Page 14 of Daddy's Little Christmas

The shop settled around me again—quiet, soft, familiar.

But the quiet felt different now. Like a room someone had just passed through, still holding the faint trace of their warmth.

I went back to tidying the counter, to turning off lamps and straightening displays, but my thoughts kept circling back to one simple truth: someone interesting had crossed my path—and I wouldn’t mind at all if he crossed it again.

Chapter 3

Rudy

I woke slowly.

Not startled. Not braced for anything.

The radiator hummed beneath the window, steady and low, and the quilt held me down in a way that felt intentional, like it was doing its job. Pale winter light filtered through lace curtains, softening the room into shades of gray.

For the first time in months, there was no echo of Nate’s voice in my head. No sharp pull from a dream I didn’t want to remember.

I lay there, breathing, aware of how my body felt—heavy in the mattress, unguarded, comfortable.

I sat up, scrubbed my hands over my face, and let last night flicker back in pieces:

The warm light in Holly & Pine.

The sharp green scent of pine and eucalyptus.

Graeme’s steady presence behind the counter.

His fingers brushing mine as I gave the mug back.

The way his voice wrapped around the words,“You’re welcome to stay as long as you like.”

I’d replayed that line too many times while falling asleep, testing it for hidden terms and conditions.

So far, it still sounded like he’d meant it.

“Okay,” I muttered to the room. “New day, new town.”

I padded into the small bathroom and turned the shower on hot. The pipes protested for a second before the water settled, steam fogging the mirror almost immediately. I stood under it longer than necessary, letting the heat sink into my shoulders. Cedar soap from a little dish by the sink. Clean. Simple. Enough.

When I stepped back into the room, toweling my hair dry, the radiator still hummed steadily beneath the window. I dressed slowly—jeans, clean socks, the thick charcoal sweater I’d packed on impulse and never regretted. Soft. Oversized. Years old.

I pulled it on and felt my shoulders drop a fraction.

Two weeks in Winterhaven. That was the deal I’d made with myself. Long enough to see if this place really was what the article had promised. Long enough to breathe. Maybe long enough to figure out who I was when my life wasn’t arranged neatly around someone else’s expectations.

Downstairs, the air smelled like coffee and something baked. Mae stood behind the front desk with a ledger open in front of her, glasses perched low on her nose. She looked up the moment I stepped into the room.

“Well, if it isn’t our new Chicago guest,” she said warmly. “How’d you sleep, Rudy?”

“Better than I have in a long time,” I admitted.

“That’s what we like to hear.” She tipped her chin toward the long sideboard along the wall. “Help yourself. Eggs, toast, blueberry muffins. Coffee’s fresh.”

I thanked her and moved toward the spread. The eggs were still steaming, the muffins wrapped in a linen cloth to keep warm. Simple. Thoughtful. Exactly what I needed.

Mae kept talking while I filled a plate.

“There’s a bit going on today,” she said. “Sugar Plum Café’s rolled out their gingerbread, the market finally got a citrus shipment in, and tonight’s the tree lighting on Main Square.”