Page 14 of Daddy Christmas

“Thank you.”

“Now lie down. I’m going to read until you fall asleep, then I’m going to let myself out and lock the door.”

“You—you don’t want to stay?”

His eyes widened. “I do, Little one. Believe me, I do. But right now, when we’re just getting to know one another, I think we should take things slow. I know you’ve been hurt by people you cared for in the past. I want to earn your trust. We have all the time in the world.”

My heart pounded. “Okay.”

“But you should know, I like you. Very much. And this is . . . unusual for me. You’re special.”

Was he blushing?

“Now,” he said, clearing his throat, “get into bed, and let’s begin.”

He cleared his throat and began to read, his voice low and steady, wrapping around me like a blanket. Warmth seeped through me as his words filled the room. The story was familiar, but somehow it felt different coming from him. Like each sentence meant more, held more weight. I rested my head against the back of the couch, the tension in my shoulders easing bit by bit.

"Gemma?" His voice broke through my haze, quieter now. I blinked, realizing that the waking world was slipping away.

"Mm?" I managed, barely lifting my head.

"Are you falling asleep on me?"

"Maybe," I admitted, my lips curving into a faint smile. My eyelids felt impossibly heavy, but I fought to keep them open. "This is nice. You’re . . . nice."

"Nice," he repeated, his voice dipping lower. I felt him shift beside me, leaning just slightly closer. "I’ll take it."

"Good," I murmured. "You should."

And then, before I could think twice, the words slipped out. "I’m a Little." I froze, heat rushing to my cheeks as the weight of what I’d just said hit me. My heart pounded painfully in my chest. Why had I said that? Whynow?

The air between us went still, suspended like the moment before a snowfall. I chanced a glance at him, expecting confusion or maybe even judgment. But what I saw instead unraveled me completely.

"I know," he said softly, his expression impossibly gentle. There was no hesitation, no doubt. Just understanding. Like he’d been waiting for me to say it.

Relief flooded through me, so overwhelming it left me breathless. I relaxed against the mattress, my body sinking deeper into the warmth surrounding me—his voice, the bed, the snow. Everything felt safe. For the first time in forever, I let myself believe that was okay.

"Thank you," I whispered, barely audible. But he heard it. I knew he did. Because when I finally let sleep pull me under, his voice was the last thing I heard, steady and sure, reading to me like he’d done it a hundred times before. Like he’d do it a hundred times again.

Chapter 4

When I woke upthe next day, for some reason, I expected Nicholas to be there. When he wasn’t, I didn’t want to get out o bed at all. My bed was too warm, and the space beside me was too cold. I reached out, my fingers brushing against emptiness where Nicholas had been. For a second, my stomach dropped. He was gone.

The night before came back in soft waves—his voice reading to me, low and steady, until my eyelids grew heavy. The way his hand smoothed over my hair. The warmth of him sitting close. I swallowed hard, the ache of missing him settling uncomfortably in my chest.

I stretched, my arm brushing something that crinkled under my palm. Frowning, I turned and spotted it: a folded note resting neatly on his pillow. I sat up, my heart giving an eager little jump as I grabbed it. My fingers were clumsy, suddenly too excited, as I unfolded the paper.

"Good morning, Gemma," it read in clean, elegant handwriting. "I hope you slept well. Meet me at the grottothis evening—I have something special planned. Don’t be there before 8pm. Yours, Nicholas."

Yours.

I read it three times before the words really stuck. The flutter in my chest spread, warming me all over. I pressed the note to my chest and let out a shaky breath. What could he have planned? I didn’t know whether to be thrilled or terrified. Probably both.

The day dragged likea slow-loading web page.

At the shop, I tried to keep busy, but my head wasn’t in it. I must’ve rearranged the same table of paperbacks four times, shuffling covers around until even I didn’t know what I was doing anymore. Nicholas’s note had been burning a hole in my pocket all day, its edges worn from me pulling it out to reread every ten minutes. The words stayed the same, but they still made my stomach flip every time:"Meet me at the grotto this evening—I have something special planned."

"Special" could mean anything. A gift? Dinner? Something else? My mind kept circling back to his voice, low and warm, the way he’d read to me last night. The way he’d tucked the blanket around me before I fell asleep. It was too much—too good. And now, he wanted more time with me.

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