Page 9 of Dad Bod's Daring December

She turns toward me, her movements careful and deliberate, as though one wrong step might shatter her completely. “I think I’ll have an early night. Lock up on your way out, please. Goodnight.” Her hand brushes the doorframe as she leaves the kitchen, heading upstairs.

And just like that, she’s gone. The warmth of her presence, the pull of her energy, leaves the room colder than it should be. My hands clench at my sides as I stare at the spot where she stood moments ago, the ghost of her kiss still lingering on my lips.

I lean against the table, closing my eyes. “You’re an idiot,” I mutter to myself, the silence of the house pressing down on me.

But no matter how much I want to go after her, to tell her the truth, I stay rooted in place, paralyzed by the fear that loving someone again could destroy us both.

Chapter 5

Ember

The smell of sawdust and metal fills my nostrils as I step through the automatic doors of the local hardware store. Christmas music plays through the store, the cheerful notes strangely out of sync with the heavy thoughts swirling in my mind.

Rows upon rows of practical necessities line the shelves, decorated with glittering garlands and the occasional plastic holly berry. But all I can focus on is filling the void at the end of my driveway where my pine mailbox stood.

It was quaint, a small log cabin that held more than mail; it held my hopes and dreams for this new life I was trying to build here. I bought it because it was so endearing, a perfect little piece that seemed to say,Welcome, you belong here.

I run my fingertips over the cold, impersonal steel of the replacement options in front of me, each one sturdier than the last. These mailboxes feel like armor, devoid of charm but built to withstand anything. My former mailbox, so cute and delightful, is now a memory, a charred remnant left in the wake of the Demons. It’s a cruel reminder that remnants of my past life in Las Vegas still linger, even here. Back there, my identitywas confined to a number on a post office box, secure and anonymous, something no one could reach. But here, in this small town, I’m vulnerable. I’m exposed to people who don’t care that I’m a living, breathing person with dreams and a desire for peace.

Edward warned me about this. He’s lived with the knowledge that his ex-wife will do just about anything to get rid of him, even if it means tormenting me. Perhaps that’s why he always seems so grumpy, as if he’s built himself into a fortress of solitude to shield those he cares about from the chaos that follows him.

But beneath that rough exterior, his undeniable protectiveness draws me in. It does something to my heart. The way his eyes scan the horizon when he steps outside, looking for hidden threats—it’s as if he’s carrying the weight of every shadow that’s ever touched his life. And somehow, knowing he’s watching, ready to protect, gives me a sliver of comfort, even if I shouldn’t depend on it.

And that kiss… His taste still lingers on my lips, a phantom heat that refuses to fade no matter how much I try to push it aside.

It wasn’t just a kiss. It was a revelation. Edward’s lips on mine, warm and urgent, woke something deep, something I thought was buried under years of disappointment and self-preservation. His kiss held a need that mirrored mine, and for those fleeting moments, it was as if the world righted itself just for us.

But then, he pulled away.

The way his eyes darkened as he muttered his apology is etched in my memory, replaying on an endless loop. The words he spoke—“It was a mistake”—felt like a door slamming shut, butthe emotion in his gaze told a different story. His steel-gray eyes held regret, a hesitance that hinted at his battle between wanting me and fearing what might come of it.

I bite my lip, letting my hand fall to my side. His rejection shouldn’t sting as much as it does. But with Edward, it’s not just physical; it’s emotional. He sees me in a way no one else has, and for a moment, he let me see him too. That’s what makes this ache unbearable—the knowledge that there’s something real between us, and he’s too afraid to let it take root.

I shake my head. Now isn’t the time to get lost in what-ifs and unspoken desires. There are practical matters to attend to, like replacing my mailbox and ensuring I don’t give the Demons another easy win. Still, as I lift the heaviest, sturdiest box into my cart, I can’t help but wonder if Edward’s heart is as guarded as this unyielding steel—and if I’ll ever find a way to break through.

We’re both vigilant in our own ways, and he’s been teaching me how to use a shotgun, showing me how to stand tall and steady when facing down an enemy. But we both know our defenses aren’t foolproof, that the looming threat of Edward’s ex-wife and her new boyfriend will not be easily dissuaded. Their hatred for Edward has spilled over onto me, turning me into nothing more than collateral damage in their war. It’s ironic—Edward’s ex is using her lover’s motorcycle club to torment the man she once vowed to honor and love until death parted them. She’s thrown away a man who possesses more honor and integrity than her new boyfriend ever will, yet she continues to hurt him from afar, using me as her weapon.

“Ember?”

The voice pulls me from my reverie, and I turn to see Malcolm, the store clerk, a gentle concern etched into his features.

I try to smile, embarrassed at being so caught up in my thoughts. “Yeah? Oh, I’m sorry, just... thinking.”

“Take your time,” Malcolm says with a comforting smile, his kindness a reminder that light exists even in a world filled with threats.

His patience is strangely comforting, a reminder that not everyone in this town is a source of danger.

“Thanks,” I murmur, my gaze settling back on the row of steel mailboxes. They may lack the warmth of my previous one, but they hold a promise of endurance.

Choosing the heaviest, most unyielding model, I decide to let it stand as a testament to my resolve. Let them try to set this one on fire. The thought brings a tight smile to my lips, one tinged with defiance. Yes, they’ve burned down a symbol of my new life, but they haven’t touched my spirit. Not yet.

The weight of the mailbox anchors me to the present, to this moment of choosing resilience over despair as I carry it to the counter. And in the back of my mind, I feel Edward’s tacit approval, his silent vow to stand beside me in the face of our shared adversaries.

I’m putting my change in my pocket when someone prods my shoulder with a pokey finger. The abruptness snaps me out of my determined haze.

“Excuse me, but I don’t think we’ve met?” The question is edged with a sneer, not the usual small-town courtesy.

As I turn, my gaze lands on a woman about my height, blonde hair cascading in perfect waves, her beauty marred only by the malice in her eyes.

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