Page 69 of Daddy's Little Christmas

“Careful, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice rougher than I’d ever heard it. “If we keep going like that, I’m going to get carried away.”

A wild, reckless part of me didn’t care. Another part—the one that still felt ten, twelve, fifteen and terrified of messing things up—tugged at my sleeve from the inside.

I swallowed hard, trying to slow my breathing.

“Okay,” I whispered. “Sorry, I just—”

“Don’t apologize,” he said at once. He pulled back enough to look me in the eye, his thumb brushing the corner of my mouth where our kiss had left my lips tender. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I liked it.”

“Oh,” I said, dizzy with relief.

“I just…” He huffed out a breath, a smile ghosting over his face. “I want us to have space when we do more than kiss. Somewhere we don’t have to stop ourselves.”

His gaze flicked briefly toward the street. “Not with Tom’s patrol car probably two blocks over and half the town liable to wander past. Hallelujah for good timing, though.”

I snorted, the image ridiculous and weirdly grounding. “That’s… fair.”

His gaze softened. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” I let out a shaky laugh. “Better than okay, actually.”

“Good.” He pressed a quick, sweet kiss to the tip of my nose, somehow both tender and utterly shameless. “Come on. Walk you back?”

“Yeah,” I said again, because apparently that was the only word my brain knew around him.

I thought about Mrs. Davis, about Letters to Tomorrow, about all the wishes I’d never dared write down.

Maybe I hadn’t outgrown wishes after all.

Maybe I’d just been waiting for the right person, the right place, to make one feel possible.

For the first time in a very long time, the future didn’t feel like something barreling toward me too fast.

It felt like a story I might actually want to stay for.

Chapter 13

Graeme

I didn’t usually feel nervous about Christmas.

Busy? Sure. Tired? Absolutely.

But not this… humming, restless thing in my chest as I locked Holly & Pine’s front door and stood for a second in the falling snow,

Rudy’s car was already in my driveway when I pulled in.

For a second I just sat there, hands on the steering wheel, watching the soft puff of exhaust curl into the cold air in my rearview mirror. My porch light cast a warm circle over the steps, spilling out onto the snow. Through the front window Icould see the faint glow of the tree in the corner—small, simple, more twinkle lights than ornaments.

And Rudy.

Rudy, who had fallen asleep in my arms two nights ago with a pacifier fisted in his hand and a stuffed reindeer under his chin.

Rudy, who had kissed me behind the gingerbread booth like he’d been starving for it.

Rudy, who was leaving in a handful of days.

He was standing just inside the glass, hands tucked into the sleeves of his sweater, peeking out like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to look too eager.