Page 3 of Babygirl for Christmas

I watchas Cherry peeks out of her door cautiously and wait for her to see the present. When her eyes land on the box, they light up for a moment before confusion creeps in. From the suspicious way she’s eying the box, I wonder if she’s going to leave it right where it’s sitting, but curiosity wins out—like I knew it would—and she carries the box inside. A smile spreads across my face, and I can’t help but feel pleased with myself.

I’ve wanted Cherry Wilson since before I should have. She was just eighteen when I first realized the girl across the street had grown into a gorgeous, vivacious woman. A woman that I instantly thought of as mine. It wasn’t the right time to claim her though. My beautiful Cherry needed a chance to spread her wings. So, I let her go when she moved to Chicago for school. I knew she’d eventually be called home. She’s not a big city kind of girl. She loves our small town of Winchester.

I never wanted her to be called back to me for something as tragic as Mrs. Wilson’s health declining. Of course, the moment she heard of her grandmother’s stroke, she came running home. More than anything, I wanted to wrap her up in my arms and take care of her, but I knew she wasn’t ready, and I didn’t want to push her.

Cherry isn’t just my woman; she’s destined to be my babygirl. I’m going to be her daddy and give her all the love and care she needs. These gifts are just step one in getting her to realize that I can give her everything she needs.

3

Cherry

It’s beenanother long day. I was ready to collapse by noon, but what they say is true, there’s no rest for the weary. It’s just before eight when I finally pull into my driveway.

“Home sweet home,” I say to myself.

I’m halfway up the porch steps when I notice a small box in front of my door with the same red wrapping paper as the previous gift. I pick up the box and then turn around to take in my quiet neighborhood. The street is empty, lifeless save for the twinkle lights across the street at Mrs. Peters’ house.

As usual, she went all out with her lights and other decorations. Grandma and Mrs. Peters always had a friendly competition to see who had the best holiday decorations. It wasn’t just Christmas. The women competed over every holiday. Though Christmas was always the biggest and best of them all.

I shake myself out of my bittersweet memories and head inside out of the cold. I know something isn’t right the second I step inside. The house is freezing—cold enough that I can clearly see my breath on every exhale. I shrug my coat back on, rubbing my arms as I examine the thermostat. It shows the heat is on and set to seventy-one like it always is, but the house's actual temperature is reading at thirty-seven degrees.

A shiver runs down my spine, and goosebumps cover my skin. I pull out my phone and start a search for heating repair people. The only place that comes up in my search is St. Nicks Heating and Air… and their website shows they are closed. The thought of being without heat all night is unappealing, so I decide to try the number listed anyway, hoping for a miracle.

Or at the very least an after-hours answering service.

The phone is answered on the first ring. “Hello.”

I almost drop my phone when the call connects. Whether it’s from the relief that someone answered and that my heater could be fixed soon or because of the pure masculine sexuality in that one word, I don’t know.

“Is someone there?”

“Hi,” I respond, having stupidly forgotten how to form words at the sound of this stranger’s voice.

“Hello there. Can I help you with something?” His voice holds a hint of laughter.

I shake myself out of my trance, utterly embarrassed that a few words in that sexy voice of his have rendered me useless. “My heater doesn’t seem to be working, and I was hoping someone could come check it out?”

“We’re actually closed for the day,” he says, making me instantly deflate.

“Oh…” I knew that was the case based on the website, but I had gotten my hopes up when he answered that they had an after-hours service or something. “Could you refer me to someone who has after-hours service?”

“And give away my business to my competitors?” His masculine chuckle fills my ear, and I practically swallow my tongue at the sound.

“I’d rather use you.” The words come out breathy and full of double meaning.

“What’s your address? I can be there in five minutes.”

I give him my details, and he ends the call with a gruff, “see you soon,” that causes my nipples to tingle. True to his word, five minutes later, there’s a knock on my door. I open it and nearly fall over when I see who is on the other side.

“Nick?” I say with shock.

“Cherry,” he growls.

Lordy, his voice is just as sexy as over the phone—more so. My cheeks flush pink, and I have an overwhelming urge to jump into his arms like I did when I was a kid… Only this time, I want to kiss him like crazy and reenact all of my teenage fantasies.

I haven’t seen Nick since I got home. His mother is Mrs. Peters across the street, and he’s several years older than me. His mother and my grandma were close, even if they were a competitive lot. There were many times we had dinner at their house or them ours. Nicholas Peters has always been my naughty secret. I’ve wanted him since before I even knew that was a thing.

He’s only gotten sexier as the years have passed. He has a slight scattering of gray in his dark hair, several days stubble on his strong jaw, his dark eyes are hypnotic as they look down on me. And he does have to look down. The man practically towers over me. Not to mention his muscles. He’s freaking ripped, and I can just imagine how it would feel to curl up on his lap and let all of my worries go.

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