Page 12 of Daddy's Little Christmas

I didn’t know him—not his story, or what brought him here—but something about the way he stood there made the room feel quieter. It wasn’t anything dramatic. Just a simple settling, like the shop had taken a breath with him.

I moved toward him at an easy pace, not out of caution but respect for the quiet he’d found.

“He’s a popular one this year,” I said. “Hard to keep him on the shelves.”

He looked up, and the expression that met mine wasn’t anything I could label.

“Oh,” he said softly. “He’s… nice.”

“Take your time,” I said. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you like.”

A hint of color warmed his cheeks. He looked down at the reindeer again, thumb brushing the little knitted scarf.

“Thanks,” he said quietly. “I’m… a bit worn out. Long drive.”

“Nothing wrong with being tired,” I said. “It’s winter. Half the town survives on hot drinks and early nights.”

That earned a small, honest huff of a laugh—soft, surprised.

“You’re welcome to sit for a minute if you want,” I added. “There’s a bench by the window. Good view of the snowfall.”

His gaze flicked toward the bench. A beat. Then another. I don’t think it was hesitation from fear—but more like someone weighing whether he was allowed to take a moment for himself.

“I don’t want to keep you,” he said. “You’re closing up?”

“I’ve still got a few things to finish,” I replied. “You’re not in the way.”

A breath left him, small but noticeable. Permission mattered more than he’d say aloud.

“All right,” he murmured. He crossed to the bench and sat.

I stepped behind the counter and switched on the little cocoa station I kept tucked against the wall. Winterhaven wasn’t the kind of place where customers minded if the shopkeeper made hot cocoa—most of them expected it. The rich, familiar scent filled the air almost immediately.

When I brought a mug over, he blinked in a quiet sort of surprise.

“For me?”

“Of course,” I said. “You don’t make a long drive without earning cocoa.”

That pulled another faint smile from him.

“Thank you,” he said, setting the reindeer on the bench at his hip before reaching for the mug and wrapping his hands around it. He inhaled the steam. “It smells amazing.”

He took a sip, and his shoulders eased again.

“This place…” he said softly, eyes on the window. “It’s peaceful.”

“It has its moments,” I answered. “Most people find what they need here, even if they don’t plan to.”

I took the spot on a nearby table—not crowding, just close enough to talk. “Where’d you come in from?”

“Chicago.”

“That far, huh? And Winterhaven was the destination from the start?”

He hesitated, then nodded. “I read about the founders. Arthur and Henry. The way they built something safe out of nothing."

That caught my attention. “I grew up here,” I said. “You don’t really realize how rare a place like this is until you see it through someone else’s eyes.”