Page 56 of Holly, Jolly, and Oh So Naughty

He’s right, and as she dips the spoon into the pot again, James sweeps her off the stool with one arm. Emma squeals and laughs, yelling as he spins her around and sets her down on the second stool in front of the tray.

“Sorry, Head Chef, but you’re required over here!”

“What do I do?” She looks up at him with such trust that my heart squeezes. I’ve seen them together before, but right in this moment, they’re so painfully father and daughter it’s a wonder James doesn’t already know.

I remain silent, watching as James guides her through how to fill the wraps with a spoonful of the mixture, a sprinkle of cheese, and then how to fold them over. They’re on their third one when Emma finally notices me.

“Mommy! You look so nice!”

James’s head snaps up and he smiles warmly when our eyes meet. “You do. You look amazing.”

“Thank you.” Warmth rushes to my cheeks. “So, what have my two master chefs been making tonight?”

“Enlidas!” Emma declares.

“Enchiladas,” James corrects with a laugh. “Ten minutes in the oven and they will be ready to eat.” He sweeps the full tray away from Emma and slides it into the oven.

“They smell amazing already,” I say as I fall into old habits and start to clean up. I only manage to get one swipe of the clothbefore James snatches it from me and flicks his tongue against his teeth.

“Not you. You are being treated tonight, so please, go and sit at the table and let me clean up.”

“James—”

“I insist! Go! Shoo!” He flaps his hands, and I obey, laughing.

It’s nice to be treated like this. I don’t think I ever have been before. Emma discards her hat and scurries over to me, climbing into the chair next to me. As she begins to tell me about how amazing her Nativity show was and how excited she is to do it again tomorrow night, I watch James bustle around out of the corner of my eye.

He fits in almost too well, like he’s been cooking in that kitchen for years. I know Emma likely told him where everything was, but he finds it all with ease and the softer side of my heart eats up the domesticity of it. Especially with Emma chatting away happily beside me. My heart is just melting.

When dinner is served, James sits on the other side of me, and our knees bump together under the table. I enjoy the contact so I don’t move away, and we dig into what is, unknowingly, our first family meal.

“Wow,” I moan softly. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

“I’m exceptional with my hands.” James smiles. “Do I look like I can’t cook?”

“I mean, aren’t you more used to people cooking for you?” I say with a smile. “I’m impressed, that’s all.”

“It’s yummy!” Emma declares, stabbing at her food like she’s trying to kill the already dead chicken. “I love it! Better than the nasty, dusty biscuits Mark made that time.”

“Oh, God.” I groan at the memory of him dropping round with his family recipe biscuits long before I knew he was interested in me. Those biscuits were certainly something.

“I’m glad.” James chuckles. “Simple and easy but oh, so tasty.”

We eat amicably and share stories of our days. Mine was filled with baking the last cake I was behind on and sending two more away to those who won the baking tickets at the auction. James keeps his details light but had a busy day with patients, and Emma happily tells us all about her third day in the Nativity. Each night has been a success and she only has one left to go.

After dinner, James serves ice cream and we retire to the lounge, where we watch some Christmas cartoons until bedtime rolls around for Emma. With all the excitement of James and dinner, I expect her to stay up later, but as soon as her eyes droop, she’s ready for bed. I excuse us and take care of getting her into bed, tucking her in with several kisses and a story.

She’s asleep by the time I finish page five.

Back downstairs, James has cracked open a bottle of wine and he hands me a glass of red. “Happy?”

“Very,” I say, sipping my drink. “What made you want to cook instead of going out?”

“Well, I know Emma is an important part of your life, so I thought cooking for you both would show you that I’m serious about wanting to be in your life.”

I settle back into the soft cushions of the couch and watch James as he speaks. The lights are down low, and while muted, the TV switches to a music show that paints light and color over his face.

“You really mean that?” I ask, curious why he means it now when back then, it was so easy for him to get rid of me.

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