Page 7 of Daddy Christmas

I looked up at him, kitten still cradled tight against my chest. The tears I’d been fighting prickled harder, but I blinked them back. "It's perfect," I whispered, my voice barely holding steady. "Thank you."

The world around us had started to shift—voices echoing faintly from outside, the distant sound of a janitor’s mop bucket rolling across tile floors. Closing time.

"Will I see you again?" The question spilled out before I could stop myself, too raw, too needy. My cheeks burned immediately, and I wanted to take it back. God, I sounded desperate.

But he didn’t laugh. Didn’t mock me. Instead, his smile turned mysterious, like he knew something I didn’t. "You never know when magic might find you," he said, his voice warm and teasing all at once.

Magic. Right. I pressed my lips together, trying not to look as disappointed as I felt. Those kinds of answers lived in fairy tales, not real life.

"Goodnight, Gemma," he added softly. His green eyes lingered on mine for just a beat longer than necessary, and then he stood, gesturing toward the path that led back to the mall.

"Goodnight," I murmured, clutching the kitten tighter as I turned away.

The air outside the grotto hit me like a splash of cold water, sharp and brisk after the cozy warmth inside. My boots clicked against the slick mall floor, the sound echoing in the mostly empty space. Christmas music still played faintly over the speakers, but it sounded tinny and far-off now.

I hugged the toy closer, the knit hat brushing against my chin. It smelled faintly of cedar and something else—a hint of spice, maybe? His cologne, I realized, and the thought sent a shiver down my spine.

Everything felt different. Brighter. Like someone had turned up the saturation on the world. Even the garish holiday lights strung across the atrium looked softer somehow, their colors blending into one another in a way that felt . . . magical.

I couldn’t stop replaying it all in my head. The way he’d looked at me. Touched my cheek. Spoke to me like I was the only person in the world who mattered.

My heart swelled, then twisted. It wasn’t fair, really. People like him didn’t happen to people like me. That kind of attention, that kind of care—it was borrowed, at best. Temporary. Just like everything else in my life had always been.

The feeling of intensitystayed with me that evening. It stayed with me on my walk home, and it stayed with me as I slipped into the tub.

Steam curled around me as I sank deeper into the bath, letting the heat work its way through the knots in my shoulders. The lavender bubbles popped softly against my skin, their scent wrapping around me like a warm hug. I closed my eyes, but his face was there immediately—those green eyes that seemed to seeeverything, the way his smile had tilted just enough to feel like it was meant only for me.

My fingers trailed over my collarbone, brushing against the surface of the water. The memory of his touch lingered, uninvited but persistent. That gloved hand resting on my waist, firm yet gentle, as if I might shatter under too much pressure. I let out a shaky breath and slid my hand lower, the heat from the bath mingling with a different kind of warmth spreading beneath my skin.

My pulse quickened as I explored further, trailing my fingertips down my stomach, following the invisible path where Santa's gaze had lingered.

As my fingers traced the curves of my body, a surge of desire coursed through me. The steam-filled room cocooned me in a haze of longing and yearning. The memory of Santa's touch on my skin ignited a fire within me, a passionate flame that demanded release.

With trembling hands, I abandoned all restraint and let my thoughts wander to him. The water rippled with my movements as I surrendered to the fantasies that swirled in my mind, painting vivid pictures of whispered promises and stolen moments.

I hadn’t touched myself in a long time. I’d forgotten how good it could be. I bit my lip, stifling a gasp as pleasure rippled through me.

"Get it together, Gemma," I muttered, forcing my eyes open and sitting up. “He’s a mall Santa. Why is it such a turn-on?” The water sloshed against the porcelain, cooling now, the bubbles thinning. My cheeks burned, though not from the heat. I grabbed the edge of the tub and stood, reaching for the towel draped over the heater.

Deep down, I knew why it was such a turn-on. I craved exactly the kind of attention Santa had given me. That caring, confident, dominant tone. He was everything that I dreamed of in a man.

Shame I’d never see him again.

I got out, and wrapped a robe around me, cinching the tie tightly around my waist. My gaze landed on the kitten toy perched on the vanity where I'd left it. Its tiny knit hat sat crooked, one little ear poking out awkwardly.

"Aw, buddy," I murmured, crossing the room. Picking it up, I smoothed the hat down carefully, fingers brushing over the soft fabric. A faint crinkle stopped me.

I frowned and adjusted the hat again, pinching the edge gently. There it was—a rustle, something small hidden inside. My stomach flipped. Slowly, I tugged the hat off, turning it over in my hands. Something thin and folded slipped free, landing on the counter with a soft whisper.

A note.

"What the . . ." With trembling fingers, I unfolded the note. The paper felt fragile, like it might crumble under my touch if I wasn’t careful. His handwriting—elegant and deliberate—spread across the page in dark ink.

“I’d love to see you again. Maybe a meal? I know a good place. —Santa.”

Below that, a phone number.

My breath hitched. For a second, I just stared at it, my brain struggling to keep up with the rush of emotions flooding through me. Excitement. Disbelief. A flicker of nervousness. It was him.Him.

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