Page 27 of Daddy Christmas

Home. The word hit me harder than I thought it would. I swallowed, looking away as my vision blurred ever so slightly. The firelight swam in the corner of my eye, and I blinked rapidly, willing myself to hold it together.

"That’s a big thing to offer someone," I managed after a moment, keeping my voice steady. "This place . . . it's so wonderful here." The words slipped out before I could stop them, and I winced at how vulnerable they sounded. Too honest. Too much. "Like a dream I don’t want to wake up from."

"Good," he said, leaning forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees now. There was an intensity in his posture, in the way he looked at me, like I was the centerpiece of some unspoken plan he hadn’t quite voiced yet. "I’m glad you feel that way." His voice softened, dropped just enough to make my stomach flip. "This place has been waiting for someone like you."

"Someone like me," I repeated, almost under my breath.

"Gemma." My name came out like a sigh, heavy and deliberate. He reached for his mug, taking a sip before setting it down beside mine. When he finally spoke again, his tone had shifted. Lower. Serious. "There’s something I need to tell you. Something I’ve been meaning to share since the moment you walked through that door."

"Okay . . ." I said slowly, my pulse quickening despite myself. I straightened in my chair, suddenly hyper-aware of the space between us—or lack of it. "That sounds . . . ominous."

"It’s not," he assured me, though his expression didn’t exactly scream casual. "At least, I hope it’s not. But it is important. And frankly, I worry that it’s going to put you off." He paused, his fingers curling around the armrests as if grounding himself. "You see, I’ve been searching for someone for a long time. Someone special."

"Special how?" My throat felt tight, the words barely making it out. I crossed my arms over my chest, more out of instinct than anything else. A shield. A barrier. Whatever this was, it felt big. Bigger than I was ready for.

"Not just anyone," he continued, ignoring my question entirely. Or maybe answering it in his own roundabout way."Someone who sees the world the way I do. Who understands what it means to give, to create, to bring joy in ways most people can’t imagine." His eyes locked onto mine then, piercing and unrelenting. "Someone to share not just my home, but my life’s work with."

"Your life's work," I echoed, the words tasting strange on my tongue. "You mean . . . like your job?" It sounded stupid the second it left my mouth, but I couldn’t help it. What else was I supposed to say?

"Something like that," he said cryptically, his smile returning but not quite reaching his eyes. He sat forward again, closer this time, close enough that I could see the faint lines at the corners of his eyes, the way his pupils seemed to catch the glow of the firelight. "I’m looking for a partner, Gemma. Someone who can stand beside me, who can help me carry the weight of what I do. Someone to be . . ." Another pause, this one longer, heavier. "My Mrs. Claus."

It took me a second to process the words, and even then, I wasn’t sure I’d heard him right. My heart thudded painfully against my rib cage as I stared at him, waiting for the punchline. Waiting for him to laugh, to tell me he was joking, that this was all part of whatever Christmas-themed fantasy he was living in. But he didn’t. He just watched me, calm and steady, like he’d been preparing for this moment for a long time.

"Your Mrs. Claus?" I repeated, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. My voice cracked halfway through, a mix of disbelief and something closer to . . . amusement? Maybe hysteria. Either way, it was ridiculous.

"Are you saying you're Santa Claus?" I asked, an incredulous laugh bubbling up from my chest. I leaned back against the cushions, crossing my arms as I tilted my head at him. "For real? Seriously?"

His eyes softened, but they didn’t waver. He wasn’t laughing. Not even close.

"Yes," he said simply, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like he'd just told me the sky was blue or that snow was cold. His tone was calm, deliberate, and somehow... sincere. "That's exactly what I’m saying."

I blinked at him, frozen for a beat too long. The fire crackled, filling the silence between us, but it didn’t fill the sudden weight in my chest. My laugh fizzled out as quickly as it had come.

"Okay," I started, dragging the word out as I shifted forward slightly. My fingers twisted together in my lap, the nervous energy building. "That’s . . . um, bold."

"Bold?" he echoed, one brow lifting, but his smile stayed—gentle, warm, steady.

"Yeah, bold," I said quickly, licking my lips. They felt dry, like my mouth couldn’t quite keep up with how fast my mind was spinning. "You’re really committed to the whole Christmas thing, huh?"

"Gemma," he said quietly, leaning toward me just enough that I caught the faint scent of pine and cinnamon. "I'm not joking."

"Right," I muttered, my gaze darting past him to the glowing tree in the corner, as if it might offer some kind of explanation—or maybe an escape route. "Sure. Of course, you’re not."

"Look at me."

His voice was still soft, but there was something about it that pulled me back to him, like a thread winding tight around my chest. So, I looked.

"Do I seem like the kind of man who’d make this up?" he asked, tilting his head slightly. His green eyes locked on mine, filled with something I couldn’t quite name. It wasn’t teasing. It wasn’t pity, either. It was . . . honest.

"Honestly?" I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t know what kind of man you are right now."

"Then let me show you," he said, his expression shifting, his features softening just enough to make my heart stutter. He leaned back slightly, resting his forearms on his knees. "Let me explain."

"Explain what? That you’ve been alive for, what, hundreds of years? Running around delivering presents to kids all over the world?" I shot back before I could stop myself, my mouth moving faster than my brain again.

"Exactly," he said, completely unfazed by my sarcasm.

"Okay, sure," I said, throwing my hands up. "Why not? Go ahead. Explain."

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