Page 83 of Daddy's Little Christmas

“Graeme,” he whispered. “Are you happy?”

The question hit deeper than he meant it to.

“Yes,” I said. True and easy. “I’m very happy.”

He smiled—radiant, open, unguarded.

But then his expression shifted, just slightly, like he remembered something.

Maybe the countdown flickered through his thoughts too.

He looked away. Just for a moment. A tiny fracture. Hairline.

“Hey,” I said softly, tipping his chin up with my thumb. “I’m right here.”

His eyes softened. “I know.”

We didn’t talk about Chicago. We didn’t talk about next week.

Instead we kissed while snow fell around us, slow and romantic and impossibly perfect. And for a few quiet minutes, it felt like the universe had paused just for us.

A Christmas morning fantasy.

One I wanted so badly to be real that it scared me a little.

But I wrapped my arms around him anyway, holding him close against the cold, because for today—for this moment—he was mine to hold.

And God help me, I wasn’t ready to let him go.

Chapter 16

Rudy

I woke up to the sound of snowplows.

At first I thought it was part of a dream—metal scraping asphalt, a low rumble, the soft hiss of snow being pushed aside. It took me a second to register where I was. Not my Chicago apartment with the thin walls and the neighbor who played bad EDM at all hours. Graeme’s bed. Graeme’s house. Vermont.

And Graeme’s arm heavy around my waist.

I smiled into the pillow before I even opened my eyes.

His chest rose and fell against my back, slow and steady. I could feel the warmth of his breath on the back of my neck, the solid weight of his thigh tucked behind mine. Every sore, pleasantly used muscle in my body reminded me exactly how we’d spent Christmas Day and night.

My cheeks warmed. My heart did the weird, floaty thing it did whenever I thought the word mine too loudly.

“Good morning,” he murmured into my hair, voice rough with sleep.

I shivered. “Morning.”

He kissed the back of my neck lazily. “How do you feel?”

Like you rearranged my insides and then tucked me in afterward.“Good,” I whispered. “Sore. In… really nice ways.”

I felt him smile against my skin. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It is.” I rolled onto my back so I could see him. His hair was rumpled, silver at the temples catching the pale winter light. There were faint creases on his cheek from the pillow and this softened him in a way that made my chest ache. “What time is it?”

“A little after eight.” He brushed a thumb under my eye like he was checking for sleep. “We don’t have to rush.”