Page 66 of Daddy's Little Christmas

I turned, the book pressed to my chest. “Yeah,” I said. “I think… I think this one.”

I turned the book so he could see. He leaned in, close enough that his shoulder brushed mine, the warmth of him settling there as he read over my shoulder.

“That line,” he murmured. “That one hurts.”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

We stayed like that for a few beats, sharing the quiet. I held the book open between us, turning a page, then another—just enough to take in the art, the words. I wasn’t tracking time so much as texture: the soft music overhead, the low murmur of the shop, the solid presence of him at my side.

“Have you decided?” he asked gently.

I glanced down at the book, thumb resting on the edge of the cover. The answer settled easily. “I want it,” I said.

His mouth curved, quiet approval there. “Okay.” He shifted and rose, offering me a hand without urgency. I took it and we drifted toward the center shelves together.

The queer romance section really did feel like a shrine—fairy lights tucked between shelves, little handwritten cards recommending favorites.

“You read these?” I asked, surprised and not.

“Sometimes,” he said. “Mostly audiobooks these days. Easier while I’m restocking.”

“Favorite trope?” I asked before I could stop myself.

He huffed a laugh. “Age gap, apparently.”

I smiled despite myself.

“And second chances,” he said softly. “When you get to try again without being defined by the last ending.”

Something warm shifted low in my stomach.

“Found family,” I said. “Small towns. Holiday stuff.” I hesitated. “Second chances too.”

His gaze lingered on me, steady and intent. “Good to know.”

We drifted into authors after that. The usual names. A couple we both liked.

“Amerie Adams is my favorite,” I said, a little sheepish about how fast the words came out. “She’s got this whole series I’ve been dying to read.”

I moved closer to the shelf anyway, scanning spines, then crouched a little to check the lower row. Nothing. I straightened, eyes flicking once more down the aisle, like the books might’ve wandered off and come back while I wasn’t looking.

“Guess they don’t have her right now,” I said, shrugging it off.

Graeme hummed quietly beside me, not disagreeing.

“I’ll track them down eventually,” I added. “I’ve been putting it off, but everyone keeps telling me it’s worth it.”

I wasn’t sure how long we browsed after that. Long enough for the music to loop. Long enough for the shop to settle into a deeper hush. Long enough that it stopped feeling like a store and started feeling like a shared pocket of time.

At the counter, Jules rang us up while Graeme reached for his wallet.

I slid my card forward first. “Let me.”

He paused, then nodded. “All right. Thank you.”

We didn’t rush out afterward. We stood by the front window for a moment, books tucked between us, watching snow gather on the sill.

When we finally stepped back into the cold, it felt sharper. Graeme shifted our purchases into one arm and reached out with his free hand, fingers brushing mine in a quiet question.