Page 89 of Daddy's Little Christmas

“You’re welcome back anytime, honey,” she said. “We always need hearts like yours.”

I didn’t trust myself to say anything else. I just nodded.

The air outside hit me like a reset button. It was colder now, afternoon light already starting to fade into winter gray. Snow flurries swirled down, dusting cars and sidewalks in a clean new layer.

Graeme opened the truck door for me and waited until I was buckled in before starting the engine. The heater whirred to life, slowly pushing back the chill.

For the first ten minutes of the drive, I just watched the snow. The road unspooled in front of us. Houses gave way to trees again. My body sagged against the seat, the exhaustion finally catching up now that we were out of the noise.

“You’re quiet,” Graeme said softly.

“I’m thinking,” I said.

“About?”

“Jay,” I said without hesitating. “And the man with the mismatched gloves.” My voice wobbled. “It’s a lot.”

“Yeah,” he said. “It is.”

“I keep thinking… that could’ve been me,” I admitted. “If Mrs. Davis hadn’t… if she hadn’t taken me in. With my parents, the way they were…” I swiped my thumb under one eye, annoyed at the wetness. “I was never hungry like that. Not for long, anyway. I always had a bed. Even if it changed a lot. That wasn’t… me being better. That was luck. People. Her.”

“And now you’re one of those people,” he said quietly.

I shook my head. “I just ladled stew and handed out socks.”

“You smiled,” he countered. “You listened. You told a scared kid that free clothes are still good clothes. You looked them in the eye and made them feel human. That’s not nothing, Rudy.”

I swallowed hard. The truck’s cabin felt very small all of a sudden. Very safe.

I let my head tip toward him, resting against his shoulder as much as the seatbelt allowed. “I’m really tired,” I murmured. The admission felt huge.

“I know,” he said. “You did big emotional work today. That’s a lot for anybody, no matter how strong they are.”

“‘Strong’ is a weird word,” I muttered, eyelids drooping. “I feel… little. Not—” I corrected myself quickly, “not that kind of little. Just… small.”

His hand left the wheel for a moment to brush the side of my face, thumb tracing my cheekbone. “Both can exist,” he said. “You can be strong and feel small. You can give a lot and still need a lot.”

I made a small noise of agreement that was half sigh, half something else. The rhythm of the road and the heater’s drone lulled me. By the time we turned into his driveway, my body felt heavier, like gravity had been turned up a notch.

Inside Graem’s house it was warm. Familiar. Our boots left melting trails on the mat. I fumbled with my coat buttons, fingers clumsy.

“You’re running on fumes,” Graeme said gently, helping me ease the coat off my shoulders. “C’mon. Let’s get you comfy.”

There was no edge of impatience in his voice. Noyou should’ve told me sooner.Just calm, steady care.

Something inside me loosened.

My brain slid toward that soft, blurred edge where everything felt too big and too bright and all I wanted was to be held and not have to make decisions.

“Can I…” The words stuck in my throat.

He turned me to face him, searching my expression. “Can you what, sweetheart?”

I swallowed. “Can I be little?” I asked, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m so tired.”

His gaze warmed, went tender and serious all at once. “Yeah,” he said immediately. “You can. Thank you for telling me.”

Relief hit me so hard my knees wobbled. He must’ve seen it because he slid an arm around my waist.