Page 60 of A Very Daddy Christmas

“It’s also not the best period of my life to kick back and smell the roses,” Cora sighs deeply. “There’s too much on my plate. And after what happened at the resort—”

“You’re not alone in this,” I remind her.

She lowers her gaze, briefly distracted by the kids. I’m trying to figure out what Teresa wants to watch on TV, since she’s still flipping through channels and streaming apps.

“It’s been too quiet lately,” Cora says. “I don’t like it. Maybe that’s what has me on edge.”

“You’re not on edge now, are you?”

Cora shakes her head slowly. “No.”

“You just said it feels nice to be sitting here like this.”

“Yes.”

“It’s because you feel safe here, with us. With me. The kids playing. The pie cooling. Your sister handling things at the bakery while Sebastian and Riggs are out talking to our buddies about St. James and Denaro,” I say.

She looks up at me and smiles the sweetest smile, stars dancing in her eyes as she plants a soft kiss on my cheek. I catch a flicker of doubt and fear in her gaze. Words wanting to come out. But she hides it all under this warmth of hers, successfully distracting me.

“It’s true,” Cora sighs deeply. “I am better off when I’m with you. It doesn’t make a future together more probable, though. Not in the long run.”

“Way to throw cold water over the whole thing,” I mutter.

“Come on, Waylan, you’re the pragmatist in our group,” she replies. “You have doubts of your own. I saw that from the very beginning. Even now, you’ve got one foot out the door, so to speak.”

“And you don’t?”

“I guess I can’t argue there.”

“So what are we going to do about it?” I ask her. “Because I’m becoming increasingly allergic to the idea of a life without you, Cora. I don’t like it. I don’t like what thinking about it does to me, to my senses. But I know it’s happening. And the more I fight it, the worse I feel. Surely, it’s the same for you.”

“It is.”

I kiss her temple, pouring everything into it. Tenderness. Affection. Emotional security. All that I can muster in order to make Cora feel safe here, beside me. “Then what do we do about it, babe? Sebastian and Riggs keep waiting on me to give into this, wholeheartedly, but you and I know I need you to do the same.”

“I want to,” she gives me a pained look. “I’m just terrified of all this getting out. Your lives will be ruined. Mine as well. The risks are huge, Waylan, as you’re well aware.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to live like this anymore. Fearful. Doubtful. Waiting for the other shoe to drop. It’s exhausting, Cora. We need to do something. The two of us.”

She takes a deep breath, stealing a glance at the kids.

“Emerald-green,” Dario tells Aylin, pointing at one of the crayons closest to the girl. “That one. I use it for the grass.”

“This is called verdant,” Aylin replies, showing him another color. “I like it better.”

“It looks dark,” Dario says, doubtful of its impact on his developing artwork. It looks like he’s trying to put together an autumnal landscape, at first glance. He’s got a few trees and a hill drawn, along with several fallen leaves. Some mustardyellow, some burnt orange, and several in a deep shade of ruby red. “Grass isn’t that dark.”

Aylin shakes her head. “It’s dark in autumn. Sometimes it’s brown. Give it a try, Dario.”

“Okay,” the boy says and takes the crayon from Cora’s niece.

It’s a collaborative effort between these two, and I have more and more appreciation for Aylin and the way she seems to be getting closer to my boy, drawing him out of his shell. It’s been a while since I’ve seen him so bright and inspired, so eager to be around other kids outside of preschool.

Cora rests a hand on my chest, fingertips gently pressing into the woolen fabric of my sweater. “I think we need to get past the fear of what could go wrong,” she says to me in a low voice. “And figure it out together. One day at a time, no matter what.”

“Sounds sensible enough.”

“And doable. I mean, the unexpected doesn’t wait for us, does it?”

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