Page 113 of Daddy's Little Christmas

The threshold felt like a line I was crossing on purpose this time, not just because curiosity and loneliness had pulled me in. The moment I stepped over it, warmth sank through my coat, up through my jeans, settling somewhere deep in my chest.

I toed my boots off, clumsy with nerves, and lined them up next to his like I’d done before. My hands shook as I straightened. I tucked them into my sleeves so he wouldn’t see.

He shut the door gently. The quiet click sounded too loud.

We stood there in the small entryway, a few feet of polished floor between us. Light from the front window spilled across his face, catching the faint stubble on his jaw, the tired creases around his eyes.

“Did you—” He stopped, swallowed, started again. “How far did you get?”

I huffed out something like a laugh and a sob. “Not as far as I pretended I could.”

His gaze traced my face slowly—my eyes, my mouth, the red patch on my nose where the cold had bitten too hard. There was no anger there. Just something raw and achingly gentle.

“Rudy,” he said softly, “why did you leave without waking me?”

I looked down at my hands.

“Because I was afraid of what I’d ask for if you opened your eyes,” I whispered. “And more afraid you wouldn’t give me the answer I wanted to hear.”

His breath caught.

I tried to smile. It didn’t work. “I’ve never been good at wanting things. Growing up, wanting anything just proved how much I didn’t have. In foster homes, you learn fast that asking is a good way to feel like a burden.” I swallowed around the lump in my throat. “With Nate, wanting things just meant I got told which parts of me needed to go.”

He went very still, like every word was landing in him and settling somewhere deep.

“So I’ve spent a lot of years making myself small,” I said. “Grateful for crumbs. Telling myself nice things are temporary—we enjoy them, we don’t expect them to stay. These two weeks with you…” I shook my head, blinking away the blur. “They didn’t feel temporary. And that scared me more than anything.”

Silence. Warm, heavy, waiting.

“I wrote the note because I wanted you to know this meant something,” I added, quiet now. “That you stayed. If I couldn’t be brave enough to wake you, I could at least be honest on paper.”

His jaw flexed. “I read it,” he said, voice rough.

My vision blurred again.

“I got on the highway,” I said. “But the more miles I put between us, the worse it felt. Like I’d left all the air back here with you.”

I finally looked up.

He wasn’t pretending not to be affected.

His eyes shone. “Come here,” he said quietly.

My legs moved toward him.

His hands settled on my upper arms, warm and steady through the fabric of my sweater. That alone made something in me sag. I hadn’t realized how tense I’d been until he gave my muscles permission to unclench.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured.

“I’m—” I tried for a joke, found nothing but truth. “Terrified.”

“Me too,” he said.

That surprised me enough that my gaze jerked to his.

He huffed out a breath. “I haven’t felt this much in a long time, Rudy. Not like this. Not all at once.” His thumb brushed absently along my arm, soothing without him seeming to realize he was doing it. “When I was younger, I thought I had all the time in the world to figure out who my forever person was. Then my parents died. Then Michael left. I built a life that was… good. Solid. Enough. I told myself I didn’t need more.”

His eyes held mine, unwavering.