Page 106 of Daddy's Little Christmas

Inside, the house felt too big and too quiet and still, somehow, full of him.

I let myself stand there in the doorway, bare feet on the cold floor, heart sore and full and uncertain, and whispered into the empty room, just once, the words I hadn’t given voice to when he was here.

Then I turned toward the kitchen to make cocoa.

Chapter 20

Rudy

Two hours earlier…

I was already awake when the sky was still thinking about becoming morning.

The house was quiet in that deep, held-breath way that only exists right before dawn. The kind of quiet that felt like a promise and a warning all at once. Snow fell softly outside the window, a gentle, persistent drift, like it was trying to remind me the world still existed outside this room.

It surprised me that I was awake at all. After the night we’d had, I should’ve slept straight through to daylight.

Graeme slept beside me, warm and solid, his breath slow and even. One arm was flung across my waist like he’d put it there in his sleep and decided I wasn’t going anywhere.

We’d made beautiful love last night. And then again later. And once more after that, until I’d finally laughed breathlessly into his shoulder and told him that for a man his age, he had a truly unfair amount of stamina.

He’d grinned, smug and pleased, and pulled me closer.

We’d stumbled out of bed sometime after, steam fogging the bathroom mirror as we stood under the hot spray together—hands gentle, unhurried, rinsing away sweat and sleep and the last edges of the night. Then back to bed. Warm. Clean. Spent in the best way.

Now I lay there, staring at the ceiling, my heart lodged so high in my throat it felt like if I swallowed wrong, I’d choke on it. My chest ached. It was full. Too full. Like something beautiful had been poured into me without asking if I had room to hold it.

I turned my head slowly and looked at him.

The faint line between his brows that never quite went away, even in sleep. The silver at his temples, softer up close in thislight than it ever looked in the daylight. The rise and fall of his chest, steady and sure, like it had always known how to be this calm.

I wanted to wake him.

God, I wanted to wake him.

I wanted to press my mouth to his shoulder and whisper his name until he stirred. I wanted one more kiss. One more moment where his eyes opened and found me there, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

But another part of me—the older part, the one that learned early how to leave quietly—was already pulling back.

If I woke him, I’d have to say goodbye.

And if I said goodbye, I might ask to stay.

And if I asked to stay, I didn’t know what he’d say.

And that terrified me more than leaving ever could.

I’d spent my whole life learning not to want things I couldn’t be sure I’d get. Learning that wanting was dangerous. That hope was something that showed up dressed like love and left like loss.

Mrs. Davis had taught me what it felt like to belong.

And then she was gone.

Nate had taught me what it felt like to almost be chosen.

And then he’d asked me to erase myself.

Graeme… Graeme had given me something I didn’t even know how to name yet. Space. Safety. A version of myself that wasn’t too much or not enough. Just… me.