Page 31 of A Very Daddy Christmas

We’ve invested our own money in this place now, and I’ll be damned if I’ll let Orson St. James, or anybody else for that matter, ruin what feels like could become a really beautiful thing.

8

Cora

“Everything is okay,” Sebastian reassures me as we sit at the dinner table. Like me, he doesn’t have much of an appetite either. He keeps searching my face, trying to read me. He’s worried, and I find it sweet and endearing.

I haven’t touched my food. “Yeah. No trouble yet,” I say as I pull up the alarm app on my phone—again.

“Put the phone down,” Waylan says, smiling softly. “You’ve got motion sensors now. You’ll get an alert if anything happens.”

“You can’t blame her,” Riggs sighs. “She and Eva will be like cats on a hot tin roof for a while. It’s normal.”

“Is it?” I ask.

Dario looks up at me. “Why’s the cat on a roof?”

“It’s just a thing people say sometimes,” I reply, smiling. I don’t want him picking up on my stress.

“Oh. I don’t think cats should be on the roof. It sounds dangerous.”

“You’re right, it could be,” Waylan tells him. “That broccoli isn’t going to eat itself, buddy.”

“I don’t know if I like it,” Dario mutters, pouting just a little bit.

I lean closer and whisper in his ear. “Give it a try and if you don’t like it, I won’t cook it again for you. How’s that?”

“I’ll try,” Dario mumbles as he gathers the courage to take a bite.

Five minutes later, he’s working through the rest of his plate with big eyes, surprised with himself. Sebastian, Waylan, and Riggs hold back hefty laughter while happily digging into their own meals.

By the time we’re done with dinner, I notice Dario’s eyes are drooping. “Preschool really took it out of him today.”

“Yeah, he’s gonna be out like a light,” Sebastian chuckles softly, lovingly watching Dario as he struggles to remain upright for the incoming dessert.

I get up and clear the table, emptying the plates into the trash before putting them in the dishwasher. Sebastian and Riggs stay with Dario, but Waylan comes into the kitchen to help me with dessert. I made a large tray of tiramisu, which he carefully removes from the fridge while I get the plates and spoons from the cupboard.

“Thank you,” I tell Waylan.

“It’s my pleasure, Cora,” he says, setting the tray on the counter next to me. The look he gives me sends shivers down my spine. “You’re gorgeous in that color of pink. Has anyone ever told you that?”

I blush and giggle like a schoolgirl. “It’s just a tracksuit.”

“It looks damn good on you.”

It should. It’s one of the many gifts they’ve bestowed on me since I moved here. I’m constantly overwhelmed by the attention and the presents. Sometimes I feel pressured to wear what they give me, even if I don’t like it, if only to show them how much I appreciate it.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice low as he inches closer.

“Nothing,” I whisper.

“Don’t lie, Cora. I can tell something’s bothering you. You can tell me anything.”

I look into his eyes, mesmerized by the depths of green.

“I’m not used to getting so many gifts,” I say.

“You deserve them.”

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