Page 4 of Daddy's Christmas Rescue
No one had ever said that to me before. Not like that.His hands were warm even through the fabric of the jacket. He didn’t drop me, didn’t shove me, didn’t demand anything. Just waited until I could stand again. Even then, he hovered close enough to catch me if I stumbled, but not so close that I felt trapped.
Warmth wrapped around me the second I stepped inside. It smelled faintly of pine and cinnamon, and underneath that—something cleaner. Something that made my chest tighten because it felt like safety. Like home.
He set his keys in a small bowl by the door. The clink of metal sounded too loud in the quiet. I clutched his jacket tighter around myself so I wouldn’t reach out and touch anything. Touching got you yelled at. Or worse.
“The kitchen’s this way,” he said, tilting his head down the hall. “You want something hot to drink? Coffee, tea, or… I got cocoa. If you want that.”
Cocoa. The word felt soft in my mouth even though I didn’t say it. Sweet. Safe. Like something from before I didn’t get to have anymore. I nodded.
“Cocoa it is.”
He walked ahead, slow enough that I could follow. The hallway opened into a kitchen full of warm light and dark wood. There was a big window looking out at the snow and a bowl on the counter shaped like a dog bone.
And a dog.
A huge brown one, with kind eyes and ears that perked up when he saw me. He got to his feet, tail thumping the floor. "This is Biscuit. He won't hurt you."
But I didn’t feel afraid. Something inside me broke loose instead—like every tight place in my chest cracked open all at once. Before I even knew what I was doing, I dropped to my knees right there on the floor. The muggy warmth, the exhaustion, the dog, all of it collided at once.
“Hey, buddy,” I whispered, and the sound came out small and shaky. Biscuit leaned forward, cautious but curious, sniffing my sleeve. Then he pressed his big head against my chest like he’d been waiting for me to show up.
Wrapping my arms around him, I buried my face in his fur. He was warm and solid and smelled like soap and outside. Tears hit before I could stop them, spilling onto his coat. He didn’t move. Just stood there and took it, tail still wagging slow, steady, patient.
“Biscuit’s friendly. He’s a good boy.”
Something about the way he said it made my throat close up. His voice softened for the dog like he couldn’t help it. And for a second, I wished I was Biscuit—someone who got to be touched without flinching. Someone who was good without having to earn it.
Biscuit huffed and licked my cheek once, which made a choked laugh escape before I could stop it. The sound startled me. It had been so long since I’d heard it come from me.
When I finally looked up, Blake wasn’t smiling, exactly, but there was something in his eyes that looked a lot like approval. He turned to the counter without saying anything else, grabbed a mug, and filled the kettle. I stayed on the floor beside Biscuit, one hand buried in his fur, until the whistle broke the quiet.
“Cocoa,” Blake said, pouring the hot water and adding some cream “Better drink it while it’s warm.”
I stood slowly and took the mug he offered. My hands shook, so I used both of them. The first sip burned a little, but I didn’t care. It was sweet. Real. Safe.
“Better?” he asked.
I nodded, because words still wouldn’t work. The heat, the dog, the cocoa—it was too much and not enough all at once.
He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching without judgment. Biscuit lay down again beside my feet, pressing close like a silent promise.
The cocoa was too hot, but I didn’t tell him. I didn’t want to seem ungrateful. I never wanted to seem ungrateful. I blew on it instead, tiny breaths, watching the steam swirl. It made me think of being Little again—sitting at the edge of a kitchen I wasn’t supposed to be in after Nana died, waiting for permission to take the first sip.
Except this time, no one was watching to catch me doing it wrong.
Blake didn’t hover. He didn’t rush me, either. He just leaned against the counter, arms crossed, solid as a wall. Biscuit stayed pressed against my side, a heavy, steady weight. Every so often, Blake’s eyes flicked toward me, checking—but not the kind of checking that expected answers. The kind that made sure you were still breathing.
I didn’t know what to do with that kind of attention. It made my stomach twist up and flutter all at once.
The cocoa was sweet enough to hurt my teeth, but I drank it anyway. I didn’t even like chocolate that much, but it tasted likesafe.
Blake nodded toward the fridge. “You hungry? I’ve got stew in the crock pot. Or toast. Something easy.”
The question made my throat close. Hunger was always a tricky thing. If you said yes, you were greedy. If you said no, you were lying.
I stared down into my mug. “I… don’t want to be a bother,” I said softly.
His brow furrowed. “You’re not a bother. You need to eat.”
