Page 74 of Her Holiday Heartthrobs

This time, I step forward and brush the tears away as they escape. “Please. Let me get to know him. Let me be his dad.”

Those vibrant blue eyes—the ones our son inherited from her—search mine for so long that I lose track of time.

All of a sudden, she softly calls, “Hey, Bub, remember what I told you about your dada?”

Paxton perks up on the couch, homing in on us before he answers, “He had to go. Do important things.”

Wait. She’s told him about me?

“Well, he’s back,” Paige says and I shoot her a questioning look.

She shrugs, but Paxton is on the move, his small feet stomping across the hardwood floor on his way to us.

He grabs her sweatpants, head back to peer up at her as he points at me. “Dada?”

Paige nods, then Paxton’s face breaks out in such a big smile, I swear the room lights up with him. I sink down in time for him to throw himself at me.

“You’re back,” he says against my neck.

When my arms close around him, my heart breaks, remaking itself to be big enough to include everything I never thought I’d have—a family.

PAIGE

The absolute tenderness that takes over Henry when Paxton hugs him is something I am more than familiar with. It’s called motherhood. Or, I guess, fatherhood for him.

You know the joy and excitement, the peace and awe, the terror of being a parent. It transforms Henry right in front of me.

He closes his eyes, squeezing him tighter.

And I recognize the feeling. It’s belonging.

The way Henry’s hand braces the back of Paxton’s head fills in the missing pieces in my chest. And the small tumble I’ve been fighting turns into a free fall. Part of me has always loved Henry, but now, it’s so much more.

When he looks at me, I expect to see anger or resentment in his eyes, but it’s not there. Instead, he gathers Paxton up and stands with him snuggled against a shoulder, reaching for me.

I step forward, giving him my hand. Henry reels me in, pulls us together. I wrap an arm around his back and smooth Paxton’s hair from his eyes with a soft smile.

This is what I’ve wanted for so long. All three of us. Together. A family.

Why was I so scared to tell him the truth?

After a minute, Paxton wiggles free but holds his hand out to Henry. “Come here. Come here.”

Henry offers his hand and Paxton grabs his finger, leading him to the couch to share his favorite toys. My boy has always been inclusive, wanting everyone to get a turn to play. And when Paxton smiles again, all tiny little square teeth, Henry melts like the big old softy I know him to be.

“I was just starting dinner. Did you want to stay?” I offer, walking behind the counter to prep for the fixings. “It’s taco night. Bub’s favorite.”

“Sure. Thank you.” Henry shoots me a grateful look, and I just don’t understand how he’s not upset and raging right now.

Paxton grabs his face and turns him back to their game. Yeah, he can be like that. I watch them go from the cars to the dinosaurs to the wooden block puzzles to play putty to his dancing bear that sings and drums the banjo.

Henry follows the transitions, safely tucking each discarded toy on the couch behind him. He’s sunk to the floor, one leg out and the other tucked up behind the coffee table as our son waxes on with his gibberish. Then, he holds out a tiny phone figurine.

“It’s Pop Pop.”

“Pop Pop, huh?”

“My dad.”

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