Chapter 15
Graeme
The first thing I noticed was the warmth.
Not the kind that came from the radiator or the heavy quilt, but the living, breathing warmth curled into my chest. Soft hair under my chin. A faint snore against my sternum. A leg flung over mine like Rudy had decided in his sleep that I wasn’t going anywhere—not even to roll over.
I blinked awake slowly, letting the room come into focus: pale morning light filtering through the curtains, a lazy snowfall drifting past the frosted pane, the faint smell of pine from the little wreath hanging above the dresser.
A Christmas morning kind of quiet.
A sacred kind of quiet.
And the weight of Rudy in my arms, still, peaceful, boneless with sleep—God, that did something to me. Something small and devastating.
His cheek was pressed over my heart, lips parted just the tiniest bit. He looked… soft. Not regressed, just resting. Trusting. Like he’d finally put down every shield he’d carried in with him ten days ago.
My hand—without asking permission from my brain—smoothed down his back, fingers tracing the dip of his spine.
He murmured something, shifting closer. His thigh brushed mine, bare skin on bare skin, and my breath caught.
Last night came back in flashes.
His voice, broken and desperate in my ear.
The way he’d opened for me with such fierce trust.
The way he’d fallen asleep in my arms afterward, warm and loose and perfect.
And now—this.
He blinked awake, slow and sleepy, eyelashes fluttering against my chest. “You’re staring,” he rasped, voice sanded with sleep.
“I’m admiring,” I murmured.
A blush bloomed across his cheeks instantly, crawling down his throat. “That’s… unfair,” he whispered.
I smiled, tugging him up so I could kiss the crown of his head. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”
He made a small, pleased sound—half laugh, half sigh—and nuzzled into my neck. “Merry Christmas, Daddy.”
My pulse jumped. Fast. Hard.
He didn’t even realize what he’d said, not until a beat later when his body suddenly went still. He tipped his head back to look at me, wide-eyed.
“I—I didn’t mean—well, I did mean, but—this is adult, I wasn’t trying to—”
I shut him up with a soft kiss.
A slow kiss.
A morning kiss.
“Rudy,” I breathed against his lips, “I like hearing it. Anytime you say it.”
Relief washed over his face, followed by something tender, something still learning how to believe me.
He kissed me again—sweet at first, then hungrier.
His fingers curled in my hair, tugging lightly, and I felt myself responding instantly, body waking up in ways that made my hips shift beneath him.
He felt it too.
“Oh,” he whispered, voice full of mischief and heat. “Hi.”
“I’m forty-five,” I said, brushing my mouth along his jaw. “Not dead.”
He laughed—God, that laugh—and straddled my hips, settling down slowly until I groaned. His palms pressed into my shoulders, warm and sure. “We don’t have to get up yet,” he teased.
“No,” I agreed, sliding my hands to his waist. “We really, really don’t.”
His smile softened, eyes darkening. He leaned down, kissing me with a sweetness that made my chest ache… then rolled his hips, slow enough to be torture.
Jesus.
My fingers tightened on his waist. “If you keep doing that, sweetheart, breakfast is getting very delayed.”
“Good,” he whispered, and kissed me again.
The sex was nothing like last night—slower, lazier, bodies sliding together under the blankets, heat pooling between us. More laughter. More whispered oh my god and Graeme, that feels so good and the occasional breathless Daddy please that went straight to my spine.
It was the kind of sex you have when the world outside the bed doesn’t exist.
When you want to make the moment last.
When you want to memorize each other.
When you know time is slipping faster than you want it to.
We finally stumbled out of bed around ten, both of us rumpled and smiling like idiots. I tugged on sweatpants; Rudy stole one of my shirts—my soft red henley that hung off him but still looked like it was made for him and not for a man eight inches taller.
I reached for his hand and laced our fingers together, the way we’d already started doing without thinking about it.
“Come on,” I said. “There’s one more thing.”
He let me lead him into the living room. The tree stood by the window, lights still glowing softly against the pale morning outside. Beneath it sat one last wrapped package.
I picked it up and held it out to him. “This one’s for you.”
His brows lifted. “For… grown-up me?” A small smile tugged at his mouth.
“Yes, for grown-up Rudy,” I said.
“Well,” he said, taking it from my hands, “thank you.” He sank down onto the rug and started unwrapping it, careful and unhurried.
Inside were four books, stacked neatly together—matching illustrated covers, all from the gay romance series that was written by Amerie Adams. He lifted the card and read the note I’d written:
I remembered how excited you were to read this series, and I couldn’t stop thinking about that. So I hope these bring you some joy, quiet moments, and all the feelings you love in a good romance. I’m really glad I got to give these to you. Merry Christmas.
—Graeme
Then he looked up at me, eyes soft and a little stunned. “You really do listen,” he said quietly.
“I try.”
He stood and came over to me in two steps, hands sliding into the fabric of my t-shirt as he kissed me—warm, deliberate, unhurried. I kissed him back, my hand at his waist, holding us right where we were.
When we finally pulled apart, his forehead rested briefly against my chest.
“Thank you,” he said again. This time it meant more.
“Anytime.”
In the kitchen, the world outside was white, every window edged with frost. Vermont Christmas mornings were usually like this—quiet snow, clean air, the distant sound of someone’s shovel scraping their driveway.
Perfect.
“What do people in Winterhaven usually eat for Christmas breakfast?” he asked, perched on a stool at the counter, legs swinging lightly.
The way he said it made something twist inside me.
“Well,” I said, brushing a hand over his back, “we usually do cinnamon rolls, scrambled eggs with chives, crispy bacon, and hot chocolate. Sometimes pancakes if you’re feeling ambitious.”
His eyes widened, bright. “All of that?”
“All of that.”
He grinned. “Show me.”
So I did.
We made cinnamon rolls first using my mom’s recipe. Rudy leaned close while I rolled them into the pan, laughing when flour dusted my nose. I flicked a little at him and he yelped, then retaliated in a way that ended with him pressed against the counter, my hands on his hips, our lips brushing—
Until the oven beeped and he jumped, laughing breathlessly.
Eggs. Bacon. Cocoa simmering on the stove, sweet and chocolate-thick. Rudy moved around my kitchen like he’d lived there for years, tapping spoons against mugs, humming under his breath, stealing bits of bacon while pretending he wasn’t.
At one point, he wrapped his arms around my waist from behind, cheek pressed between my shoulder blades.
“Graeme,” he murmured, “I’ve never had a Christmas morning like this.”
I covered his hands with mine. “Good.”
“Feels… special.”
“It is.”
He went quiet for a second. Just long enough for a tiny crack in the moment to form.
Then he kissed my back and the silence dissolved.
After breakfast we bundled up—thick coats, boots, scarves Rudy kept adjusting like he was styling us for a magazine—and stepped into the fresh snow behind the house.
The cold hit my face with a crisp bite, but the air smelled like pine and woodsmoke, the kind of scent that felt like home.Rudy paused immediately, breath fogging in front of him.
“Graeme… this is your backyard? Wow!”
The woods stretched behind us, tall evergreens bending under their blankets of white. Snow drifted gently from their branches, glittering in the morning light.
“Pretty good view,” I said.
“Pretty good?” He huffed out a laugh, eyes wide. “This is—this is ridiculous.”
His wonder warmed me in a stupid, deep way I didn’t fully understand.
We took a few steps and Rudy slowed again, pointing.
“Oh—look.”
A cedar post stood near the pines, a feeder hanging from its hook. A few birds perched along the rim—sparrows and yes, cardinals. A male’s red feathers looked almost unreal against the snow.
He whispered, “They're… still here in winter?”
“They stick around all year,” I told him. “You can feed them if you want.”
His face lit up. I opened the small tin by the post and poured seed into his glove. He held out his hand, trembling just a little from cold and excitement.
One of the cardinals hopped closer, then closer again, and finally pecked delicately at the seed. Rudy’s breath hitched like something inside him had broken open in the gentlest way.
“Oh my God,” he murmured. “Graeme… look at him.”
I wasn’t looking at the bird. “Yeah,” I said softly. “I see.”
When the birds fluttered away, Rudy let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “That was… magic.”
“You haven’t even seen the woods yet,” I teased.
His eyebrows shot up. “There’s more?”
“Come on.”
I took his hand and guided him onto the narrow path leading through the trees. Snow muffled our steps. The world was quiet except for the soft whisper of branches overhead and the occasional rustle of a squirrel darting across a branch.
The deeper we walked, the more the air smelled like cedar and frost.
Then the trees thinned, opening into a small clearing.
Rudy stopped beside me, breath catching.
The clearing was modest but beautiful—tall pines curving around it like a protective wall, their branches heavy with snow.
A frozen ribbon of a stream cut across one side, glimmering faintly.
And in the center stood an old wooden bench, half-buried beneath snow but still sturdy, facing the woods like it was waiting.
“My parents used to sit here,” I said quietly. “Every winter morning. Cocoa, blankets, arguing about who could spot deer first.”
Rudy looked at the bench with soft eyes. “It feels… peaceful. Like it remembers them.”
The words hit me with a warmth I wasn’t prepared for. I swallowed around it and cleared my throat. “Yeah. I think it does.”
He slipped his hand into mine. No words. Just warmth.
We didn’t stay long—the cold began to creep into our boots—but something about standing there with him, in the quiet space my parents loved, made the world feel briefly, painfully right.
On the walk back, Rudy stayed close, shoulder brushing mine like he was absorbing every second. Snowflakes clung to his eyelashes. He looked unreal.
Back at the house, we stomped the snow from our boots and peeled off gloves. Rudy’s nose was red and he rubbed his hands together.
“Hot cocoa?” I asked.
He brightened instantly. “Always.”
I set a saucepan on the stove, whisking cocoa powder, cream, and sugar until it thickened into something rich and velvety. Rudy hovered at my elbow, stealing marshmallows from the jar when he thought I wasn’t looking.
“I see you,” I said.
“No, you don’t,” he answered, popping another into his mouth.
When the cocoa was ready, we carried our mugs to the porch and settled together on the swing. I pulled a thick wool blanket over us. Rudy curled into my side.
Snow fell in slow spirals across the yard. The woods looked like a painting from here—white, quiet, endless.
“This,” Rudy whispered, “feels like the world stopped just long enough for us to catch up.”
His head rested on my shoulder. My heart twisted—quiet, sharp.
“Yeah,” I said, brushing my thumb along the back of his hand. “Feels a bit like that.”
Because I knew what was coming.
In a week, he was heading back to Chicago.
His life. His apartment. His routines.
His world without me.
Rudy spun toward me, cheeks flushed pink from the cold. “You look thoughtful.”
“Just enjoying the view,” I said, managing a smile.
“Graeme,” he whispered. “Are you happy?”
The question hit deeper than he meant it to.
“Yes,” I said. True and easy. “I’m very happy.”
He smiled—radiant, open, unguarded.
But then his expression shifted, just slightly, like he remembered something.
Maybe the countdown flickered through his thoughts too.
He looked away. Just for a moment. A tiny fracture. Hairline.
“Hey,” I said softly, tipping his chin up with my thumb. “I’m right here.”
His eyes softened. “I know.”
We didn’t talk about Chicago. We didn’t talk about next week.
Instead we kissed while snow fell around us, slow and romantic and impossibly perfect. And for a few quiet minutes, it felt like the universe had paused just for us.
A Christmas morning fantasy.
One I wanted so badly to be real that it scared me a little.
But I wrapped my arms around him anyway, holding him close against the cold, because for today—for this moment—he was mine to hold.
And God help me, I wasn’t ready to let him go.