Page 15 of Daddy Christmas

"Gemma," Mr. Henson said, snapping me out of it. He stood at the counter holding a paperback copy ofA Christmas Carol. His eyebrows lifted over his glasses. "You alright, dear? You’ve stacked that shelf behind you so high, it’s about to topple."

Most days, I worked in the small store alone. Mr. Henson was my boss, but he almost never came in. When he did, it always put me on edge.

"Sorry!" Heat rushed to my cheeks as I hurried over, smoothing the wobbling tower of novels. "Guess I’m just a little distracted today."

"Someone’s in a good mood," he teased, slipping the paperback on top of a pile. He winked, and I felt my face go hotter. "Big plans tonight?"

"Something like that," I mumbled, giving him his receipt. He chuckled as he left, leaving me standing there, face flaming, heart pounding.

By the time five o’clock rolled around, I was practically vibrating with nerves. I closed shop a few minutes early—not that anyone was going to notice—and bolted upstairs to my tiny apartment. I had time to prepare before heading back to the grotto for 8pm.

"Okay, okay," I muttered, pacing in front of my closet. What does one wear to meet a man who might be . . . well, whatever Nicholas was? I grabbed a soft sweater dress, dark green like a pine tree, and paired it with thick tights and ankle boots. Simple, cozy, but not boring. At least, I hoped not.

I caught my reflection in the mirror. My hair needed work. Grabbing a brush, I ran it through the waves quickly, then pinned a section back with a silver clip shaped like a snowflake. My fingers trembled.

"Calm down," I whispered to myself. Easier said than done.

The mall was quieter than usual when I arrived. Most of the stores had already closed for the day, their displays dimmed and gates pulled halfway down. The only sound was the faint hum of holiday music playing over the speakers, tinny and distant.

My boots clicked softly against the tile as I walked past rows of darkened shops, heading toward the grotto. Usually, this part of the mall was bustling with kids lined up to meet Santa, parents juggling shopping bags and sticky-faced toddlers. Not tonight.The space was empty, quiet in a way that made the hairs on my arms stand up.

When I rounded the corner, my breath hitched.

The grotto looked different. No elves, no fake snow scattered across the floor. Just the entrance, glowing faintly under strings of soft white lights. It felt . . . private. Like it was waiting for me.

I hesitated, swallowing hard. My heart thudded painfully fast.

"Okay," I breathed, stepping forward. The velvet curtain brushed against my fingertips as I reached out to push it aside.

The curtain felt heavier than I expected, its velvet brushing against my arm as I pushed it aside. My breath caught the second I stepped through.

Lanterns hung low from invisible wires, their warm light pooling across the floor in soft circles. Candles flickered on every surface—small ones, tall ones, thick ones melted into uneven shapes that looked like they’d been burning forever. Shadows danced along the walls, twisting and shifting with each flicker of flame. It was nothing like the grotto I'd seen before.

The playful decorations—the oversize candy canes, the plastic snowmen, even the fake reindeer—they were all gone. In their place was something softer, quieter. A hush settled over me, lingering on the air like the scent of pine and cedar. My chest tightened.

"Gemma."

His voice broke the stillness. Warm. Steady. Like he’d been waiting for this exact moment.

I turned. He stood near the center of the space, illuminated by the glow of a lantern hanging just above him. My stomach flipped.

Nicholas wasn't wearing his usual festive sweater or anything remotely casual. Instead, he was dressed in a tailored charcoal suit, the deep green vest underneath catching the light justenough to give away its richness. A silver pocket watch glinted from his vest, an elegant chain looping across the fabric.

Even in this striking outfit, he still looked festive. Just . . . super sexy, too.

"Hi," I managed, my voice barely above a whisper. My cheeks felt hot, and I fought the urge to tuck my hair behind my ear.

"You're here," he said, taking a step toward me. His smile widened, and his eyes—green, piercing, impossibly kind—held mine like they weren’t letting go anytime soon.

"Yeah," I breathed, trying not to fidget under his gaze. "I got your note."

"Good." He stopped a few feet away, his hands sliding casually into his pockets. "I'm glad you came."

The heat in my cheeks spread down my neck. I forced myself to look around, gesturing vaguely at the transformed space. "This is . . . different."

"Do you like it?"

"Like it?" I let out a soft laugh, nervously smoothing my dress. "It’s beautiful. What’s all this for?"

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