Page 10 of Daddies’ Holiday Toy (Kissmass Daddies #1)

JACK

“Sorry again for crashing your weekend,” Holly sighs softly, her voice barely carrying over the crackle of the fireplace.

She’s standing near the edge of the living room now while something sizzles in the kitchen.

The way she holds herself reminds me of someone who’s trying to make themselves seem smaller.

Refusing to take up more space in the room than they think they should.

It bothers me she even thinks that to begin with, let alone around us.

I wave her off with a small smile, settling myself down in the armchair and trying to pretend seeing her mildly upset isn’t stirring something deep in my best.

“Don’t worry about it, kiddo. It’s not like you planned the storm.”

The second the word leaves my mouth, I curse inwardly.

Kiddo.

That old nickname Carson’s called her for years slips out on autopilot and the effect is instant.

Holly freezes for a fraction of a second, her eyes flicking up at me before darting away.

Her cheeks turn faintly pink, and she ducks her head so fast I almost miss the flash of emotion on her face.

Something between surprise and…guilt? Embarrassment?

“I’ll…I’ll get back to the kitchen,” she murmurs, retreating quickly down the hall.

Smooth, Jack. Real smooth.

I drag a hand down my face and exhale slowly, the firelight throwing a warped reflection of itself in the window as I sigh.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

It’s bad enough to have a slip up like that, acting as if we’re familiar with each other.

On top of that, I’m also kicking myself for noticing— really noticing —how damn good she looks now.

Jesus Christ. Get your head on straight. She’s Carson’s daughter .

My best friend’s little girl.

Off limits.

Completely.

But that doesn’t stop my brain from replaying how her lips curved when she smiled earlier at me, even if she seemed nervous to do so.

Or how her sweater had slipped slightly off her shoulder when she untucked herself from the couch and got up to wander off into the kitchen after offering to make dinner.

Both of those moments replay in my mind over and over while I stare into the fire, willing my mind to drop it and let it go before things get out of hand.

I scrub a hand over my face harder, none of it helping.

Reece clears his throat suddenly, snapping me back before I spiral too far down that dangerous road.

“You know what, I’m gonna make up the guest room for her. She can have her own space for the night. Fuck knows she probably needs it being forced to surround herself with us. I’ll take the couch for the night.”

“Good idea,” I reply automatically, though my thoughts are still miles away.

Liam claps Reece on the shoulder as he heads down the hall. “You’re a saint, man.”

“You can thank me later by letting me steal your favorite pillow.”

“Hey now, don’t get carried away.”

The house falls quiet again once Reece retreats down the hall, save for the faint clinking and sizzling coming from the kitchen.

I should stay planted in this chair, shouldn’t even think about going in there and checking on her because I have no business doing that in the first place, but my feet have other ideas.

Before I know it, I’m standing, my boots creaking against the old hardwood as I cross the room and head into the kitchen.

Once I pass the archway, the smells hit me.

It makes my mouth water instantly.

Onions and garlic simmer in a pan on the stove, and something hearty bubbles in a pot on the back burner.

Holly’s standing over it, stirring with a wooden spoon, her brows drawn together in concentration.

“Smells amazing in here,” I say, leaning casually against the doorframe.

She jumps slightly, the spoon clattering against the edge of the pot.

Glancing over her shoulder, she gives me that same small and uncertain smile as before, her blush from earlier returning too.

“Oh. Uh, thanks. It’s just a simple stew. Figured something warm would be good on a night like this.”

“You’re too modest. I doubt there’s anything ‘simple’ about what you’ve got cooking up.

” I let a small smile tug at my mouth, trying to put her at ease.

“You’ve always been interested in making food, huh?

I think I remember your dad saying you tried making him pancakes on his birthday and he nearly broke a tooth. ”

That earns a soft laugh from her, the sound shy but real.

It has the knot in my chest easing just a bit. “Yeah, I was terrible back then.”

“You’ve come a long way, it seems. I’m happy for you. You went to school, right?”

She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, turning her attention back to the pot. “Yeah. Culinary school.”

The movement’s small, almost nervous, when her shoulders draw up close to her ears.

The air between us feels heavier now, charged in a way I can’t— shouldn’t —think about.

I clear my throat, about to excuse myself before I make things weird, when she yelps and jerks her hand back from the pot.

“Ow, fuck!” she hisses under her breath, cradling her fingers to her chest.

I’m at her side in an instant. “Let me see.”

“It’s fine,” she protests weakly, trying to hide her hand from me.

“Holly, come on.” I take her hand gently despite her resistance, inspecting the reddened skin across her knuckles.

My thumb brushes over the burn before I realize what I’m doing.

It’s already swelling, the angry mark from where she touched the hot surface blistering. “You need cold water on that.”

Guiding her to the sink, I run the cool tap over the burn, holding her hand carefully in mine when I do so.

She’s tense, her shoulders even more rigid than before, but she doesn’t pull away.

I’m suddenly aware of how close we are, her shoulder brushing my arm and her hair smelling faintly of sugar and vanilla.

Close enough to feel her warmth radiating through her clothing, enough for dangerous thoughts to creep in.

Thoughts I shouldn’t be having.

Fuck.

I clear my throat, forcing myself to take a step back.

“Hold that there for a minute. You should start feeling better. The trick is to keep it cold so you internal body temper doesn’t keep cooking the skin.”

I don’t even know what I’m babbling on about, the words continuing to spill out of me even as I try to force my lips together and clamp my jaw shut.

“Thanks,” she says softly, still not quite meeting my eyes.

I rub the back of my neck, feeling about ten kinds of awkward. “I’ll…go check to see if we’ve got a spare first aid kit. Burn cream should help.”

Her lips twitch, like she wants to smile but isn’t sure if she should. In a twisted way, I know exactly how she feels. “Okay.”

I quickly retreat out of the kitchen, my body flush in a way that has nothing to do with the warmth of the cabin.

Back in the living room, Reece already has blankets and a pillow laid on the couch, one of the ends tucked into the back of it to make it look freshly made.

He glances up as I come in, his sharp green eyes narrowing slightly. “You good? You look sweaty.”

“Fine,” I mutter, heading down the hall to the bathroom to check under the sink for the med kit.

But I’m not.

Not even fucking close.