Page 14 of Daddy's Christmas Rescue
We walked towards the park, and the snow had started to fall again. Heavy, soft flakes that muffled every sound. Holly wrapped her arms around herself, despite the layers and I shrugged off my coat, draping it over her shoulders before she could argue.
She looked up at me, startled. “But you’ll be cold.”
“It’s Maine,” I said. “I’ve been colder.”
She laughed then. Not loud, but real. She tugged the sleeves over her hands and watched Biscuit barrel through the snow like he’d just won the lottery.
“He’s happy,” she said softly.
“Yeah. He likes having you around.”
She didn’t answer. Just watched the dog, her eyes shiny in the cold. When Biscuit rolled on his back, snow flying everywhere. Holly half-laughed, hugging my coat tighter, and Biscuit came bounding back to us, snow stuck to his snout and his tongue lolling.
“He’s having fun,” she said, voice small but warm. Her cheeks were pink, curls escaping everywhere. It looked so damn good on her it hurt.
“Yeah,” I agreed, watching Biscuit shake himself right next to her, spraying us both. “He’s got no dignity. You’d think he’d learn.”
She smiled, then looked up at me, tentative. “He’s happy.” Like she needed to check again, in case I’d been joking the first time.
“He is,” I said. “You make him happy.”
Her breath caught. She stared down at the snow, scuffing at it with one boot, like maybe the ground would open up and swallow the compliment before she had to believe it.
“He’s easy to please,” she whispered.
“Maybe,” I said. “But so am I.” It was a lie, but I’d said it deliberately to judge her reaction. Every one of my Daddy instincts was screaming at me. Holly wasn’t necessarilysubmissive, but she was a pleaser. She wanted to give her whole self to making someone happy, and ridiculous as that sounded this soon, I wanted that someone to be me.
She glanced at me, startled. but then her face lit up. I kept my face blank, gentle. Didn’t move closer, didn’t crowd her. Just let her stand in it. Let her know she could take up space.
We walked another lap of the park. Biscuit charged ahead, looping back every now and then to nose at her hand or bump her leg. Holly kept her arms folded, but she didn’t look cold. She looked… alive. I couldn’t stop watching her. Every time she smiled, even a little, it got easier to breathe.
There were families in the park, too, but they kept their distance. I was used to that. Big guy, construction boots, not exactly the friendly neighbor type. Didn’t matter. The people who mattered were right here.
When we got back to the house, I made her cocoa again, and she took it with both hands. The sleeves of my coat swallowed her, and when she sat at the table she tucked her knees up and hid her face in the steam for a minute. Biscuit nudged her elbow, and she giggled—a real giggle, high and sweet.
I didn’t know what to do with that sound. I wanted to bottle it.
“You want anything else?” I asked, rummaging in the fridge. “I got leftover stew, but I can make you something fresh.”
She shook her head, curls bouncing. “Stew is good. Thank you.” She said it like it was a gift, like I was handing her the goddamn moon.
I heated up the bowl and set it in front of her. She looked at it for a second, then back at me. “You don’t have to…wait on me.”
I snorted. “You’re not trouble,” I said. “I like looking after you. Besides, you made me cookies.”
She ducked her head, but I saw the smile, small and shy.
While she ate, I sat across from her, pretending to scroll my phone, but really just watching her. Every bite she took made mewant to go punch the assholes she was running from. I’d never seen someone so careful about eating, like she was waiting for me to slap it out of her hand. I hated that. I hated that she’d learned to be afraid of food.
It made me sick to my stomach. All those times she’d said “I’m sorry” or “I won’t be a bother” or “I don’t need much.” Like she was apologizing for being alive. Like she thought even eating dinner was some kind of sin.
I watched her chase stew around the bowl. She was trying so hard. Every time she paused, I wanted to tell her she was doing fine. That she didn’t have to finish. That she could have three bowls if she wanted. But I kept my mouth shut. Sometimes you needed the quiet more than the praise. Sometimes just having someone watch out for you was enough.
When she was done, I took her bowl and set it in the sink. She started to get up, hands braced like she owed me something, but I just shook my head.
“Sit.” I didn’t mean for it to come out so rough, but she sat so fast her curls bounced.
Biscuit licked the floor under the table, nosing for crumbs. Holly giggled, soft and quick, like she was embarrassed about it.
