Chapter 9
Chapter nine
Felix
I had two calls to make this morning. One was to my sister who knew everybody and the other was to an expert. Livvy answered the phone. “Hi, please don’t tell me you’re calling to say you won’t be there Christmas Day.”
I chuckled. I wouldn’t dare miss it. “Nope, I’m calling because I need some info." I quickly explained what I needed, and Livvy promised me she would call back.
I didn’t know much about being a Daddy, more the periphery of being in the lifestyle for so long, but I had plenty of friends here that were. Michelle was the expert. If you wanted a roadmap for what to do with a Little, she was who you called.
I texted her before I could second-guess myself.
Need some advice on care routines for a Little, I wrote. Not just a scene thing. New to it.
She read it instantly. The reply buzzed through before I could even set down my phone.
Hydration. Clothing. Food. Stuff to soothe after a scene. Bedtimes are a must, especially bedtime routines. Toileting depending on your Little.
I had to smile. Michelle didn’t waste time or words.
What’s his flavor? Cartoons? Toys? Or just soft?
Soft, I typed back. Maybe food, routines. He likes rules. Good boy stuff. He gets anxious—it’s more he needs decisions made for him. Structure.
Keep it simple. Offer choices but minimal ones, not orders. Set a bedtime. Make him take breaks. Littles are so bad at self-care. You got this.
I read the thread three times. I wanted to make it right. I wanted to give Clayton all the things he’d never had.
I had work to do, technically. Emails, a mess of contracts, some drama about the intern pool that I’d have to take care of before ten. Instead, I poured a coffee, black, and leaned in the kitchen, phone in hand, thinking about last night.
My phone rang. It was Livvy, and I answered it immediately. “Wow, that was fast,” I said, propping the phone against my shoulder.
She snorted. “You want dirt on Santa, I deliver. I have a friend, Carla, who worked at Thomas and Mason’s with him for almost a decade.”
I braced myself, but Livvy’s voice was brisk, no-nonsense.
“She said he ran Christmas and made them millions. Her exact quote: ‘If you want Christmas to run without a hitch, you call Clayton. The guy lived for it. Stayed late, worked weekends, made everything seamless so the team looked good. Never took credit just for himself, which they took advantage of. Most loyal human I ever met.’”
I’d expected good, but not that.
“Then why on earth was he let go?”
“Can’t prove nepotism, but the guy that stepped into his job is Albert Mason’s godson, except he’s making a huge mess of things. Half of Clayton’s old team have resigned, and the number of customer complaints are through the roof.”
I was silent. “Do you think they’ll ask him back?” He’d nearly killed himself for them, and I didn’t want him going back to that. Not that it was my choice.
“The problem is Albert Mason’s retired, and it’s run by his grandson now.
They’ve been busy with expansion, and I don’t think they realize that one of the store’s success stories is in its history.
She also called me back nearly immediately and asked me for Santa’s contact details because her brother works in marketing for the Anderson group and he wants to offer Santa a job. ”
I blinked. The Anderson group? They owned three of the largest retail chains in America. “Doing what?”
“They want Santa in New York to basically do what he did for Thomas and Mason but with triple the team and budget.”
“New York?” I rubbed my chest. That was four, five states away.
“If you don’t ask him out, I swear to God, Felix…”
I nearly dropped the phone. “Jesus, Livvy, it’s not like that.”
“Sure,” she said, sing-song. Then: “You saw him with the kids yesterday. Max has not stopped talking about Santa. Could you maybe…invite him for Christmas Day?”
I hesitated. That was a hell of a step.
Livvy filled the silence for me. “He’s alone, right? No family? Just invite him. No expectation. Just food and company.”
I could do that. I could do that easily. “Yeah. Thanks, Liv. I owe you.”
She snickered. “You owe Carla, but maybe just pay it forward. See you Christmas Day, Felix.”
She hung up before I could answer.
I set the phone down and stared at the countertop. I ran a hand over my beard, thinking of how Clayton had looked last night. The raw need, the desperate pride every time I praised him. The way he’d eaten, careful and starved at once. I’d never seen a man so hungry for approval. For care.
I liked that about him. I liked it too much.
The condo was quiet. I made another coffee, just to keep my hands busy. Charlotte had texted again: Make sure you set a bedtime. Littles will skip sleep and then crash hard. They need permission to rest.
I thought about the way Clayton had burrowed into my chest last night, face pressed to my skin, greedy for every ounce of safety I could give him.
It was so simple. He just wanted to be kept close. Like he was important.
Clayton was still asleep in my room. I’d checked.
More than once. I’d cleaned him up before I fell asleep myself last night, and he hadn’t stirred.
He’d woken and tried to stumble to the bathroom himself around five, and it hadn’t registered when I helped him, which cemented more and more the realization I’d come to last night.
That Clayton was a Little I didn’t doubt, but I had no idea what age he was or even if he knew himself.
I doubted it. He curled up in the sheets like he expected to be kicked out, both hands fisted under his jaw, hair wild, face soft the way I doubted anyone had ever seen before.
He looked so damn peaceful it hurt.
I made toast and eggs for myself, then half-eaten, pushed the eggs aside and started a second batch.
He’d want warm food when he woke up. Maybe juice, and I wished I had a special cup he could use.
Littles liked that. I knew at least that much.
I’d seen the way he reacted from the hot chocolate, the way his whole face changed, and I figured it was a good place to start.
The apartment was too quiet. I padded down the hall and just watched him for a second. Light from the window caught on the scar at his jaw, the gray streaks in his hair. He didn’t look young, but it suited him.
I almost didn’t want to wake him. He looked like he needed every second of it.
I leaned on the doorframe.
“Time to wake up,” I said, gently.
He startled. I’d been careful, but I could see the way his body went tight, panic before his brain caught up. Then he saw me and it faded. He blinked, slow and owlish, like he couldn’t believe he was still here.
“Morning,” he whispered. His voice was wrecked.
“Morning, yourself.” I watched him. “You slept well.”
He thought about it. “Yeah. Better than I have in a long time.”
I’d expected the self-deprecating laugh, the apology, but it didn’t come. He just blinked at me, hair sticking up, sheets tangled around his waist.
“Use the bathroom, then come eat. You need it.” I let my voice go a little firmer and watched the way he responded. It wasn’t like he was scared or frightened of disobeying me, it was more like the clear instructions settled him, gave him direction, and that was so appealing to the Dom in me.
I watched him disappear into the bathroom and had to force myself to stop following him.
It wasn’t fair to send mixed signals. Clayton wasn’t a guy you played with for a night and moved on from.
Clayton was a commitment. A life-long one.
I’d tell him about his job prospects, make sure he got a ride home, then…
no. No, I wouldn’t. I mean, yes, I’d tell him what Carla had said, but I wasn’t ready to let him go.
I glanced around my sterile apartment. It was functional, but it had never been a home.
Not that I’d ever had one of those. Not even when Livvy and I had been kids.
Then I remembered what Livvy had said to me once.
It had been her wedding day, and they weren’t having a honeymoon because they couldn’t afford it, and she said they were just going home.
I’d wrinkled my nose, thinking of their studio apartment, and she’d giggled and said she didn’t mean where they were living.
Home wasn’t a place. Home was a person. Daniel was her person, and she would be at home wherever he was.
I couldn’t help wondering if I’d found mine.