Page 14 of Dad Bod Snow Job

“What’s next?” I growl, crossing my arms. You want me to wear a Santa suit and bounce babies on my knee?”

Holly’s eyes light up. “Actually...”

“No.”

The future flashes before me, brutal in its beauty—a little boy with her wild curls and my eyes, giggling on my lap while Holly stands behind us, her fingers warm on my shoulder, our family complete?—

“You're perfect for this, Nico. That beard screams Santa for the kids, and—” she bites her lip, eyes dancing “—the moms will love the rugged lumberjack vibe.”

I grab fresh snow, crushing it against my face to drown the ache of wanting. Of imagining things I can't have. The ice bites, anchoring me to reality.

“Your business sense is impressive.” And it is—she's transformed my simple tree lot into something magical. Her touch is everywhere, from the organized stockroom to the new displays drawing a steady stream of customers. “But this social media stuff?—”

A snowball hits my chest, cutting off my protest in a burst of white powder. Her aim is as deadly as that smile. “Did you?—”

Holly’s laughter sparkles through the icy air as she dances backward, her red sweater bright against the snow. Those nimble fingers are already crafting another weapon. “Come on, Mr. Christmas Tree King. Show me what you've got!”

Awesome. My entire crew has ringside seats to their boss getting pelted with snowballs. The second one smacks my shoulder, and her victory dance isn't helping my dignity.

“Are you testing my reflexes?” Steam clouds my words as I pack snow between my palms.

“This is market research!” She darts behind a tree, leaving boot prints in the snow, laughter trailing behind her.

God, her smile is addictive.

My throw catches the branches above her, and she shrieks as snow rains down on her curls. Mike shoots me a smirk from the loading dock that says I'm not fooling anyone. For once, I don't care who's watching.

A blast of Arctic air sweeps across the yard, dusting Holly's curls with snow. She's pink-cheeked from our battle, but a full-body shiver gives her away, even as she tries to hide it.

“Inside,” I order, yanking my gloves from my back pocket. “Before you freeze.”

Her eyes widen. “Does this mean you'll listen to my pitch?”

“This means I’m not explaining to your parents why their daughter turned into an icicle on my watch.” I point to the shop entrance, ignoring how my hands itch to shrug off my jacket and drape it over her shivering frame. “Fifteen minutes, then you're on register duty.”

My crew finds urgent work stacking timber as we pass, but Mike's knowing grin says I'll never hear the end of this one.

She skips to the office, hugging her phone like it's filled with holiday magic. I follow, lying that I'm escaping the cold, not chasing that smile.

“Take a seat by the heater,” I say, moving toward my desk.

Holly perches on the chair closest to the radiator, pulling out her phone again.

“I suggest that we show people the heart of Bennett’s.” She pulls up another video, but her fingers tremble. “The craft, the expertise, the?—”

“Phone down.” I grab my work coat from the hook, its worn canvas rough against my palms. “Here.”

Her fingers pause mid-text. “But you'll freeze.”

“I have enough insulation.” A lame excuse, but leaving her shivering is not an option. “Take it before you catch pneumonia. Can't sell trees from a hospital bed.”

The coat swallows her when I settle it on her shoulders, making her look like a kid playing dress-up in her dad's clothes. Something protective and dangerous twists in my chest.

I spin toward the coffeemaker, desperate for distraction.“Take this.” I press a steaming mug into her hands. “We’ll continue this discussion after closing. If you’re available.”

She clutches the coffee, nearly swallowed by my coat. “Really?”

“Really. Now go earn your paycheck.”

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