Page 26 of Daddy Christmas

"Come on," he said finally, breaking the spell. He stood and offered me his hand again. "We’ve got a snowman to build."

By the time we finished, our creation stood proudly in the yard, complete with a crooked hat and a scarf Nicholas had borrowed from inside. I stepped back to admire it, my cheeks flushed from more than just the cold.

"Not bad," I said, brushing snow off my gloves.

"Not bad at all." Nicholas wrapped his arm loosely around my shoulders, pulling me closer. "You’ve got talent, Gemma. I mean it."

"At snowman-building?" I joked, but my voice came out softer than I intended.

"At a lot of things," he replied, his tone matching mine.

Back inside, I stood by the door, shaking snow from my hair and brushing it off my coat. My fingers tingled as they warmed up, and my cheeks were still flushed from the cold—and maybe something else. Nicholas disappeared into the kitchen without a word, leaving me to absorb the sudden quiet.

I glanced around the room, the glow of the fireplace catching my eye. The flames crackled softly, their warmth calling to me. I peeled off my gloves and scarf, tossing them onto a nearby chair, and moved closer. My legs folded beneath me as I sank into the thick rug in front of the hearth. The firelight danced across the room, painting everything in soft golds and oranges.

"Here we go." His voice startled me, and I looked up just as Nicholas appeared, balancing a tray in his hands. Two steaming mugs sat beside a plate piled high with cookies, the chocolate chips glistening like tiny promises of comfort.

"Hot chocolate," he said, kneeling down to set the tray on the low table in front of us. "With whipped cream and sprinkles. Thought you'd earned it after that snowball fight."

"Thanks," I murmured, reaching for one of the mugs. It was warm against my palms, the sugary scent wrapping around me like a blanket. I took a careful sip, and the sweetness melted on my tongue, the heat spreading through me in waves. I hadn't even realized how cold I'd been until now.

Nicholas leaned back on his hands, watching me with a small smile. "Good?"

"Perfect." I let out a soft laugh, the sound surprising me. It had been a long time since anything felt this cozy. Safe.

"Try a cookie," he urged, pushing the plate closer.

"Are these homemade?" I asked, picking one up. It was still warm, the edges crisp but the center soft when I bit into it. Cinnamon and vanilla burst across my taste buds, and I couldn't hold back the hum of approval.

"Of course they are. What kind of host do you think I am?" He winked, settling himself cross-legged beside me. His knee brushed mine, and I froze for half a second before forcing myself to relax. It was just an accident. Probably.

"You're full of surprises," I said, trying to sound casual. But the way his eyes lingered on me made my pulse quicken.

"Am I?" His tone was light, teasing, but there was something steady—solid—in the way he looked at me, like he was seeing more than I wanted him to. Like he always did.

"Yeah," I replied, focusing hard on my mug. The whipped cream had started to melt, swirling into the hot chocolate like clouds dissolving into night. "Not many people would go all out like this for someone they barely know."

"Maybe I feel like I know you better than 'barely,'" he said, his voice softer now. I glanced up, and his expression matched histone—thoughtful, unhurried. "Or maybe I just see things others don’t."

Heat that had nothing to do with the fire climbed up my neck. "That’s . . . a little intense," I admitted, though my lips curved slightly.

"Sorry," he chuckled, leaning back and breaking the moment. "Guess I have a habit of saying what I mean. Doesn’t always come out right."

"Well, I guess I’d rather that than the opposite." I took another sip, the weight in my chest easing just a little.

We sat in silence for a while, the only sounds the occasional crackle of the fire and the clinking of the mugs when we set them down. The quiet wasn’t uncomfortable, though. If anything, it felt like the room was holding its breath, waiting.

"Gemma." His voice broke the stillness, low and deliberate. I turned toward him, my stomach flipping at the seriousness in his gaze.

"Yeah?" My own voice came out quieter than I expected.

"You know," he began, shifting so he was facing me fully. His elbows rested on his knees, his fingers loosely clasped together. "You’re welcome to stay here as long as you like."

The words hung in the air between us, heavy and impossible to ignore. I searched his face for the catch, the reason behind the offer, but all I found was sincerity. No strings. Just him.

"Why?" I asked finally, my throat tight.

"Why not?" He smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "This place . . . it’s meant to feel like home. For you. If you want it to be."

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