Page 48 of Daddy's Little Christmas

It was the way Rudy had leaned into it, every part of him answering at once—deliberate, unguarded, fully present. The way his hands had come up as if he trusted where they would land, the way his body had softened without collapsing, like he knew he was being held and didn’t have to brace for what came next.

I closed my eyes briefly.

That was the part that stayed with me. Not the heat, though there had been plenty of that, but the trust threaded through it. The quiet permission in Rudy’s body, offered without fear and without pretense.

I’d felt the shift as it happened, the moment wanting crossed into responsibility. The understanding that whatever this was, it required care—attention, restraint, and patience.

Rudy wasn’t fragile. But he was open. And that kind of openness carried its own weight.

In a little over a week, he’d go back to Chicago. Back to freelance work and city noise and whatever version of himself he felt was required to pass muster there.

I couldn’t stop that. I wouldn’t ask him to.

But while he was here—

While Winterhaven had him—

I could damn well make sure there was at least one place in the world where he didn’t have to hide.

The thought settled in my chest with surprising clarity. Not a plan yet. Just a direction.

I swung my legs out of bed and padded across the room, the cold floorboards doing their job of fully waking me. By the time I was showered, dressed and downstairs, the house had slipped into its usual morning quiet.

In the kitchen, I filled the kettle, ground the beans, and brewed a mug of coffee strong enough to anchor me. I wrapped both hands around it and stood by the window, watching the pale winter light settle over the yard without really seeing any of it.

My mind was already ahead of me—turning over possibilities, timing, small things that could make the day easier when I saw Rudy later. Nothing concrete yet. Just the steady pull of wanting to get it right.

Holly & Pine opened for a short stretch that morning, but it wasn’t a quiet one. The regulars came through in waves—coffee cups in hand, scarves half-unwound, questions asked and answered more than once. I moved between the front and back more than usual, resetting displays, fielding deliveries, checking my watch, then losing track of time entirely.

By midmorning, my first cup of coffee had gone cold where I’d left it. By noon, I’d refilled it and forgotten about it again. The shop hummed and settled and hummed again, the way it always did when winter kept people lingering longer than they meant to.

I locked the door in the early afternoon, the shop quiet at last. The morning’s work was done. Now it was just a matter of seeing whether it landed the way I hoped it would.I pulled my phonefrom my pocket and stood there for a moment, thumb hovering over the screen. Frostbite Pond had opened for the season that morning. Thick ice, rental shack, cocoa station—the whole setup meant for families and couples and kids wobbling their way through their first laps.

I pictured Rudy there and felt something warm settle in my chest.

I typed, erased, then typed again.

I blew out a breath and shook my head at myself.

You’re not sixteen, Whitlock.

Me:Feel like skating, sweetheart? Frostbite Pond’s open. I can pick you up at the inn in half an hour. They’ve got cocoa with an obscene amount of marshmallows.

I stared at the word sweetheart for a beat.

It wasn’t new. Endearments had slipped out before—natural as breathing where Rudy was concerned. And every time, I’d noticed the way he reacted: the tiny pause, the softening, like the word fit him in a way he wasn’t used to being fit.

I smiled to myself, then hit send and set the phone down on the counter.

It buzzed almost immediately.

Sweet boy:Um. I’m spectacularly bad at skating. Like… cartoon levels of bad. But yes. I can be ready in thirty.

A quiet laugh slipped out of me before I could stop it.

Me:Good. I’ll bring the emergency balance package.

His reply was even quicker.