say and then some.

He leans in slowly.

The kiss that follows isn’t the hungry, heated ones we’ve shared back at the bakery.

This is tender, his hand coming up to cradle the side of my face. His thumb grazing my cheek gently tracing it over my skin.

When he finally draws back, his forehead rests against mine for a beat, both of us breathing in the same small pocket of air.

For the first time since this whole arrangement started, I feel real butterflies.

Not the lust or adrenaline kind.

Real butterflies that come from love.

That scares me more than anything.

25

HOLLY

The next few weeks blur together in a strange, sweet rhythm.

I move through the same quiet rituals every morning, finding myself in a better place than I have been in months.

Between the flyers I’ve been handing out outside of the shop and the word of mouth that somehow keeps spreading faster than the flu, my December calendar is finally stacked with orders.

Cakes, pies, dozens upon dozens of cookie boxes flying out my door.

For once, I’m not panicking about whether I can pay the bills or not.

Jack still slips in sometimes after hours to visit me, leaning against the doorway with a warm cup of tea in his hand to help wind me down for the night, looking like there’s no place he’d rather be but here.

He escorts me back to my apartment those nights, keeping me safe while walking the quiet, empty streets with me, our hands brushing together until our fingers link.

Liam drops by on his lunch break, always with a paper bag in hand and two sandwiches tucked inside, claiming he just happened to be in the neighborhood, though somehow he always shows up exactly when the shop is empty.

We sit on stools behind the counter, our knees brushing together, the sound of passing traffic just a faint background hum.

Reece is the worst at pretending like this is just a casual arrangement.

He doesn’t bother with playing games, just sends me a text to ask if I’m available and shows up twenty minutes later, all easy charm and shameless grins.

He’ll lean over the counter to swipe up a stray cookie before I can set them back in the display case, then he’ll make himself comfortable like we’ve been doing this forever.

I try my best to tell myself this is all just casual.

I tell myself I’m not catching feelings, and that this arrangement is just convenient and self-satisfying for all of us.

We’re all getting what we want out of it with no strings. But every time one of them leaves, I catch myself glancing at the door hoping they’ll turn right around and come back to me.

Silver lining: for the first time in months, I’m not drowning in stress.

No more sleepless nights staring at the ceiling, wondering if I’ll make rent.

No heart-dropping panic when the bills land in my mailbox. The weight that’s been crushing me for weeks has finally dissipated.

When Mallory comes in after work to help decorate cookies, our special tradition, we fall into our old rhythm without trying.