Page 25 of Daddy Christmas

The hum of the fireplace faded into the background as I leaned closer to the coloring book, my fingers smudged with green and gold pencil shavings. The page in front of me was coming to life—a Christmas wreath with ribbons curling through it—but it wasn’t perfect. My lines wobbled at the edges, and I’d pressed too hard on one corner, leaving the paper slightly torn. Still, I kept going. The rhythm of coloring felt… good, like some part of me had been waiting for this without even knowing it.

"That’s looking real nice, Gem," Nicholas said, his voice warm enough to melt frost. He sat cross-legged across from me, his own picture halfway done—a cheerful snowman wearing a striped scarf. His strokes were precise, each color vibrant and smooth, like he'd done this a thousand times before.

"Nice? It looks like a five-year-old did it," I muttered, biting back a smile. My cheeks burned anyway, especially when he chuckled low and easy.

"Yeah, but a really talented five-year-old," he teased. "One who knows her way around a Crayola box."

I laughed, the sound surprising me with how light it felt. “You’re just trying to be nice.”

"Maybe," he admitted, leaning in slightly. His green eyes sparkled, catching the glow from the fire. "Or maybe I think you’re better at this than you give yourself credit for."

I didn’t have an answer for that, so I ducked my head and focused on shading a bow. My hand moved faster now, less careful, more free. It was strange. For once, the little voice in my head that picked apart everything I did—too messy, too childish, too much—had gone quiet.

"Alright," Nicholas said suddenly, setting his snowman aside. "We’ve got enough masterpieces here to fill the fridge. Time for something else."

"Like what?"

"Games." He grinned and pulled out a small stack of wooden blocks. "Ever build a tower before?"

"Of course,” I said, eyeing the pile curiously. "But it’s been . . . a while."

"Perfect. Let’s see if you’ve still got it."

Before I could protest, he started stacking the blocks in neat rows, his hands steady and sure. I followed his lead, hesitantly at first, but soon we were both caught up in it—the tension building with every added layer. By the time the tower stood taller than my knees, I realized I was holding my breath. One wrong move, and it would all come crashing down.

"Your turn," he said, sliding the last block toward me. His grin turned mischievous. "No pressure."

"None at all," I shot back, narrowing my eyes. My fingers hovered over the pile, searching for the right piece to pull. Finally, I slid one free, careful not to jostle the others. The tower wobbled but held.

"Not bad," he said, nodding in approval. Then he reached for his own piece, moving with deliberate slowness. But as soon as he touched it, the whole thing collapsed in a loud clatter.

"Ha!" I threw my arms in the air triumphantly. "Guess you’re not as steady-handed as you thought."

"Beginner’s luck," he replied, but there was no bite to it. He smiled, wide and genuine, and I couldn’t help but smile back.

"Rematch?" I asked.

"Maybe later." He glanced toward the window, where snowflakes drifted lazily outside. "Right now, I’ve got a better idea."

"Better than beating you at blocks again?"

"Way better." He pushed himself up and offered me his hand. When I took it, his palm was warm and solid against mine. "C’mon. You’ll want your coat for this."

A few minutes later, we were outside, boots crunching against freshly fallen snow. The cold nipped at my nose, but the sight of the untouched white blanket surrounding us made it worth it. Everything looked soft, hushed, like we’d stepped into another world.

"Think fast!" Nicholas shouted, and before I could react, a snowball hit me square on the shoulder. It wasn’t hard, but it was enough to make me gasp. He let out a deep, resonant chuckle, and his eyes creased. He was almost shockingly handsome. Still, that wasn’t going to stop me getting my revenge.

"Hey!" I scooped up a handful of snow and packed it quickly, flinging it back at him. My aim was terrible—it sailed past his ear—but he laughed anyway, the sound echoing through the trees.

"That all you got?" he taunted, already forming another snowball.

"Not even close." I bent down, gathering more snow, and launched into a full-on assault. He dodged most of them, though one smacked against his chest, sending a puff of powder into the air.

"Alright, you asked for it," he said, advancing toward me with a determined look. Before I could escape, he tackled me gently into a snowbank. We landed in a tangle of limbs, laughing so hard I could barely breathe.

"Truce?" I gasped, holding my hands up in surrender.

"Truce," he agreed, his face inches from mine. His breath clouded in the chilly air, and for a moment, neither of us moved. My heart thudded wildly, the cold forgotten under the weight of his gaze.

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