Page 41 of Daddy's Little Christmas

“Oh,” I said. Intelligent as ever. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know,” he said again, just as simply. “Take it or don’t.”

The lack of expectation did something strange to my throat.

“Thank you,” I said, taking both. The mug was warm against my palms. The bun smelled faintly sweet, buttery.

Once I was settled, he closed the door gently and walked around to his side. The cab filled with the faint scents of pine, coffee, and something warm and spice-leaning—maybe cinnamon from Holly & Pine clinging to his coat.

“Mae treating you all right?” he asked as we pulled away from the inn.

“She might actually be an angel,” I said. “She left fresh cookies in the hallway last night. How is that allowed?”

He huffed a soft laugh. “Town ordinance. Section three, paragraph two: all winter guests must be overfed.”

I smiled. “You’re joking, but I almost believe you.”

Graeme didn’t comment. Just tossed me one of his warm smiles.

I unwrapped the sandwich carefully, the paper crinkling softly in the quiet cab. Simple. Warm. I took a bite, surprised by how hungry I actually was, then another before my body remembered it was allowed to want things.

He glanced over, eyes bright. “You slept okay?”

“Yeah,” I said, swallowing. Then, because we were practicing honesty now: “Better than I have in a while.”

He didn’t take credit. Just nodded and let silence be comfortable.

I took a sip of the cocoa next, warmth spreading through my chest in slow, deliberate waves.

The blanket was still folded beside me. I hesitated, then draped it over my lap. The softness was warm and oddly grounding. It wasn’t quite the same as having a plush in my arms, but my body recognized the intention.

The road curved out of town, tires humming softly over packed snow. Trees blurred past the windows, dark trunks stitched together by white. Graeme drove one-handed, relaxed, like he knew every bend by muscle memory.

I adjusted the blanket again, feeling faintly self-conscious about it and then deciding not to be. He didn’t comment. Didn’t look. Just let it exist.

I finished the sandwich and folded the wrapper, tucking it into the door pocket. I took the last few sips of cocoa, letting the warmth linger, then set the empty mug into the cup holder.

“I’ve been thinking,” I said.

His gaze flicked to me, then back to the road. “Yeah?”

“About what you said yesterday. In the shop.”

He nodded once. “Okay.”

I watched the way his jaw set—not bracing, just attentive. Waiting. It made it easier to keep going.

“You were really careful with how you said things,” I said. “Not calling them rules. Not making them sound like conditions.”

“I meant to be,” he said. “I didn’t want it to feel like anything was being handed down.”

“It didn’t,” I said quickly, then slowed myself. “That’s not— What I mean is, it didn’t feel heavy. Or scary.”

The truck hit a small bump in the road. The blanket slid a little farther down my legs. I tugged it back up.

“But,” I added, “lying there afterward, I realized something.”

Graeme waited. He was good at that. At not filling the space just because it existed.