Page 79 of A Very Daddy Christmas

They picked up a few details from my usual settings, and it only makes me love them even more. The center of the table holds a steaming roast with potatoes and carrots, generously smothered in butter and rubbed with a variety of French herbs. The flavors rise from the platters and mingle in my nostrils, making my mouth water.

“You guys did an incredible job,” I say as my gentlemen take their seats. “Everything looks ridiculously yummy.”

We dig into the meal, and I’m surprised by how tender and delicious it is. The guys have outdone themselves. We enjoy the good food and good conversation.

“Are you sure you don’t want any of this Vermentino?” Sebastian asks as he refills glasses around the table. The conversation is flowing and so is the wine. “This particular label has more of those grapefruit notes you like.”

“I’m not really in the mood for alcohol tonight,” I reply with a soft smile.

Riggs and Waylan clear most of the table to make room for dessert. Sebastian takes advantage of the moment and pulls his chair closer to mine.

“How are you feeling?” he asks me, his voice low and soft.

“I’m good, I promise. I’m just tired. Adjusting to this new reality where we actually won. Honestly, I still can’t believe we survived the deadline.”

“I’ll bet,” he chuckles. “Eva? How is she taking it?”

“She’s practically delirious,” I tell him. “Today has been a haze, a total haze. We made Daddy’s favorite pies, we laughed, we chugged all the hot chocolate we could chug… I think she’s as shocked about this conclusion as I am.”

“You’re used to struggling, aren’t you?”

“I couldn’t have said it better myself,” I laugh. “We grew up paying rent. Our parents devoted most of their financial resources into raising us and keeping the bakery open. Home ownership was something they always wanted, but they didn’t want to owe anything to any bank. Which, in hindsight, I kind of understand.”

Sebastian nods.

“Eva and I always agreed we’d rather pay rent until we’d be able to afford homes of our own.”

He gives me a curious look. “What about that money she had saved up? She could’ve bought a house for her family with that. Easily.”

“She could’ve. But much like our parents before us, she kept it for the bakery. I guess it was her way of carrying out our father’s legacy. Raising her daughters mattered more than having her name on a house deed. Funny enough, she always says I’m a lot like Daddy, but if we look at her life decisions, Eva’s more like him than I’ll ever be.”

Riggs smiles as he comes in with the pies I baked yesterday. “I reheated these in the oven for a few minutes, my darling, as per your instructions.”

I smile back as I watch the dessert service unfold before my sparkling eyes. Waylan brings the plates and the dainty silvercutlery, while Riggs sets the pies on the table, adding dollops of whipped cream and ice cream on top.

“Gosh, they smell amazing,” I whisper.

Riggs reclaims his seat to my left. “You smell even better,” he says, then leans in and takes a deep breath, sniffing the side of my neck and sending playful shivers down my spine. “I really can’t decide which dessert I want first. The pies, or you.”

“We could try both,” Waylan wiggles his eyebrows, making me laugh.

“I really want to see how the pies turned out first,” I say.

One of the things I love most about Sebastian, Waylan, and Riggs is that they let me take my sweet time. Always. There’s never any pressure, no rush. There is, of course, a silent yet raging hunger that thickens the air between us, but they’re in perfect control of their impulses.

These are men who put in more hours than most into their work, earning the kind of success they truly desire. Men who rearrange their lives and their habits around a sweet boy like Dario because they want him to have a stable family.

Men I have fallen deeply and irreversibly in love with.

Once I’m sated and smiling like the Cheshire cat, they escort me away from the table and upstairs into Sebastian’s bedroom. No words are spoken as the anticipation rises, the passion and need heavy and smoldering in our eyes. I stand still in the middle of the room, watching as my men slowly remove their clothes.

The tweed jackets and crisp beige shirts come off first.

Then the belts with their sturdy brass belt buckles, followed by the pants.

Not a word is spoken, yet so much is said through the glances we exchange.

I hold my breath, feeling the heat gather between my legs once they’re naked and gloriously hung before me. Licking my lips, I can’t help but smile as I admire them.

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