Page 62 of Daddy's Little Christmas

“Hey,” I said. “How would you feel about coming back to my place for a bit?”

He glanced up, surprised but not wary. “Your house?”

“Yeah.” I kept my voice easy. “Nothing big. Just blankets, cocoa. Maybe a movie or two. We can keep things low-key.”

He watched me carefully, reading more than I’d said.

“You don’t have to be on,” I added. “Not if you don’t want to be.”

Something in his expression softened. “Could I… be little? If I need to?”

“You can be whatever you need,” I said. “With me, that’s never wrong.”

He didn’t hesitate this time. “Okay,” he said. Then, softer, “Yes. Please.”

We stopped by the inn so he could grab his overnight bag. I waited in the truck, heater humming, watching the front door until he reappeared bundled up, scarf pulled high, cheeks pink from the cold.

My place sat just outside town, far enough that the streetlights thinned and the dark came easier. It wasn’t anything fancy—an older house, well kept. Solid. Snow lined the roof, the porch light casting a soft glow over the steps.

Inside, I kicked the door shut behind us and shrugged out of my coat, hanging it on the peg by the entry.

“Boots can go there,” I said, nudging the mat with my foot. “Bathroom’s down the hall on the left. You can change in the guest room if you want—second door. Take your time.”

Rudy glanced around as he slipped his coat off, taking in the space with quiet attention. The house wasn’t big, but it was warm in that unmistakable way of being cared for.

“It’s… really nice,” he said.

“Yeah?” I smiled. “It does its job.”

He disappeared down the hall and I headed for the kitchen, filling the kettle and reaching for the good cocoa. By the time I carried two mugs into the living room, marshmallows floating dangerously high, Rudy was already curled on the couch in the reindeer pajamas, hair still a little damp, knees tucked close.

I handed him his mug first, waited until he had it balanced safely, then set mine on the coffee table.

“Comfortable?” I asked.

He nodded. “Very.”

I picked up the remote and flicked on the TV, scrolling untilHome Alonefilled the screen. “What about this?”

He squinted at it. “Hm. I feel like this is one of those movies everyone assumes you’ve seen,” he said.

“And you haven’t?”

“I’ve seen clips,” he said. “I know the screams. The traps. The general chaos.”

“That doesn’t count.”

He huffed a laugh. “How old were you when this came out?”

“Ten.”

He looked at me, a teasing smile on his lips. “I was… not alive.”

“That explains a lot,” I said.

“Please,” he said. “I’m youthful. Vibrant.”

“Mm,” I said, pretending to be unconvinced as I sat down.