Chapter 9
Graeme
I rubbed a hand over my face and huffed out a slow breath.
Forty-five, Whitlock. You’d think you’d be less affected by a kiss at this age.
But it hadn’t been just the kiss.
It was the way Rudy had leaned into it, every part of him answering at once—deliberate, unguarded, fully present.
The way his hands had come up as if he trusted where they would land, the way his body had softened without collapsing, like he knew he was being held and didn’t have to brace for what came next.
I closed my eyes briefly.
That was the part that stayed with me. Not the heat, though there had been plenty of that, but the trust threaded through it. The quiet permission in Rudy’s body, offered without fear and without pretense.
I’d felt the shift as it happened, the moment wanting crossed into responsibility. The understanding that whatever this was, it required care—attention, restraint, and patience.
Rudy wasn’t fragile. But he was open. And that kind of openness carried its own weight.
In a little over a week, he’d go back to Chicago. Back to freelance work and city noise and whatever version of himself he felt was required to pass muster there.
I couldn’t stop that. I wouldn’t ask him to.
But while he was here—
While Winterhaven had him—
I could damn well make sure there was at least one place in the world where he didn’t have to hide.
The thought settled in my chest with surprising clarity. Not a plan yet. Just a direction.
I swung my legs out of bed and padded across the room, the cold floorboards doing their job of fully waking me. By the time I was showered, dressed and downstairs, the house had slipped into its usual morning quiet.
In the kitchen, I filled the kettle, ground the beans, and brewed a mug of coffee strong enough to anchor me. I wrapped both hands around it and stood by the window, watching the pale winter light settle over the yard without really seeing any of it.
My mind was already ahead of me—turning over possibilities, timing, small things that could make the day easier when I saw Rudy later. Nothing concrete yet. Just the steady pull of wanting to get it right.
Holly I shook it out and tucked it around his knees, ignoring his half-hearted protest.
“You’re fussing,” he said.
“It’s cold,” I replied. “Humor me.”
He did.
For a while, we just sat. The sky was a pale, cloudy blue overhead, the kind that promised more snow later. Kids shrieked with laughter on the far side of the pond. Someone’s speakers played faint carols from a distance. The air smelled like ice, woodsmoke, and chocolate.
Rudy blew on his cocoa, watching the little swirl of steam.
“This is…” He hesitated, searching. “…nice.”
“Just nice?” I teased gently.
He huffed out a laugh, the sound puffing white in the air.
“It’s more than nice,” he admitted. “It’s—” He stopped, swallowed, tried again. “I feel like I remember myself a little better out here. Like there’s… room.”
I angled on the bench so I could see his face more clearly.
“Room for what?” I asked.
He toyed with the edge of the blanket.
“For being soft without feeling stupid,” he said finally, low. “For being… happy. You’ll probably get tired of me saying this, but I like being with you.” His voice thinned on the last part. “Like this.”
Warmth rolled through me, unexpected and huge.
“I like being with you too,” I said. No jokes. No deflection. Just the truth. “I like taking care of you.”
His eyes flicked up. Something in them went glossy.
I set my cocoa aside on the bench, reaching up to brush a thumb along his cheekbone, just under the edge of his hat.
“Can I kiss you?” I asked.
He nodded, quick and definite.
I arched my brow. “Use your words, sweet boy.”
I got the cutest of giggles. “Yes, Daddy, you can kiss me.”
I leaned in slow enough for him to change his mind.
His lips were cold from the air and sweet from the cocoa. He made a soft sound in the back of his throat when our lips met, something like relief wrapped in want. His hand came up, fingers curling in the front of my coat, pulling me closer.
He opened to me when my tongue traced the seam of his mouth, meeting me with a flick of his own. Heat shot through me at the taste of him—chocolate and winter and something that was just Rudy.
He shifted closer on the bench, his thigh pressing against mine. I felt it when his body reacted, the small, unconscious roll of his hips forward. My own breath stuttered, my hand tightening briefly on his jaw.
I dragged my mouth from his just enough to rest my forehead against his, breathing him in.
“You’re doing so well,” I murmured, the words brushing his lips. “Good boy.”
He shivered, full-body, like the phrase had slipped down his spine and spread out.
“Graeme,” he whispered, and there was a question tucked somewhere inside my name.
I kissed him once more, softer this time, before easing back fully. If we stayed here much longer, I wasn’t sure I trusted myself not to forget where we were.
“We should get you warmed up properly,” I said, clearing my throat. “I need to check on a few things at Holly & Pine before heading home anyway.”
He blinked, still a little dazed.
“Okay,” he said. Then, quieter, “Are you… okay?”
The fact that he asked, even while his own cheeks were flushed and his lips were kiss-bitten, did something fierce and tender to me.
“I’m good,” I said honestly. “Very good.”
He laughed softly at that.
The drive back was quiet in the best way. Snow had started again, lazy flakes drifting past the windshield as Winterhaven slipped by in muted whites and golds. Rudy sat close enough that I was aware of the heat coming off him, the occasional brush of his knee against mine when the road curved.
“You know you can tell me if it ever gets to be too much, right?” I said, keeping my eyes on the road. “Crowds. Noise. Me.”
He huffed out a breath that could’ve been a laugh.
“If it were too much,” he said, “I wouldn’t have let you drag me onto a giant frozen pond to nearly die in front of half the town.”
“You didn’t nearly die.”
“I absolutely nearly died.”
“Liar.”
“True.”
The banter was light, but underneath it I could feel that same push and pull I’d been feeling since he walked into my shop the first night—fear and trust, weaving together.
Holly & Pine came into view, the windows glowing warm against the falling snow.
I should’ve been tired. It had been a long week already, and the holidays hadn’t even fully hit yet. But as we reached the door, my heart did that ridiculous little kick again.
This was it.
“You want to come in for a minute?” I asked, cutting the engine. “I’ve… got something I want to show you.”
He paused, fingers curling lightly into the cuff of his sleeve, a small, unconscious movement that told me more than he probably realized.
“For me?” he asked.
“For you,” I said.
He swallowed, then nodded. “Okay.”
I too swallowed, suddenly aware of my own pulse in my ears, and led him through the shop—past the garlands and twinkle lights, past the tables of ornaments and the display tree we’d decorated with the town—toward the back.
The small hallway that led to the back room was dimmer, quieter. My hand hesitated only a fraction of a second on the knob.
You’re not forcing anything, I reminded myself. You’re offering.
I opened the door.
Warm light spilled into the hallway, soft and inviting.
I stepped aside and looked at him.
“Come on in,” I said gently. “Let me see if I got this right.”