Page 13 of Daddy's Little Christmas

“Their story was… it stayed with me. I don’t know. It made me want to see it.”

“That’s as good a reason as any,” I said. “Better than most.”

He lowered his gaze to the cocoa, rubbing one fingertip along the rim. “I wasn’t sure I should come. Felt a little reckless.”

“Sometimes the right things do,” I said.

That earned a faint, almost shy smile.

He lifted the mug again, took a longer sip this time, and let his shoulders ease just a little. For a moment, neither of us spoke. The shop settled around us—the kind of quiet you don’t rush.

He took another sip, slower, like he was memorizing the taste. “Really is good,” he murmured, almost to himself.

I nodded. Some silences don’t need filling.

He drank again—small, thoughtful swallows——then rose carefully. As he straightened, his gaze fell on the reindeer still sitting on the bench. He blinked—surprised, almost sheepish—and picked it up.

“Oh—sorry,” he said quickly. “I didn’t mean to—”

“You didn’t steal him,” I said with a small smile. “Just kept him company.”

Another soft exhale—relief. He set the reindeer back on the shelf with almost the same care I used when arranging displays.

He looked down at the mug as if realizing only now that he still held it in his hand.

“Oh,” he murmured. “Right.” He stepped toward me, close enough that I caught a faint trace of something clean and soft on him—cedar shampoo, maybe, or the cold night air clinging to his coat. His cheeks colored, faint but visible in the warm light. “It really hit the spot,” he said, voice a shade rougher than before. “Thanks.” He held the mug out.

I reached for it. Our fingers met—

And the jolt was immediate. A sharp inhale punched into my ribs before I could stop it. The world seemed to narrow and for one suspended second it felt like the shop exhaled around us.

When he looked up, I expected shy.

What I found instead was curious blue—light, almost startling against the red of his hair. Not sharp or cold. Just open. The kind of openness people don’t usually offer strangers, like he hadn’t had time yet to decide what to hide.

His mouth parted, then he pressed his lips together, as if a word hovered but didn’t quite make it out.

Then he gently let the mug go, fingers brushing mine one last time before he stepped back.

“You’re welcome,” I said gently. “Anytime.” A beat. I cleared my throat. “Graeme,” I said, “by the way. Graeme Whitlock.”

He held my gaze a second longer than was necessary. “Rudy Callahan. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise."

He pulled his coat tighter and reached for the door. Cold air slipped in as he opened it, enough to stir the lamps and sharpen the scent of pine.

He hesitated there, hand still on the handle, then glanced back. “Goodnight, Graeme.”

“Goodnight, Rudy.” I didn’t try to hide the warmth in my tone. “And Rudy?"

“Yeah?”

“Welcome to Winterhaven.”

Something flickered across his face—surprise, maybe—and his breath caught before he nodded. Then he turned again and stepped outside into the falling snow.

I watched him walk down the path until the door eased shut on its own weight.