Chapter 10
Holly
The spot on the back of my hand where Denton’s skin touched mine still tingles. I try to focus on Tabby, who’s happily narrating a gingerbread cookie’s daring escape from the ‘sparkly moat of doom’ (a puddle of blue icing she’s created).
“And then whoosh!” Tabby makes a dramatic swooping motion with a gummy bear, nearly knocking over a bowl of sprinkles. “He flies off on his candy cane jetpack!”
“Incredible aerial maneuvers, sweet pea,” I manage, my voice sounding unnaturally bright. I reach for a piping bag filled with red icing, my fingers trembling slightly. “He’ll need reinforcements. How about some gumdrops up here?” I point to the uneven top of one wall.
“Yes! That’s perfect!” Tabby scrambles for the gumdrops, her small face alight.
Denton shifts slightly, adjusting his grip on the soup can propping up the tower. His shoulder brushes against mine as he leans forward.
That same electric jolt zips through me, stealing my breath. I jerk back, fumbling with the piping bag. A fat dollop of icing plops onto the counter, narrowly missing the castle drawbridge.
“Oops!” The word bursts out, too loud. Heat floods my cheeks. “Slippery fingers.”
He doesn’t look at me. Just gives a curt, almost imperceptible nod, his gaze fixed on the tower’s alignment. His jaw is clenched so tight I can see the muscle ticking.
Charlie’s voice is in my head again, sharp with warning: ‘He’s a fortress, Hols. Handsome, complicated. And topped with emotional barbed wire.’
But this… this visceral reaction? This isn’t just noticing he’s objectively sculpted under that sweater. This is a physical pull, deep and unsettling, a magnetic tug towards his silent, brooding presence that feels completely separate from logic or Charlie’s excellent advice.
I need to break this. Do something. Anything. Before I spontaneously combust from the sheer tension radiating off the man currently mortaring gingerbread like it’s a matter of national security.
“So…” The word pops out before I have a plan, punctuated by Tabby’s humming and the distant jingle of bells from the shop.
Both Denton and Tabby look up. Denton’s gaze is guarded, wary. Tabby’s is bright with curiosity.
“Big event tomorrow night,” I blurt out, scrambling for something neutral, something safe.
“The neighborhood tree lighting! Over in the little park on Damen? I, uh… I sort of organize it every year.” I gesture vaguely towards the front of the bakery.
“Stringing the lights, setting up the hot cocoa station… the whole shebang.”
Tabby’s eyes widen to saucers. “A tree lighting? With lights? And cocoa?” She drops a gumdrop. “Can we go, Daddy? Please? Pleasepleaseplease?”
Denton’s expression doesn’t change, but I see the subtle tightening around his eyes. I can almost hear his internal groan.
Charlie’s voice is a screech in my mind: ‘What are you DOING, Hols? Inviting Captain Control Freak to a community sing-along? This is not what we talked about!’
But the words are already tumbling out, and I’m unable to stop them.
“It’s… it’s really sweet,” I press on, my voice gaining a little strength, aiming my words more at Tabby but watching Denton’s face.
“Carols, everyone bundled up, the big switch-on… the tree is massive this year. We found this gorgeous spruce…” I trail off, feeling foolish.
Describing the event to Denton Blake feels like explaining color to someone who only sees in black and white.
He’s staring at me, his expression unreadable. The silence stretches, thick and prickly.
My cheeks are burning again. Stupid, stupid, Holly.
He’s going to say no. Politely, distantly, citing practice schedules or Tabby’s bedtime or the fundamental incompatibility of his soul with public merriment.
And I’ll be left standing here, feeling like an idiot who mistook a momentary electric shock for… for something it wasn’t.
Tabby tugs on his sleeve, her little face the picture of pleading hope. “Daddy? Can we? Please?” She bounces on her toes.
A tiny flicker crosses Denton’s face. Not a smile. Not even close. But something… a softening at the very corner of his mouth, quickly suppressed. His gaze flicks from Tabby’s beseeching eyes to mine.
He takes a slow breath and finally speaks. “We’ll be there.”
Three words. Clipped. No exclamation point. No hint of enthusiasm.
But they land like a perfectly piped rosette on a cupcake.
Tabby erupts in a squeal of happiness, throwing her arms around his legs. “Yay! Tree! Lights! Cocoa! Yay, Daddy!”
He stiffens slightly under the sudden assault but doesn’t push her away. His hand comes down, almost automatically, to rest lightly on her head. His gaze, however, stays locked on me.
There’s no warmth in it. No smile. Just that intense, assessing stare.
But it’s different now. The rigid defensiveness is still there, but the door…
the door feels like it’s been nudged open a crack.
Just wide enough for Tabby to slip through, dragging him along behind her.
And maybe… just maybe… wide enough for me to glimpse something beyond the fortress walls.
My heart is doing a frantic tap dance against my ribs. Relief wars with a giddy, terrifying surge of hope. He said yes. He’s coming. Into my world. My chaotic, festive, community-driven world.
“Great!” The word comes out breathless, too high.
I clear my throat, trying for composure and landing somewhere near a flustered sparrow.
“It starts at six. The park is just two blocks down. There’s…
there’s usually a pretty good crowd. Carols start around six, switch-on at seven. ” I’m babbling. I force myself to stop.
He gives another of those curt nods. “Six.” It’s not a question. It’s a statement.
“Can Holly sit with us? For the lights?”
Oh, sweet child. The question hangs in the air, sharp as a candy cane shard. Denton’s expression doesn’t change, but I see the slightest tightening of his fingers on Tabby’s shoulder. His eyes hold mine, that same unreadable intensity. Waiting. Gauging my reaction.
My mouth is suddenly dry. This wasn’t part of the invitation. This is… proximity. Sitting together. In the dark. Under twinkling lights. With carols. It feels like a date. A potentially disastrous, wildly hopeful non-date date.
I swallow hard. “I… I usually help man the cocoa station for a bit,” I say, hedging, buying time. “But… yeah. Sure. If you save me a spot?” I make it a question, directed at Tabby, giving him an out if he wants it. “After I make sure everyone gets their marshmallows?”
Tabby beams. “We’ll save you the best spot! Right by the tree!”
Denton doesn’t object. He doesn’t confirm either. He just holds my gaze for another heartbeat, that silent intensity making my skin prickle. Then he looks down at Tabby. “Time to finish up the castle.”
He said yes. He’s coming. And he didn’t say no to saving me a spot.
The knowledge buzzes inside me, warm and effervescent, like champagne bubbles.
It’s dangerous. So dangerous. Charlie will throttle me.
But as I watch Denton carefully guide Tabby’s hand as she places a licorice strip for the drawbridge chain, his large hand engulfing hers, his profile stern but focused… that dangerous hope takes root.
Tomorrow night. Under the lights. Outside the bakery. It’s not just about the tree anymore. It’s about seeing if the spark that ignited in this flour-dusted kitchen can catch fire in the crisp winter air.
The rest of the session passes in a blur of icing and sprinkles. The gingerbread castle slowly transforms from a precarious pile of cookies into a whimsical, glitter-strewn marvel. Tabby declares it’s the “bestest castle ever!”
Through it all, the awareness of him hums beneath my skin. The way his sleeve brushes mine when we reach for the same sprinkle shaker. The low rumble of his voice when he gives Tabby quiet instructions. The intense focus in his eyes when he examines the castle, ensuring it’s structurally sound.
Finally, the castle is declared complete. Tabby insists on a photo. Denton pulls out his phone, his movements stiff. He takes a few pictures, his expression neutral.
“Alright, Tabby Cat,” he says, his voice rough. “Mission accomplished. Time to head out.” He starts untying Tabby’s miniature apron.
The two of them get their coats on as I stand watching, wondering what to say next.
“So, tomorrow…” I finally say.
“Tomorrow.” He gives me yet another curt nod and they’re gone.