Page 90 of Daddy's Little Christmas

“Let’s switch gears, then,” he murmured. “Want help changing into something cozy?”

I nodded, cheeks heating. The familiar mix of vulnerability and safety wrapped around me like a blanket.

He led me to the bedroom, pulling out my softest pajamas—the ones with the tiny snowflakes.

When I crawled onto the bed, my body felt too big for itself and too small for the day I’d just had. I curled on my side, fingers twitching with the urge to reach for my paci in the drawer.

“Go ahead,” he said softly from the doorway, like he’d read my mind. “If you want it, take it.”

I did. The familiar silicone, the weight of the clip he’d given me with the little snowflake charm—it all grounded me instantly. My muscles unclenched. My breathing slowed.

He joined me on the bed, stretching out behind me and gathering me up against his chest like it was the most natural thing in the world.

His arm draped over my waist. His hand rubbed slow circles over my stomach. “You did so well today,” he murmured into my hair. “I’m so proud of you.”

A small, muffled sound escaped me around the paci. My eyes stung again, but this time it felt good, like something washing clean.

“You saw hard things,” he went on quietly. “And you didn’t look away. You let it touch you without letting it break you. And when it was too much, you told me. That’s… that’s everything I could ask of you, baby.”

The wordbabysettled over me like a soft quilt. My whole body melted back into him.

I let my mind drift, the sharp edges of the day blurring into impressions—Jay’s wary smile, gloved hands around paper cups, the card that saidYou matter.

Underneath all of it was Graeme’s voice, low and steady and here, smoothing the static in my head.

“Rest,” he whispered. “Daddy’s got you.”

Chapter 17

Graeme

By the twenty-seventh, the calendar felt like a countdown.

The little square with today’s date stared back at me from the fridge, three blank ones after it. Three days until Rudy’s taillights disappeared down my driveway. Three days until the house went back to being quiet in the wrong way.

I shut the fridge a little harder than necessary and told myself I was not going to be that guy who spent the day mourning something that hadn’t even ended yet.

In the living room, Rudy was on the couch with his feet tucked under him, nursing a mug of coffee and staring out the window like it was showing him the best movie he’d ever seen. The snowfall had eased into a soft drift. The pines out back wore clean white coats.

He looked small wrapped in my gray sweater, curls still sleep-mussed, bare toes peeking out from the hem of his sweatpants. Not little-small. Just… younger in a way that made my chest ache. Open. Soft. Mine.

I leaned against the doorway for a second and just watched him. I wanted to take a mental photograph—this exact moment, exactly this light, exactly his face.

“You’re doing it again,” he said without turning around.

“Doing what?” I crossed the room and set his fresh cup down on the table, trading it for the empty one.

“Staring like I’m a rare bird you’re afraid you’ll scare away.” He twisted just enough to look up at me, eyes bright. “Morning, Daddy.”

My pulse jumped at the word, even said soft and teasing. “Morning, sweetheart.”

He accepted the new mug, fingers brushing mine. “This looks like postcard snow,” he said. “It’s criminal to waste it.”

“I had the same thought,” I admitted. “I was thinking we could stay home today. No errands. No town. Just…” I gestured toward the window. “This. You. Me. Snow.”

His smile folded into something softer, pleased and maybe a little relieved. “That sounds perfect.”

“We can build you your first respectable Vermont snowman,” I said. “Assuming you can handle the rigorous training.”