Page 50 of Daddy's Christmas Rescue
For a long time he just held me. I didn’t know if I was supposed to say anything. I was so tired. My head felt empty, spun out, but good. Really good.
Chapter sixteen
Holly
I woke up to the sound of snow plows and the scent of cinnamon. For a second, I forgot where I was.
The world was still dark, but it was warm. I was tangled in blankets, Banjo under my chin, and Blake’s arm wrapped around me like a safety bar. I lay there, not moving, afraid if I did the whole thing would vanish. It was Christmas. Real Christmas, with a tree and lights and a dog snoring at the foot of the bed and a Daddy who’d held me all night, even when I woke up shaking.
I pressed my face into his chest and breathed in soap and pine and something that was just him. Safe. That word again.
He stirred, beard rough against my hair, and for a minute I thought he’d pull away. But his arm just tightened. “You awake?” His voice was low, barely more than a rumble.
I nodded, but couldn’t talk. I didn’t want to ruin today. Not when he’d been so gentle last night. Not when I’d finally let myself want him.
He must have known, because he just cupped the back of my head and pressed a kiss there. “Merry Christmas, baby-girl.”
I nearly lost it right there. “Merry Christmas, Daddy.” My voice was so small, but it made him smile, slow and real. He rolled onto his side, keeping me pressed close, and for a while we just lay there, breathing together.
Eventually, Biscuit started scratching at the door like he was late for something important. Blake groaned, the sound vibrating through my back, then got up and tossed on sweatpants. “Stay there,” he said. “I’ve got breakfast.”
I nodded, hugging Banjo tighter. I could hear him moving around the kitchen. Cabinet doors, the whine of the coffee grinder, the thunk of the fridge. I let my eyes close for just a second, but the warmth was too good. I didn’t want to miss a single part of today.
After a minute, I got up and padded to the bathroom. My legs were still shaky from last night, but in a good way, and I put my pajamas back on.
When I came out, the house was already different. The fire was on, the tree glittered, and there were presents. So many. All wrapped, each one with tags in neat block letters. I just stood there, staring. My name. Over and over. Like he’d written it just to prove I belonged here.
Blake was at the stove, spatula in one hand, mug of coffee in the other. He didn’t look tired, even though I knew he hadn’t slept much. He was smiling, soft and lazy, and when he saw me, his eyes went even softer.
“Come here,” he said. I crossed the kitchen, Banjo tucked under my arm. He lifted me before I could protest and sat me on the counter, right next to the stove. I didn’t even have time to squeak before his hands were steadying my waist. The counter was warm from the oven and I hugged him tight, not even caring if I looked like a dork. I’d never been allowed to sit on the counter. Not once. Mom would have screamed. But Blake just grinned at me, like it was the most normal thing in the world.
“Watch out, hot pan,” he said. His arm brushed my hip as he flipped a pancake on the griddle. Cinnamon. Sugar. Maybe orange? I could smell it from here. My stomach growled, loud enough that he heard, and he just laughed.
“Good. I want you hungry. There’s a lot of food today.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I just nodded and hugged Banjo tighter. I kept waiting for the catch. For the yelling to start. For someone to tell me I was doing it wrong. But there was nothing. Just the hiss of the skillet and the quiet thump of Biscuit’s tail against the cabinets. He lifted me into the chair, then brought me coffee, sweet and milky in a new pink mug. Then put a plate in front of me, pancakes stacked high with butter melting on top and syrup in a thick gold puddle. He even put a strawberry on the side, just for color.
“Eat,” he said, but it was gentle. “I made them the way you like.”
I took a bite, bracing for the taste I remembered from home. Dry, chewy, always cold. But these were hot. Fluffy. Sweet enough to make my teeth ache. I took another bite, then another, and before I knew it, the plate was empty. Banjo nearly slid off my lap but I caught him just in time.
“Good girl,” Blake said, voice low. “You want more?”
I shook my head. He wiped syrup from my chin with his thumb, and the heat in my face nearly fried my brain.
“You look cute,” he said, and I almost dropped the fork. He meant it, too. I could see it in his eyes. Like he was proud just to see me there. Pajamas, messy hair, and all.
I didn’t know how to answer, so I just looked at my lap. My feet scraped the floor, toes bare and curling in the cold. He noticed, because a second later he pulled socks from his pocket. The ones with the little dogs.
He knelt down and put them on for me. Like it was normal. Like it was fine.
“There. Now you’re ready for Santa,” he said.
I giggled and his answering smile was perfect. He finished his own plate and poured us both more coffee, and then he let me watch as he cleaned up. Everything was quieter than I thought it would be. No panic. No rush. Just the slow, steady rhythm of a real morning.
Biscuit finished his breakfast in about two seconds flat, then wandered into the living room and stared at the Christmas tree like he was waiting for instructions. I followed, hugging Banjo. The presents were everywhere. Under the tree. On the coffee table. Even on the bench by the window, stacked in a row with bows and shiny paper. There were so many I had to stop and count them, just to make sure I wasn’t seeing things.
Blake came up behind me, hands gentle on my shoulders. “See anything you like?”
