Page 38 of Daddies' Holiday Toy

Maybe that’s something I can do too, make dinneranda dessert that pairs well with the wine.

“What? Oh my god. You’re kidding!” she says.

“Yeah, it sucks but I’m safe. Hopefully the plows don’t get stuck coming up, but we won’t know until the town sends it up this way. How are you?”

There’s something faint on the other end of the phone.

I lift the phone up from the counter and press the receiver up to my ear to listen.

And that’s when I hear it: a man’s voice calling to her from somewhere in the background. “Mags, come back to bed.”

My knife pauses mid-chop. “Mom? Was that?—”

“Oh, um,” she stutters. “Sorry, honey. I’ve got to go! Call me when you get yourself dug out, okay?”

“Mom, are you seeing someone? Since when?”

She sighs. “Holly, we’ll talk later?—”

I hang up before I can hear any more excuses.

The phone clatters onto the counter, my chest tight and hot with disbelief.

My own mother didn’t think I was worth a heads-up to let her know she’d been seeing someone.

What the hell?

How the hell long hasthatbeen going on?

Even if it’s a recent development, she should’ve told me.

We share everything, not just the chatter of a day’s labor.

I grab the bottle of wine with a shaky hand and pour myself a glass.

Then, deciding one glass isn’t enough, I take a healthy swig straight from the bottle because fuck it, right?

“Perfect,” I mutter, setting it down with a thud. “Just perfect.”

Then I throw myself into cooking like my life depends on it.

God, what the actualfuck.

11

JACK

The snow is deeper than we thought once we finally make our way past the first few steps out of the cabin.

It clings to my boots in thick clumps, every step sinking past the ankle with a crunch that echoes in the stillness surrounding us.

That’s the one thing I appreciate about a good snowstorm—the aftermath is always a deep quiet that can’t be replicated any other way.

The air up here in the mountains is so cold it burns breathing in, each inhale searing my lungs before turning to vapor in front of me when I breathe it out.

Normally, this is my kind of day: a bright winter afternoon with sunlight filtering through the pines above us while we walk, crisp air filling my head until there’s no room for the noise of real life to settle there.

Normally, I’d call it perfect.