Page 23 of Daddy Christmas

"Right," I murmured, clicking it into place. My fingers fumbled for a moment, nerves jangling in a way I couldn’t quite explain.

The engine rumbled to life, and we eased onto the road. At first, everything was familiar—city lights blinking past in a blur, the muffled sounds of traffic outside. I folded my hands in my lap, stealing quick glances at him. He drove with an easy confidence, one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on the console.

"Where do you live?" I asked, breaking the silence.

"You’ll see," he said, grinning like he knew something I didn’t. And maybe he did.

It wasn’t long before, to my surprise, the city began to fade away. The buildings thinned out, replaced by stretches of evergreen trees dusted with snow. The headlights lit up the road ahead, but beyond that, the world seemed softer somehow, quieter. Twinkling lights appeared along the roadside, strung up in the trees like breadcrumbs leading us forward. They cast a warm glow against the snow, and I couldn’t help leaning closer to the window, my breath fogging the glass.

"Almost there," Nicholas said after a while, his voice pulling me back.

The road curved, and suddenly, there it was. My breath caught in my throat.

The cottage stood at the end of a clearing, its windows glowing softly against the night. Snow blanketed the roof and dripped off the edges like icing on a gingerbread house. Garlands of evergreen framed the doorway, their red ribbons fluttering lightly in the breeze. Lanterns lined the cobblestone path leading to the front steps, their light flickering like tiny stars.

And then there were the carvings. Wooden figures of reindeer and elves stood in the yard, so intricate they looked alive. Theirpolished surfaces gleamed under the soft glow of the lanterns, as though they’d been placed there just moments ago. A gentle snowfall drifted down, coating everything in a thin layer of white.

"Wow," I breathed, my voice barely above a whisper.

Nicholas glanced at me, his expression unreadable. "What do you think?"

"I think . . ." I trailed off, shaking my head slowly. Words failed me. It didn’t seem real, any of it. And yet, here I was, standing in front of something that might as well have been pulled straight from my childhood dreams.

"Come on," he said, stepping out of the truck and offering his hand. His palm was warm when I took it, steadying me as I climbed down.

I followed him across the path, my boots crunching softly against the fresh snow. My eyes darted everywhere, soaking in the details—the way the garlands swayed slightly in the wind, the faint golden glow spilling from the windows, the smell of pine and something sweet lingering in the air.

"Is this . . . your home?" I asked finally, my voice tinged with disbelief.

"Yes," he said simply, but there was a weight to the word, like it meant more than just a place to live.

We reached the door, and Nicholas paused, turning to look at me. His green eyes searched mine, and for a brief second, I thought I saw something flicker there—something vulnerable.

"Ready?" he asked.

I swallowed hard, my pulse quickening. "I think so."

The door creaked open, and I stepped inside.

The door swung open, and warmth hit me like a hug I didn’t know I needed. My boots squeaked against polished wooden floors as I stepped inside, shaking off the cold. The air smelled amazing—sweet, buttery cookies with a hint of cinnamonand something spiced, maybe cider? My stomach gave an embarrassing little grumble.

"Make yourself comfortable," Nicholas said, his voice deep and smooth, but I barely registered it. My eyes were too busy drinking in everything at once.

Lights sparkled everywhere—strings of them looped along the walls, wrapped around stair railings, even draped over a chair or two. The room glowed, not harsh or overdone, but soft and golden, like candlelight on Christmas Eve. A towering tree stood in the corner, its branches heavy with shiny ornaments, tiny figurines, and . . . was that a gingerbread man wearing a scarf?

I blinked, trying to take it all in. Every surface had something festive: garlands with berries, little nutcrackers standing guard on the mantle, stockings hung just-so by the fireplace. It wasn’t just decorated—it was alive, buzzing with some kind of joy that made my chest ache in the best way.

"Wow," I whispered, more to myself than to him. "This is . . . a lot."

"Good 'a lot' or bad 'a lot'?" He leaned his huge body casually against the door frame, watching me. His lips twitched, like he already knew the answer.

"Definitely good," I admitted, flashing him a small smile. "Did you do all this yourself?"

"Every last strand of tinsel," he said with a wink. "Though I might have had a few helpers over the years."

"Helpers, huh?" I teased, stepping further into the space. My fingers brushed the edge of the tree skirt, soft and velvety under my touch. It felt wrong to disturb anything, like I’d stepped into a snow globe someone had shaken just for me.

"Keep going," he encouraged, tilting his head toward the hallway. "There’s more."

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