Page 81 of Daddy's Little Christmas

“All of that.”

He grinned. “Show me.”

So I did.

We made cinnamon rolls first using my mom’s recipe. Rudy leaned close while I rolled them into the pan, laughing when flour dusted my nose. I flicked a little at him and he yelped, then retaliated in a way that ended with him pressed against the counter, my hands on his hips, our lips brushing—

Until the oven beeped and he jumped, laughing breathlessly.

Eggs. Bacon. Cocoa simmering on the stove, sweet and chocolate-thick. Rudy moved around my kitchen like he’d lived there for years, tapping spoons against mugs, humming under his breath, stealing bits of bacon while pretending he wasn’t.

At one point, he wrapped his arms around my waist from behind, cheek pressed between my shoulder blades.

“Graeme,” he murmured, “I’ve never had a Christmas morning like this.”

I covered his hands with mine. “Good.”

“Feels… special.”

“It is.”

He went quiet for a second. Just long enough for a tiny crack in the moment to form.

Then he kissed my back and the silence dissolved.

After breakfast we bundled up—thick coats, boots, scarves Rudy kept adjusting like he was styling us for a magazine—and stepped into the fresh snow behind the house. The cold hit my face with a crisp bite, but the air smelled like pine and woodsmoke, the kind of scent that felt like home.Rudy paused immediately, breath fogging in front of him.

“Graeme… this is your backyard? Wow!”

The woods stretched behind us, tall evergreens bending under their blankets of white. Snow drifted gently from their branches, glittering in the morning light.

“Pretty good view,” I said.

“Pretty good?” He huffed out a laugh, eyes wide. “This is—this is ridiculous.”

His wonder warmed me in a stupid, deep way I didn’t fully understand.

We took a few steps and Rudy slowed again, pointing.

“Oh—look.”

A cedar post stood near the pines, a feeder hanging from its hook. A few birds perched along the rim—sparrows and yes, cardinals. A male’s red feathers looked almost unreal against the snow.

He whispered, “They're… still here in winter?”

“They stick around all year,” I told him. “You can feed them if you want.”

His face lit up. I opened the small tin by the post and poured seed into his glove. He held out his hand, trembling just a little from cold and excitement.

One of the cardinals hopped closer, then closer again, and finally pecked delicately at the seed. Rudy’s breath hitched like something inside him had broken open in the gentlest way.

“Oh my God,” he murmured. “Graeme… look at him.”

I wasn’t looking at the bird. “Yeah,” I said softly. “I see.”

When the birds fluttered away, Rudy let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “That was… magic.”

“You haven’t even seen the woods yet,” I teased.