Page 11 of Dad Bod's Daring December

“She’s targeting me,” I finish for him, my stomach twisting.

“I’m sorry, Ember.” His voice is low, almost a whisper. “If I’d known how far she’d go, I would’ve?—”

“Don’t,” I interrupt, reaching for his hand. “Don’t apologize for something that’s not your fault. She’s the one making these choices, not you.”

He studies me, his gaze softening. “You’re stronger than you realize, you know that?”

I smile faintly, squeezing his hand. “Maybe. But I’m stronger with you.”

A silence stretches between us, not heavy this time, but filled with an unspoken understanding. When I finally speak, my voice is steady. “Edward, you deserve more than what Rebecca gave you. You deserve someone who sees the man you are and appreciates every part of you.”

His eyes meet mine, a flicker of something—hope? Gratitude?—sparking there. “Maybe I do,” he murmurs.

I clear my throat, breaking the tension. “Talking of deserving more, I’ve prepared far too much chicken pot roast, so you’re about to get extra portions.”

Edward grimaces, patting his gut. “Not like I need extra portions.”

His eyes meet mine, a flicker of something—hope? Gratitude?—sparking there. “Maybe I do,” he murmurs.

I clear my throat, breaking the tension. “Talking of deserving more, I’ve prepared far too much chicken pot roast, so you’re about to get extra portions.”

Edward grimaces, patting his gut. “Not like I need extra portions.”

“Don’t even start,” I tease, crossing my arms and leaning back. “You call it extra; I call it fuel for all the work you do around here. Besides”—my gaze softens as it flickers over him—“I like you exactly as you are.”

He raises an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a smirk. “Exactly as I am, huh? Even the dad bod?”

“Especially the dad bod,” I counter with a grin, pointing my finger at him. “It’s... distinguished. Rugged. And it’s all part of the package that makes you, well, you.”

Edward chuckles, shaking his head. “You’ve got a way with words, sweetheart.”

“Just telling the truth,” I reply, my cheeks warming at his endearment.

We keep the conversation light through dinner, with Edward telling me about the farm. He talks about the early mornings spent checking on the livestock and the satisfaction of seeing the fields thrive under his care. His voice holds a quiet pride as he mentions the two farmhands he employs—Tommy, a college kid who works part-time, and Nate, a seasoned hand who’s been helping him for years.

“They keep things running smoothly,” Edward says, his tone warm with appreciation. “Though Nate likes to remind me every chance he gets that he’s better with the tractor than I’ll ever be.” He chuckles, a deep rumble that carries the contentment of a man who’s found his purpose in hard work and the land.

“I think it’s great,” I say, leaning forward slightly. “You’ve built something solid here. It’s not just a farm—it’s a way of life.”

Once we’ve finished dinner, Edward helps me clean up, and we move to the living room and sit on the squishy sofa with our mugs of coffee.

“I see you got some new decorations put up. I like them.” Edward says, looking out of the living room window.

I nod, watching the lights I strung along the porch flicker in the darkness. “When I saw Santa and his reindeer, I couldn’t resist. Or the wire chicks with their little scarves. And you know I had to put a giant snow globe out there with the fake snow blowing inside.”

I sip at the hot tea I made after dinner, moving to stand at the window with him. They’re just things, but they bring a sparkle of normalcy and festivity that makes me smile.

“Looks great,” Edward says, nodding toward the festive display.

“Thanks,” I respond, barely registering his compliment. I’m too preoccupied with the warmth emanating from his body. I want to be closer to him, closer than I should be. In my mind, I imagine curling up next to him, tracing the lines of tension in his shoulders, the strength in his arms that so easily deflected Rebecca’s venom.

But he remains rooted to the opposite end of the sofa, a barrier of resolve keeping us apart. His sense of duty to protect and maintain distance is a wall I’m unsure how to climb. I shouldn’t even want to climb that wall, but I do.

Maybe one day.I tell myself, my heart aching with the hope of something more.

Maybe one day, he’ll see beyond the role of protector, and we’ll find solace not just in shared struggles but in each other.

Maybe.

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