Page 112 of Daddy's Little Christmas

I stared at the doorway, wondering stupidly if Rudy had paused there before leaving.

If he’d hesitated.

If he’d looked back.

I told myself it didn’t matter.

Then I told myself that was a lie.

My thumb moved.

Not because I had the right words. But because I didn’t want silence to decide for me.

I drew a breath—

A knock sounded.

I startled, heart kicking hard once before settling into a wary thud.

Probably Tom, I thought. He was good at forgetting things. Gloves. A hat. His damn thermos.

The knock came again—lighter this time.

I pushed back my chair and stood, the legs scraping louder than they should’ve.

“I’m coming,” I called, already moving.

As I reached the door, the assumption settled in, familiar and almost comforting.

Tom, sheepish. A half-grin. An excuse ready.

I reached for the handle. “Tom,” I said, already opening the door, “if you forgot your hat again—”

The words stopped existing.

Rudy stood on the porch.

Snow clung to the shoulders of his coat. His cheeks were pink from the cold, breath puffing white in the air. His hair was wind-tossed, like he’d run his hand through it too many times.

His eyes met mine—wide, unguarded, carrying fear and hope in equal measure.

“Hi,” he said softly.

My hand flew to the doorframe, fingers curling tight like the house itself was the only thing keeping me upright.

“Rudy,” I breathed, everything I’d been holding back since dawn breaking loose all at once. “What—”

“I couldn’t do it,” he said, voice shaking just enough to make it real. “I couldn’t keep driving away.”

Chapter 22

Rudy

For a moment, he didn’t move. His hand stayed braced on the doorframe. His eyes locked on mine, searching, like he was trying to see if I was really here or just something he’d imagined into being.

“Come inside,” he said quietly. “You’re freezing.”

My boots felt glued to the porch. Then my body remembered how to move.