Chapter 36 Holly
Holly
Ishift slightly, turning within the circle of Denton’s arm to face him.
He stirs, a soft sigh escaping his lips.
His eyes flutter open to meet mine in the gentle morning light.
A slow, drowsy smile curves his lips, transforming the usually stern lines of his face.
It’s a smile just for me, unguarded and tender.
This is the third morning in a row I’ve woken up next to him and I can’t believe how amazing it all feels.
“Morning,” he murmurs, as he pulls me closer to him.
“Morning,” I whisper back, my heart doing a slow, joyful flip in my chest. The sheer normalcy of it, the quiet intimacy of waking up beside him, feels like a dream. “Merry Christmas.”
His smile deepens, crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Merry Christmas, Holly.”
He leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to my lips. When he pulls back, his eyes hold mine. “Did you sleep okay?”
“Mmm,” I hum, snuggling closer, resting my head on his chest. The steady thump of his heartbeat beneath my ear is the most comforting sound in the world. “Better than okay. So much better.”
His arm tightens around me, pulling me flush against him. He presses another kiss to the top of my head. “Good,” he says. “Me too.” We lie there in comfortable silence for a few moments, wrapped in the quiet peace of the morning.
The peace is shattered by the rapid pitter-patter of small feet on hardwood, growing louder by the second. Then the knock on the door comes.
“Daddy! Holly! Wake up! It’s Christmas! Santa came! He really did! Come see!”
Tabby’s voice, high-pitched with barely contained excitement, pierces the quiet. Denton groans softly, burying his face in my hair for a second before lifting his head. “We’re awake, Tabby Cat!” he calls back, his voice rough but warm. “Give us two minutes, okay?”
A dramatic sigh filters through the door. “Oooookay. But hurry! There’s presents! Big ones!”
Her footsteps retreat, a little slower this time, probably hovering just down the hall.
Denton chuckles. He shifts, propping himself up on one elbow, looking down at me. His hair is adorably mussed, his eyes still soft with sleep and contentment. “I was hoping for a few more minutes alone with you,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against mine again. “Ready to face the Tabby whirlwind?”
I grin up at him, the last bits of sleepiness vanishing under a wave of pure affection. “Absolutely! Christmas morning is the most exciting morning of the year. Especially when you’re with a five-year-old.”
It turns out Tabby is one hundred percent fine with me having ‘sleepovers’ with her dad.
The morning after I first stayed the night, I got up early and left before she was up yet.
She immediately let Denton know that she wanted me to be here in the morning.
Every morning if possible, actually. We both got a good laugh out of that and haven’t looked back.
We disentangle ourselves, the cool air hitting my skin as I slide out of the warm bed. Denton grabs a pair of sweatpants from a nearby chair, pulling them on along with a plaid flannel shirt.
I grab my own sweatpants and sweater and shrug them on.
Denton takes my hand in his and laces our fingers together. The simple act, so natural now, sends a wave of warmth through me.
The living room is bathed in the pale morning light.
The tree glitters in the corner, its lights casting a warm, festive glow.
Tinsel shimmers, ornaments gleam, and nestled underneath the branches, spilling out onto the rug, is a huge pile of presents wrapped in bright paper and adorned with oversized bows.
Tabby stands in the middle of it all, her energy barely contained. She’s wearing footed pajamas patterned with dancing elves, her dark hair shooting every which way, her eyes wide with Christmas morning wonder.
The sight of it – the tree, the presents, the joy radiating from Tabby – hits me square in the chest. It’s everything I’d ever imagined a perfect Christmas morning could be, amplified a thousand times because it’s ours. Denton squeezes my hand.
Tabby spins around as we enter, her face lighting up like the tree itself.
“You’re awake! Finally!” She bounces on the balls of her feet, pointing dramatically at the pile.
“Look! Santa came! He brought so many presents! See? See the big red one? And the sparkly gold one? And that squishy one? And—!”
She stops abruptly, her gaze zeroing in on our joined hands.
Her eyes widen further, darting from our hands to Denton’s face, then to mine.
A slow, radiant smile spreads across her face, brighter than any ornament on the tree.
“You’re holding hands,” she breathes, her voice filled with awe. “Just like a family.”
The simple statement, spoken with such innocent certainty, steals my breath. I look at Denton. His eyes are suspiciously bright as he looks down at Tabby, then back at me. He squeezes my hand again, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. “Yeah, Tabby Cat,” he says. “Like a family.”
Tabby beams, clapping her hands together. “Good! Now can we open presents? Pleeeease?”
Denton laughs, a warm, rich sound that fills the room. “Alright, alright. Present opening time. But first…” He gestures towards the sofa. “Hot cocoa?”
“Yes!” Tabby scrambles onto the plush cream sofa, tucking her feet underneath her. “With extra marshmallows! And sprinkles!”
“Sprinkles in cocoa?” Denton raises an eyebrow, feigning skepticism as he heads towards the kitchen. “That’s crazy talk.”
“It’s delicious,” Tabby insists solemnly. “Holly says sprinkles make everything better. Right, Holly?”
I sink down onto the sofa next to her, pulling her into a sideways hug. She smells like shampoo and sleep and sugary excitement. “Absolutely right,” I confirm, dropping a kiss onto her wild hair. “Sprinkles are essential Christmas morning fuel.”
Denton shakes his head, but he’s smiling as he pulls out a saucepan. “Sprinkles it is. Marshmallows too. The works.”
The scent of warm milk and chocolate begins to fill the air, mingling with the pine from the tree. Tabby wriggles impatiently beside me. “How long, Daddy?”
“Patience, Tabby Cat,” Denton says, stirring the cocoa.
“Good things take time. Like building gingerbread castles.” He shoots me a quick, warm glance over his shoulder, and my heart flutters.
The memory of our baking lesson, the moment under the mistletoe…
it feels like a lifetime ago and just yesterday.
Finally, he pours the steaming cocoa into three mismatched mugs – one with a chipped reindeer (mine, brought from the bakery), one plain black (his), and one bright pink covered in glittery unicorns (Tabby’s, naturally).
He carries them over, setting them carefully on the coffee table beside Tabby’s gingerbread castle masterpiece. True to his word, he liberally showers each mug with mini marshmallows and a ridiculous amount of rainbow sprinkles.
Tabby grabs hers immediately, blowing carefully across the surface before taking a tentative sip. Her eyes close in bliss. “Mmm! Perfect! Thanks, Daddy!” She beams at him.
Denton hands me my reindeer mug and I take a sip. The cocoa is rich and creamy, the marshmallows melting into sweet goo, the sprinkles adding a delightful, crunchy texture. It’s happiness in a mug.
“Okay!” Tabby sets her mug down, marshmallow mustache decorating her upper lip. “Presents now! Who goes first?”
“Ladies first,” Denton says, settling onto the sofa on my other side, stretching his arm along the back behind me. His fingers find the back of my neck, idly playing with the ends of my hair. The casual intimacy of the gesture makes me smile.
Tabby needs no further encouragement. She dives into the pile with the focused intensity of a treasure hunter, emerging with a large, lumpy package wrapped in silver paper adorned with giant green stars.
“This one’s for you, Holly!” she announces, thrusting it towards me. “From me! I painted it all by myself!”
“Oh, sweet pea, thank you!” I take the surprisingly heavy package. I carefully peel back the paper, revealing a large ceramic… something. It’s painted in bright, enthusiastic swirls of blue, green, and glittery gold.
“It’s a cookie jar!” Tabby explains proudly. “For Sugar Rush! See? It’s shaped like a big cookie! I made it at school with Miss Amy!”
I stare at the lumpy, glittery, utterly perfect ceramic cookie.
It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
“Tabby… it’s amazing,” I breathe, my throat tightening.
“Absolutely perfect. I love it. Thank you so much.” I lean over and pull her into a tight hug, kissing her cheek.
She giggles, wrapping her arms around my neck.
“You’re welcome!” she declares, pulling back. “Okay, Daddy! Your turn! That red one is yours! From me and Holly!”
Denton accepts the small, rectangular package wrapped in deep red paper with a silver bow.
He tears the paper carefully, revealing a flat box.
Inside the box is a framed photograph. It’s a picture Charlie took at the tree lighting.
Denton, Tabby and I are sitting on the plaid blanket all smiling. It feels like a hundred years ago.
Denton stares at the photo for a long moment. Then he looks up, first at Tabby, then at me. His eyes are suspiciously bright again.
“This is…” He clears his throat. “This is perfect. Thank you.” He leans over, pressing a kiss to Tabby’s forehead, then turns to me, his gaze holding mine with an intensity that makes my breath catch. We don’t kiss in front of Tabby, not yet, but the look he gives me says everything.
The present opening continues in a whirlwind of torn paper, excited squeals, and heartfelt thank-yous. Tabby gets a new art easel (“For masterpieces!” she declares), a set of sparkly dress-up wings, a mountain of books, and her own apron and oven mitts to use at home.
“You can teach me how to bake more yummy things here, Holly!” she says as I give her a hug.
I get a beautiful, impossibly soft cashmere scarf in deep green from Denton (“To match your eyes,” he murmurs) and a set of vintage cookie cutters from his mom.
Finally, the mountain of presents is unwrapped. Tabby is sitting on the floor happily reading one of her new books and humming “Jingle Bells” off-key.
Denton gathers the discarded wrapping paper into a large bag. I sip the last of my now-lukewarm cocoa, watching them, a profound sense of contentment settling over me. It’s more than just the presents or the cocoa. It’s the feeling of belonging. Of being exactly where I’m meant to be.
Denton finishes tidying and comes back to the sofa, sinking down beside me. He drapes his arm around my shoulders, pulling me close. I rest my head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, watching Tabby concentrate fiercely on her book.
“Holly?” Denton’s voice is low against my ear.
“Hmm?”
He shifts slightly, reaching into the pocket of his sweatpants. He pulls out a small, flat box wrapped in simple gold paper. “I have one more for you. From me.” He places it gently in my hands.
My heart skips a beat. I look up at him, questioning. He just nods, his expression serious, expectant. I carefully peel back the gold paper, revealing a plain white box. I lift the lid.
Inside, nestled on a bed of white gauze, is a key. Not a car key or a fancy fob. It’s a simple, sturdy bronze key.
I stare at it, confused for a second. Then it hits me. The apartment. He’s giving me a key to his apartment.
I look up at him, my throat tight. “Denton…”
He takes a breath, his thumb brushing over the key in my palm.
“It’s a key to the apartment. This place…
” He gestures around the apartment, now filled with warmth and light and the happiness of a child.
“…it’s no longer just my place. It’s become ours.
Mine, and Tabby’s, and yours, Holly. Whenever you’re ready.
No pressure. No expectations. I just want you to know that eventually I’d like you to live here with us. ”
Tears prick my eyes, blurring the image of the key. It’s a symbol of belonging, of being chosen, not just in the heat of a grand declaration, but in the quiet light of Christmas morning.
I curl my fingers around the key, the cool metal warming instantly against my skin. I look up at Denton, at the love and hope shining so clearly in his stormy eyes, free of walls for the first time. “Thank you,” I whisper, my voice thick with emotion.
Denton leans in, capturing my lips in a kiss that’s soft, sweet, and filled with a depth of feeling that leaves me breathless.
“Ooooh! I saw you two kissing!” Tabby’s voice breaks the moment. We pull apart, laughing. She’s standing by the coffee table, holding her new apron and oven mitts, grinning impishly. “Can we make pancakes now? With chocolate chips? And sprinkles?”
Denton chuckles, resting his forehead against mine for a second before looking over at his daughter. “Pancakes with chocolate chips and sprinkles coming right up.” He stands, offering me his hand. “Team effort?”
I take his hand, letting him pull me up. “Team effort,” I agree, squeezing his fingers. I tuck the precious key safely into the pocket of my sweatpants.
We migrate to the kitchen. Denton expertly mixes the batter while I fry bacon, the sizzle and pop adding to the symphony of Christmas morning.
Tabby helps flip the first group of pancakes and then sets the table with meticulous care.
The air fills with the mouthwatering scents of frying bacon, vanilla batter, and rich coffee.
I flip some more pancakes, watching the bubbles form and pop on the golden surface. Beside me, Denton hums ‘Deck the Halls’, his shoulder brushing mine as he reaches for the chocolate chips and sprinkles.
Tabby chatters excitedly about the pancakes. The scene is pure pandemonium – batter drips onto the pristine counter, bacon grease spatters the stovetop, sprinkles decorate the floor like festive confetti. It’s messy and out of control.
And it’s absolutely, utterly perfect.
My phone buzzes with a text from Charlie.
Merry Christmas, babe! Everything still going well?
I smile while I type back:
SOOO good! I’ll update you later. Merry Christmas!
She knows all about what’s happened the last few days and, of course, she was there for Denton’s big speech the other night. I know she’s still a little worried things will go south again and I love her for worrying about me.
I look at Denton, his profile softened in the morning light, a smudge of flour on his cheek from where he’d brushed his hair back. He catches my gaze and smiles, a slow, warm curve of his lips that reaches his eyes, turning them the soft gray of a winter dawn. My heart swells.
He’s not the grumpy defenseman anymore. He’s just Denton. My Denton. Tabby’s dad. And together, in this kitchen filled with warmth and the promise of pancakes, surrounded by the glittering evidence of our shared holiday, we are home.