Page 15 of Daddy's Christmas Rescue
“You can watch TV if you want,” I said. “Or read. I’ve got some old books my mom used to keep. There’s a puzzle in the living room, I think. Or you can nap.” I shrugged. “Whatever you want.”
Her eyes went wide. “You don’t mind?”
“Why would I mind?”
She bit her lip. “I just… I don’t want to be in the way.”
“You’re not in the way.” I grabbed a towel and wiped the counter down, slow. “You’re a guest, Holly. My house, my rules.”
That made her go still. I could see the way she braced, like she was waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“My rules are pretty simple,” I said. I set the towel down and leaned on the counter, arms crossed. “You eat when you’re hungry. You sleep when you’re tired. You ask if you need something. And you don’t apologize for breathing. Got it?”
She opened her mouth, probably to apologize, then snapped it shut. I almost smiled.
“Okay,” she whispered. In my head I heard her add the wordDaddyto that.
Biscuit nudged her knee. I watched her pet him, slow and gentle, like she was memorizing the feel of fur against her fingertips.
I didn’t want to leave her alone, not even for a second. But I had calls to make, work to do, and if I hovered, she’d just shut down again. I got her set up on the couch with a blanket and the TV remote, then went back to the office and finished my paperwork.
Chapter six
Holly
The house felt too quiet after Blake left the next day.Biscuit followed me everywhere, nails clicking on the floor, tail sweeping like a metronome. I told myself I was just cleaning, just keeping busy—but my hands itched for something to do.
When I opened the closet in one of the spare rooms, the smell of cedar and dust floated out. Inside were old boxes stacked neatly, labels faded to ghosts. Two were marked “Christmas”and I wondered if he decorated inside, although Christmas was barely a week away so I doubted it. One had“Lila”scrawled on the side in a child’s careful handwriting.
Curiosity tugged harder than sense. I pulled the box down.
Inside weretoys.A row of worn picture books, a pink-handled hairbrush, a soft stuffed bunny whose ears were half-detached. Tiny barrettes shaped like stars. A jumble of beads strung on elastic—clumsy, bright, happy. Lots of plastic ponies with colored manes.
“Oh,” I breathed. My chest squeezed.
I sat right there on the floor. The bunny went in my lap without asking. The beads slipped through my fingers with a quiet click. Biscuit laid beside me, chin on his paws, watching as I set up a little parade of plastic ponies across the floor.
The sunlight made the beads sparkle. For the first time in forever, I let myself hum. That’s when the door creaked. I didn’t even look up until his voice filled the doorway.“What are you doing?”
My stomach dropped. The bunny slid from my lap as I scrambled to my knees. “I’m sorry! I—I found the box, I wasn’t—I’ll put them away right now.”
Blake stood there, still in his work jacket, snow melting off his boots. His expression wasn’t angry—just surprised, tired around the edges.
“Holly, slow down.”
“I didn’t mean to touch them. They’re probably—someone’s. I should’ve—”
“They were,” he said quietly.
I stopped.
He came farther into the room, crouched beside the box, lifted a pony to examine it “Her name was Lila. She was eight.” His voice had gone low, almost gravelly. “We fostered her for a while.”
The words hit me in the soft place under my ribs. “What happened?” I asked.
He set the bunny back gently. “She went home after a year. The state said her mom was clean, her dad was back in the picture, everything was stable.” He looked at the floor for a moment. “It wasn’t. They called a few months later. Said there’d been…an incident. She was dead.”
He didn’t say more. He didn’t have to.
