Page 27 of Daddies' Holiday Toy

7

REECE

Jesus. Holly’s not a little girl anymore.

That’s the first thing that hits me when I finally reconcile the women before me with the child of my memories.

While I haven’t laid eyes on her in years, it’s clear since she’s no longer the awkward little kid trailing behind Carson on fishing trips, giggling over his dumb jokes while trying to keep up with him.

Back then, I remember him telling us all about her.

Back when he thought being a dad actually meant something.

She been all scraped knees and clumsy feet in the short little videos he’d force us to watch on his phone, always tagging along right behind him as Maggie filmed despite Carson always looking half-distracted and seeming too impatient to deal with her.

I remember him bragging about how she used to treat him like he hung the damn moon, all the while never noticing how he was always far more interested in the cooler of beers we brought withus than taking her up here on our trips and throwing her up his shoulders while we hiked.

Now I’m kind of glad he never did.

Becausedamn.She’s all grown up.

There’s a quiet confidence about her even though I can see she’s uncomfortable as hell being surrounded by us.

For some reason, it comes across as her standing her ground, though for what, I can’t be sure.

It’s how she tries to keep her chin level while watching us, her gaze flicking quickly any time any of us moves.

Her hoodie sleeves are pushed up over slender forearms, slightly dirty from all the cleaning she’s been doing, and her hair’s pulled back in one of those loose knots women like her somehow make look effortless.

Stands of it are falling out here and there, the warm brown catching the light from the fireplace and tinting them red.

I hate to say it, hell Ireallyhate to admit it, but she’s gorgeous.

She doesn’t stay long with us, retreating to the kitchen after her brief exchange with Jack, and disappearing to make us all dinner. Beyond the archway, I can hear the faint clatter of cabinets and the rustling of the bags we brought with us filled with food.

Then, the smell of something garlicky hits my nose and it has my mouth watering instantly.

I’d had a few bites of her cookies, and, if that was anything to go off of, we were going to be eating good tonight.

Jack and I exchange a look as Liam steps out onto the porch, his phone pressed to his ear as he tries Carson for what must be the fifth time since we arrived.

The snow’s still coming down in thick sheets, relentless now.

I can barely make out anything past our vehicles getting rapidly buried by the minute.

This is the kind of weather that says none of us are going anywhere tonight.

“You see how tiny that thing she drove in is?” Jack mutters, nodding toward the hatchback out the window. “No way she’s making it down that road tonight if this shit keeps up. Hell, even if the snow stops by the time the sun goes down, the road’s gonna need a good plowing.”

My eyes follow his gaze to peek outside the window again.

“Yeah. That little box car doesn’t stand a chance on this mountain. I could call up a guy I know. Marty. He’s still got that plow attachment on his truck. Could probably get him up here later this evening to clear out the driveway.”

Jack shakes his head, the movement slow. Next to him, the fire pops.

“No point right now. She’s here and she’s safer staying put. The town’s plow will eventually make their way up here and dig us out. They’ve got a few permanent residents up this way. If she needs to crash here overnight, then so be it. I’ll take the couch.”

“Mighty chivalrous of you,” I joke but it’s half-hearted.