Page 10 of Daddy's Little Christmas

“Hey,” I murmured, thumb brushing his worn fur. “We did it. We actually left.”

For a moment, I let myself imagine it was just us here. No expectations. No one to perform for. Just a town built on someone else’s courage and a couple of quiet weeks to figure out who I was when I wasn’t trying to be acceptable.

Then, like a draft under a door, Nate’s voice slipped in, uninvited and familiar.

It isn’t… appropriate, Rudy.

You’re thirty. Don’t you think it’s time to let that go?

Heat pricked my eyes. Shame followed right behind it, sharp and familiar.

I pressed my lips together and looked at the reindeer—at the softness that had always felt like too much for other people.

“Just for now,” I said under my breath, more to myself than to him.

Carefully, I tucked the plush back into the bag, under a folded sweater, and zipped it.

The room suddenly felt a little smaller.

I checked the time. Too early for sleep. My head buzzed with road noise and old words I tried not to replay.

I grabbed my coat and scarf instead.

Maybe a walk would help.

Outside, the air was cold enough to bite but not cruel. Snow flurried lazily from the purple-gray sky, dusting rooftops and softening edges. Streetlamps cast golden halos on the slushy sidewalks. Somewhere, a bell chimed the hour.

I shoved my hands into my pockets and started down the street, letting my feet choose the direction. The town was small—just a few blocks of businesses before the houses started—but it didn’t feel empty. It felt… settled. Like it knew what it was and didn’t need to prove anything.

Halfway down the block, a storefront caught my eye.

Warm light spilled through big front windows, fogging the glass at the edges. Evergreen garlands framed the door, laced with tiny white lights. Through the window, I could see buckets ofwinter florals—hellebores, berried branches, evergreen cuttings—arranged in soft, deliberate chaos.

A wooden sign above the door read HOLLY & PINE.

I’d seen the name before—tucked into a sidebar of local businesses, easy to skim past back when Winterhaven was still just a pin on a map. Somehow, it felt different standing here now, solid and glowing in front of me.

It looked like the kind of place people went to buy flowers when they wanted to say things they didn’t have words for yet. Apologies. Congratulations. I love you. I’m sorry you’re hurting.

I stopped on the opposite side of the street, breath fogging in front of me, staring like a creep at the windows glowing against the early dark.

I didn’t know why I suddenly wanted to walk inside. I didn’t need flowers. I didn’t know anyone here. I wasn’t even sure what I’d say.

But something about the warmth of the light, the soft blur of color inside, the way the shop seemed to glow against the snow—it all felt like a hand beckoning to me to go inside.

Then I inhaled, tucked my chin into my scarf, and crossed the street toward Holly & Pine.

Whatever waited on the other side of that door, it had to be better than standing still.

Chapter 2

Graeme

The shop always felt different in the late evening.

During the day, Holly & Pine buzzed with people and deliveries and the constant rustle of branches being trimmed. But once the sun dipped behind Winterhaven Mountain and the lamps along Main Street flickered on, the whole place exhaled—quiet, warm, settling into itself for the night.

I liked it like that.