Page 103 of Daddies' Holiday Toy
Or choked.
Or both.
The best part about going on a date with Reece Blackwell is he knows how to look at you like you’re the only thing worth paying attention to in the whole damn room.
Not in the way some men feign interest while they’re actually just waiting for their turn to talk.
Reece is the total opposite.
His attention makes the rest of the world fade until it’s just him and me. It both flatters and terrifies me, because it makes it nearly impossible to focus on my own words.
I keep wondering what he’s thinking while those amber-brown eyes track every little shift in my expression, every flick of my hand as I tell him my baking horror stories.
He’s leaning back in his chair now, one arm resting lazily along the back of the booth we’re in, the other relaxed on the table near his finished plate.
That easy half-smile curves his mouth up while I recount the craziest client request I ever got.
When I get to one of the ridiculous punchlines, he tips his head back and laughs warmly like I’ve just made his entire day.
At the twist in the middle, his brows jump, eyes widening just enough to make me think I’m actually a good storyteller.
And when I finally land the climax, his smile widens, nodding in approval at a story well told.
I grin, unable to help it. “You’re lucky you don’t have to deal with the public much.”
“That’s true,” he agrees, taking a slow sip of his drink before setting it down. “But being stuck in a corporate office all day sucks. Winter’s especially brutal because I barely get any sun.”
I lean my elbow on the table, my chin in my hand. “Poor you. I can see you’re already losing your tan.”
He lets out a dramatic gasp, eyes crinkling in mock offense. “Don’t say that to me or else I’ll be dragging you to keep me company at that tanning salon over on Cannon Street.”
I laugh, shaking my head, but my smile lingers even after the joke passes.
His voice is one of those rare ones—rich and smooth, making you want to lean in and keep him talking because it’s so pleasant to listen to.
Even if he’s rambling about nothing at all, I find myself peppering him with questions, just to keep him going.
I’m finding that with Reece, his presence is comfortable in a way that sneaks up on you. There’s no pushy, flashy performance.
It’s strange. I thought I had him pegged by now.
At the cabin, I figured I’d know exactly which box to put him in. But sitting here, watching the way his eyes linger just a second too long on my mouth, his thumb absently tracing the rim of his glass like he’s imagining it’s my body instead of crystal…
I realize I might not have figured him out at all.
“So, the kids,” I say when there’s a natural lull in the conversation, idly swirling the last sip of wine in my glass. “You said they live with their mom?”
His tone shifts. It’s not sad, exactly, but it grows a little softer. “Yeah. Out in Arizona.”
“That’s quite far.”
He sets down his fork, leaning back a little. “My ex and I got married right after high school. Had our first kid before I was twenty-one. It was…fast. We were too young trying to be grown-ups before we knew how. We grew up with our kids while raising them and it was”—he exhales, almost laughing at himself—“a whole mess at times.”
I smile faintly, imagining him younger, overwhelmed but still trying. “And now?”
He shrugs, not in the dismissive way, though.
“We’re fine. We get along better now than we ever did married. She’s remarried to a really nice guy who loves the kids. He’s a great dad to them, so I don’t mind him taking over that paternal role while they’re with him.”
