Chapter 16
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?”
I nodded, but couldn’t speak. My name was on almost all of them. Written in his careful, blocky handwriting. Some were addressed to ‘Holly,’ but some said ‘baby-girl,’ and one even said ‘for the best baker in Maine.’ My face went hot.
He squeezed my shoulders and steered me to the couch, then settled beside me, one arm heavy and warm across my back. I clutched Banjo to my chest and stared at the mountain of gifts.
Biscuit flopped onto the rug and immediately nosed a present wrapped in red. He whined and looked up at Blake, like he knew exactly which one was his.
“Go on,” Blake said, voice low to the dog and Biscuit yapped and tore the paper with his teeth, settling in the corner with his new bone.
Blake chuckled then glanced at me. “You can open yours whenever you want.”
But I hadn't…
His hand came down gentle on the back of my neck. “You’re thinking too hard, sweetheart.”
I swallowed, blinked fast, but the panic didn’t go away. “I’m sorry,” I managed. “I just… I should have gotten you something. For Christmas, I mean. I haven't got any money. I didn’t know we’d be here. I should have…”
My voice trailed off. The shame prickled up my arms. I stared at the pile of presents.
“You did get me something.”
I shook my head, hard. “I didn’t.”
He turned me, slow, so I was facing him. His eyes were still soft, but there was steel under it. “You gave me you. That’s all I ever wanted, baby-girl. You, here, safe, letting me take care of you. There’s nothing better.”
I hesitated, but he nodded to the pile of presents. I reached for the smallest box—a pale blue one with gold stars. My hands shook so bad I nearly dropped it.
He watched me, steady and patient, while I peeled away the tape. Inside was a tiny music box, painted with bunnies and wildflowers. I wound it and it played a soft, tinkly song. My throat got tight.
“It’s beautiful.” I could barely whisper it.
“I thought you’d like it,” he said. “The guy in the store said it’s a lullaby. Good for when you can’t sleep.”
I ran my thumb over the painted bunny. I wanted to say thank you, but the words wouldn’t come out. I just hugged Banjo tighter and reached for the next one.
There was a pink box with coloring books and a whole pack of scented crayons.
A set of glittery hair clips shaped like hearts and stars.
A hoodie with kittens printed all over it, so soft I wanted to hide my face in it forever.
Fluffy slippers with bunny ears. Socks with cupcakes.
A mug that said “World’s Best Cookie Maker” in bright letters.
He kept bringing me the boxes, setting them in my lap, never rushing, even when my hands trembled so bad I couldn’t untie the bows. Every time I looked up, he was right there, eyes soft, like he was soaking in the sight of me unwrapping every single thing.
There were grown-up gifts, too. A warm fleece blanket, deep blue. A cookbook with recipes he’d written notes in, underlining the ones he wanted to try. A scarf, hand-knit, in my favorite color. I pressed it to my face and struggled not to believe I was dreaming.
I’d never had so many presents in my life. Not even close.
The tree glittered. The fire snapped in the hearth. I held Banjo close and just watched the lights, dizzy with it all. I’d never felt so… spoiled. So wanted.
Every time I glanced at Blake, he was looking at me. Like he couldn’t get enough.
He tucked Banjo under my chin and wrapped the blue blanket around my shoulders, then pulled me onto his lap. “You know what I wanted for Christmas?”
I shook my head again, too choked up to even try words.
“This.” He squeezed me. “You. In my arms. That’s it.”
I could barely breathe. His hand rubbed my back, slow and steady, and I clung to him, feeling ridiculous and perfect at the same time. “I think I waited my whole life for you,” I whispered.
He laughed, but it was soft, not mean. “Well I've certainly waited my whole life for you.”
I buried my face in his shoulder. The cinnamon smell from breakfast was still on his shirt. “Are you sure?”
He tipped my chin up, just enough to make me look at him. “Positive. You’re all I want. All I’ve ever wanted.”
The words settled over me, heavy and warm. They didn’t feel real, but I wanted them to be. I wanted to believe him. I really, really did.
Biscuit circled the coffee table, tail wagging, and then flopped on my feet.
I stroked his fur, needing something to do with my hands.
“You’re the best present I ever got,” I whispered, heat in my face so bad it made my eyes sting.
“I’m sorry I didn’t get you anything real.
I didn’t even make you cookies for today. ”
He didn’t laugh. He just pulled me closer, tucking Banjo between us so I wouldn’t have to let go. “You’re real enough for me, baby-girl.” His voice was low and rough. “I want you. I want this. You in my arms, every morning. That’s all I'll ever want.”
That made my chest ache, but in a good way. “You don’t want anything else?”
He brushed his thumb over my cheek, gentle. “Nope. Unless you want to make me cookies. Then I’ll take a dozen, but only if you eat some too.”
I giggled, which felt weird and silly and perfect. “You really mean it?”
He smiled, all soft edges. “I do. I mean it every time I say it.” He looked at me for a long minute, like he was making sure I heard every word. “You’re enough. You’re everything.”
My hands were shaking, but I didn’t care. I held onto his shirt and let myself lean in, even though I was still scared I’d mess it up. He didn’t let me. He just wrapped me up, making me feel safe, and kissed my forehead.
I let myself breathe for the first time in what seemed forever. Biscuit huffed and rolled over, tail thumping. The world outside was probably cold and gray, but in here it was warm and bright and perfect.
We stayed curled up on the couch, talking about nothing. Sometimes we didn’t talk at all. He made silly voices for Banjo and Biscuit, and I laughed until my stomach hurt.
Every time I looked up, he was watching me. Like he couldn’t believe I was real. Like he was just as scared as I was that the whole thing would vanish if he let go.
I tried to imagine a world where I could do this every day. Where the yelling never started. Where I was allowed to be soft, and silly, and safe.
Blake must have seen it on my face, because he wrapped both arms around me. “You get to have this,” he said quietly. “Every day. If you want it.”
I didn’t answer. I just nodded, because I was too happy to talk.
I slid down off his lap, legs a little wobbly, clutching Banjo and the blue blanket and every bit of warmth I could gather.
The living room was still a mess of wrapping paper and ribbon, sunlight glinting off the tree like it was made of diamonds.
I wanted to stay curled up forever, but he was already standing, reaching for my hand.
I took a deep breath, but it stuck in my throat. “Daddy?”
He looked up, instantly. Like he was just waiting for me to need him. “Yeah, sweetheart?”
I thought I’d be braver, but my words tumbled out soft and messy. “You keep giving me things. I don’t know how to… I don’t know how to give you anything back. Not really.”
He didn’t even blink. “You already have.” He pulled me into his lap, his hand was heavy and perfect on my back. “You gave me you, baby-girl. That’s all I ever wanted.”
It was too much. It was always too much. My eyes burned, but I didn’t want to cry again. “But I didn’t do anything. You did all the hard stuff.”
He shook his head, slow. “You let yourself be here. With me. Safe. You let yourself be soft. That’s the bravest thing I’ve ever seen.” He squeezed me, just enough to make my heart go wild.
He must have seen the panic on my face, because his thumb brushed my cheek, gentle. “You’re the best present I ever got.” Every word was solid. Real. Like nothing could shake it.
"Merry Christmas, baby-girl."
And finally I believed it and taking a running jump I leaped into his arms. "I love you, Daddy."
His arms came around me instantly, strong and secure like I knew they always would be.
"I love you too, baby-girl. I always will."