Page 35 of Daddy's Christmas Rescue
He didn’t say anything, just wrapped an arm around me, his warmth soaking through the hoodie. His heartbeat was slow, steady, like an anchor.
Biscuit sighed from the rug, curled up at our feet.
I hadn’t realized until that moment how loud my head had been for months with the noise, the worry, the constant fear. Now it was quiet and I closed my eyes. “Okay.”
He brushed a hand through my hair, his voice low enough that I almost didn’t hear it. “Good girl.”
Chapter twelve
Holly
Morning came soft and quiet. I was warm. Wrapped in strong arms and heavy blankets, pressed against a heartbeat that didn’t scare me. For a long time I just lay there, breathing him in all soap, pine, a faint trace of sawdust. It smelled like safety.
Blake shifted behind me, his chest rising against my back. “You awake, sweetheart?”
His voice was low and rough from sleep.
“Mmhmm,” I whispered.
“Good.” His arm tightened once, like a quiet reassurance, before he let go. “You hungry?”
I nodded against the pillow.
He sat up, raking a hand through his hair. The morning light caught the scars on his knuckles and the hint of stubble on his jaw. He looked tired, but steady as if nothing could touch him.
“Pancakes or eggs?” he asked.
I blinked. “You cook?”
He smiled faintly. “Badly. But I’ve got coffee and fruit until I ruin the rest.”
I laughed and followed him to the kitchen. I could cook, but something in me wanted to watch. Biscuit trotted at my heels, nails tapping on the tile.
Breakfast was messy but perfect. Blake poured batter too thick, burned the first pancake, and swore under his breath. Then he made a new batch, one eye on me the whole time like I might vanish if he looked away too long.
He brought me a plate before he even made his own, with syrup poured just the way I liked it. He didn’t ask so I assumed he’d just guessed.
“You don’t have to do all this,” I said, my voice small even to my own ears.
He looked up from the skillet. “Yeah,” he said simply. “I do.”
It was said with such quiet certainty that I didn’t know what to do with it.
We ate together at the counter, sunlight creeping across the table. He asked if I’d slept okay. If the room was warm enough. If Biscuit snored too loud. Every question was gentle, practical, but none of them were the ones that mattered.
Not the ones I was too scared to ask.
He hadn’t kissed me. He’d held me, and sure he told me he didn't want anyone else doing it, but no kiss. No touch that saidwant.Only care. Only safety.
Maybe that was all he wanted me to be. Someone to protect. Someone to fix. Not a woman. Not someone he could want.
When the doorbell rang, Biscuit jumped up barking, and Blake went to answer it. The cold air came in with him and a delivery man carrying two boxes markedFragile.
“Guess that’s the order I forgot about,” Blake said, signing for them.
I tilted my head. “What order?”
He carried them inside, set them on the floor, and opened the first one. Inside were lots of toys. A dollhouse. A stuffed bear. Building blocks.
