Page 51 of Daddy's Little Christmas

“You’re fussing,” he said.

“It’s cold,” I replied. “Humor me.”

He did.

For a while, we just sat. The sky was a pale, cloudy blue overhead, the kind that promised more snow later. Kids shrieked with laughter on the far side of the pond. Someone’s speakers played faint carols from a distance. The air smelled like ice, woodsmoke, and chocolate.

Rudy blew on his cocoa, watching the little swirl of steam.

“This is…” He hesitated, searching. “…nice.”

“Just nice?” I teased gently.

He huffed out a laugh, the sound puffing white in the air.

“It’s more than nice,” he admitted. “It’s—” He stopped, swallowed, tried again. “I feel like I remember myself a little better out here. Like there’s… room.”

I angled on the bench so I could see his face more clearly.

“Room for what?” I asked.

He toyed with the edge of the blanket.

“For being soft without feeling stupid,” he said finally, low. “For being… happy. You’ll probably get tired of me saying this, but I like being with you.” His voice thinned on the last part. “Like this.”

Warmth rolled through me, unexpected and huge.

“I like being with you too,” I said. No jokes. No deflection. Just the truth. “I like taking care of you.”

His eyes flicked up. Something in them went glossy.

I set my cocoa aside on the bench, reaching up to brush a thumb along his cheekbone, just under the edge of his hat.

“Can I kiss you?” I asked.

He nodded, quick and definite.

I arched my brow. “Use your words, sweet boy.”

I got the cutest of giggles. “Yes, Daddy, you can kiss me.”

I leaned in slow enough for him to change his mind.

His lips were cold from the air and sweet from the cocoa. He made a soft sound in the back of his throat when our lips met, something like relief wrapped in want. His hand came up, fingers curling in the front of my coat, pulling me closer.

He opened to me when my tongue traced the seam of his mouth, meeting me with a flick of his own. Heat shot through me at the taste of him—chocolate and winter and something that was just Rudy.

He shifted closer on the bench, his thigh pressing against mine. I felt it when his body reacted, the small, unconscious roll ofhis hips forward. My own breath stuttered, my hand tightening briefly on his jaw.

I dragged my mouth from his just enough to rest my forehead against his, breathing him in.

“You’re doing so well,” I murmured, the words brushing his lips. “Good boy.”

He shivered, full-body, like the phrase had slipped down his spine and spread out.

“Graeme,” he whispered, and there was a question tucked somewhere inside my name.

I kissed him once more, softer this time, before easing back fully. If we stayed here much longer, I wasn’t sure I trusted myself not to forget where we were.