Chapter 16
Simon
I’d been planning the snack package for days.
It started when I noticed Tanner eyeing the fruit snacks in the pantry during one of Harlan's grocery hauls. He'd picked up the box, looked at it with a longing expression, then set it back down like he didn't deserve something so simple.
That wouldn't do.
Not on my watch.
So I'd made a list. Asked Harlan what he thought would work, got some suggestions from Sean who was an expert in little-friendly snacks, and then made a trip into town while Tanner was occupied with helping Bobby Allen in the stables.
Now the package sat in my room—I'd moved most of my things into Tanner's space over the past few days, but I still kept my old room for moments like this when I needed privacy to wrap gifts.
Inside a cheerful blue container with a locking lid, I'd arranged everything carefully: juice boxes in apple and fruit punch flavors, packets of fruit snacks (dinosaur-shaped, because they made me think of him), goldfish crackers in multiple varieties, string cheese, pouches of applesauce, graham crackers, and some of those squeezable yogurt tubes that were easy to eat on the go.
Everything a little boy might want for snacks. Everything Tanner deserved to have without guilt.
I'd written the note this morning:
Treats for when you need something sweet or salty, or somewhere in between. You don't have to wait until you're starving. Snacks are allowed anytime. You're allowed to want things just because they sound good. Keep being brave. Keep letting yourself be cared for.
I tucked the note inside, closed the lid, and tied a ribbon around the container. Perfect.
The plan was to leave it on his bed while he was at breakfast. Simple, straightforward, and he'd find it when he went up to change after morning chores.
Except when I came downstairs with the container hidden in a bag, I found Tanner already in the kitchen, working with Harlan on something at the counter.
"Morning," I said, setting the bag down carefully by the door where he wouldn't see it.
Tanner's whole face lit up when he saw me. "Morning, Daddy! Harlan's teaching me how to make biscuits."
His hands were covered in flour, and there was a smudge of it on his cheek. He looked young and happy and absolutely perfect.
"Is that right?" I came over to inspect their work. Several lumpy biscuits sat on a baking sheet, clearly formed by Tanner's inexperienced hands.
"They're not very pretty," Tanner admitted, looking down at them critically.
"They're fine," Harlan corrected. "Homemade biscuits don't need to be pretty. They need to taste good, and these will."
"He's right," I said, reaching out to wipe the flour from Tanner's cheek with my thumb. "And you're doing great, bud."
He leaned into the touch, his eyes going soft like they always did when I praised him.
"Why don't you two finish up here," I said. "I need to go check on something upstairs."
Harlan caught my eye and gave a subtle nod. He knew what I was doing—had helped me plan it, after all.
I grabbed the bag and headed back up to Tanner's room. Our room, really. My clothes were in the dresser now, my books on the shelf next to his. We'd merged our spaces naturally, like we'd been doing this for years instead of days.
I set the container in the middle of the bed where he couldn't miss it, arranging it carefully. Then I stood back and studied it, making sure everything looked right. It was different from my original plan, but it would have to do.
Everything looked good. It looked like care. Like attention. Like someone paying attention to the little details that made Tanner who he was.
Satisfied, I headed back downstairs.
In the kitchen, Tanner was sliding his sheet of biscuits into the oven while Harlan supervised. His tongue poked out slightly in concentration, and my chest went all warm and liquid.
Man, I had it bad for this boy.
"All done?" I asked.
"Yep!" He closed the oven door and turned to me with a proud smile. "Harlan says they'll be ready in fifteen minutes."
"Then you've got time to go clean up before they're done." I nodded toward his flour-covered hands and the dusting of white on his shirt.
"Oh, right." He looked down at himself and laughed. "I'm a mess."
"A cute mess," I said, then lowered my voice. "Go on up, bud. I'll call you when they're ready."
He bounced on his toes—actually bounced, like he couldn't contain his energy—and headed for the stairs.
I waited, counting in my head. Ten seconds. Twenty. Thirty.
"SIMON!"
His voice carried down the stairs, filled with excitement and emotion. I exchanged a grin with Harlan and headed up.
I found Tanner in the middle of the room, the container open in front of him and snacks spread across the bed. He was holding the note in trembling hands.
"Hey, hey," I said gently, coming over to him. "What's all this?"
"They got me snacks," he said, his voice thick. "My Secret Santa got me snacks, Daddy. Look at all of this!"
He gestured at the array of items like they were treasures, not simple grocery store purchases.
But I understood.
Because to him, they were treasures. They represented permission. Freedom from guilt. The ability to want something without justifying why he deserved it.
"They're perfect, aren't they?" I said, sitting on the edge of the bed.
"So perfect." He clutched the note tighter. "They said I don't have to wait until I'm starving. That I'm allowed to want things just because they sound good."
"That's true, bud. You are allowed."
He looked at me then, his eyes swimming with emotion. "Why is this so hard? Why does it feel like such a big deal?"
"Because you've spent years denying yourself," I said honestly. "Years of putting everyone else first and ignoring your own wants. Learning to accept care, to let yourself want things—that's not easy. But you're doing it. You're learning."
He set the note down carefully and launched himself at me. I caught him, wrapping my arms around him as he buried his face in my neck.
"Thank you," he whispered.
"I didn’t actually do anything this time. You keep thanking me for nothing."
"But you did do something, Daddy. You let me express myself without making me feel stupid for it." He pulled back to look at me.
I cupped his face, brushing his cheeks with my thumbs. "You're not stupid. You're brave and wonderful, and I'm so damn proud of you."
His breath hitched, and for a moment I thought he might cry again. But instead, he kissed me—soft and sweet and full of trust.
When we pulled apart, he rested his forehead against mine. "I really want to know who my Secret Santa is."
"You will. On Christmas." I pressed another quick kiss to his lips. "For now, just enjoy the gifts. Let yourself be spoiled a little."
"Okay." He took a deep breath, then another. "Okay, I can do that."
"Good boy." I stood and offered him my hand. "Now come on. Those biscuits are probably ready, and you should be there when Harlan pulls them out."
He took my hand and let me lead him back downstairs, but not before grabbing a packet of fruit snacks and clutching it like a prize.
In the kitchen, Harlan was indeed pulling the biscuits from the oven. They were golden brown and imperfect and absolutely beautiful.
"Look at those," Harlan said approvingly. "You did good, Tanner."
"Really?" Tanner peered at them hopefully.
"Really. Here, try one." Harlan split one open, butter melting into the steaming interior, and handed it to him.
Tanner took a bite, and his eyes went wide. "Oh my god, this is amazing."
"That's because you made it yourself," Harlan said. "Food always tastes better when you put love into it."
I watched Tanner eat his biscuit, watched the joy on his face at this simple accomplishment, and felt that familiar warmth spread through my chest.
This was what I wanted to give him. Not just gifts—though those mattered too—but moments. Experiences. The chance to find joy in small things.
"Daddy, you have to try one," Tanner said, breaking me from my thoughts. He was holding out a biscuit, his expression eager.
I took it and bit in. It was buttery and flaky and exactly what a biscuit should be. "This is delicious, bud. You did an excellent job."
His smile could have powered the whole ranch.
After breakfast—biscuits with jam and bacon—Atticus appeared with a list of tasks for the day. I noticed mine and Tanner's names weren't on it, and I caught Atticus's eye questioningly.
He pulled me aside while Tanner was distracted talking to Sean. "Figured he could use another day to relax," Atticus said quietly. "He's been working hard, helping out wherever he's needed. But that's not why he's here."
"No," I agreed. "He's here to rest."
"Exactly. So you two take today for yourselves. Do something fun. Something that lets him just be."
“But we just…”
He raised a hand. “It doesn’t matter that you had time off recently. Let me worry about the ranch. You worry about your boy. Deal?”
I nodded slowly, an idea forming. "Yeah. Yeah, I think I know what to do."
When the others dispersed to their various tasks, I found Tanner in the living room, his coloring book open on the coffee table and his new snack container beside him. He'd already opened the goldfish crackers and was munching on them absently as he colored.
"Hey, bud," I said, settling onto the couch beside him.
"Mm?" He didn't look up, focused on staying inside the lines.
"What do you say we do something fun today? Just you and me?"
That got his attention. He set down his colored pencil and turned to look at me. "Like what?"
"How do you feel about building a snowman?"
His eyes went wide. "Really? You want to build a snowman with me?"
"Really. Unless you'd rather stay inside and color—"
"No!" He scrambled to his feet, suddenly full of energy. "I want to build a snowman! I haven't done that since I was a kid!"
"Then let's do it." I stood and ruffled his hair. "Go get bundled up. Meet me outside in ten minutes."
He practically ran for the stairs, and I heard his excited footsteps overhead as he changed into warmer clothes.
Corey appeared from the kitchen, smirking. "Building a snowman, huh?"
"He needs to play," I said simply. "When's the last time he did something just for fun? Something that doesn't have a purpose beyond enjoying it?"
"Probably never, knowing him." His expression softened. "You're good for him, Simon. Real good."
"He's good for me too," I admitted. "Better than I deserve."
"Bullshit. You both deserve each other." Corey clapped me on the shoulder. "Now go build your snowman. I'll tell Harlan to make hot chocolate for when you come back in."
Outside, the world was white and pristine. The latest snowfall had left everything covered in a fresh blanket, perfect for snowman building.
Tanner came bounding out a few minutes later, wrapped in his coat and scarf and hat—all the items from his Secret Santa. His cheeks were already pink from the cold, and his eyes were bright with excitement.
"Where should we build it?" he asked, looking around like he was surveying potential real estate.
"How about over there?" I pointed to a spot near the fence where we'd be visible from the house but out of the way of the main paths.
"Perfect!"
We started rolling snow, forming the base of our snowman. Tanner threw himself into the task with childlike enthusiasm, laughing when the snowball got too big to push and we had to work together to move it.
"Okay, now the middle part," he said, already starting on a new snowball.
I watched him work, watched the way he bit his lip in concentration and the way his whole body moved with the effort. He looked free. Unburdened. Exactly how he should always look.
We built our snowman together, adding sticks for arms and finding pebbles for eyes and a mouth. Tanner raided Harlan's garden for a carrot nose, and we used an old scarf we found in the barn to complete the look.
"He's perfect," Tanner declared, stepping back to admire our work.
"He is," I agreed, though I was looking at Tanner, not the snowman.
Tanner turned to me, his smile bright and beautiful. Then, without warning, he bent down and scooped up a handful of snow.
"Tanner," I said warningly. "Don't you dare—"
The snowball hit me square in the chest.
His eyes went wide, like he couldn't believe he'd actually done it. Then he started laughing—big, helpless giggles that made his whole body shake.
"You're going to regret that, bud," I said, grinning as I bent to make my own snowball.
"You have to catch me first!" He took off running, his laughter trailing behind him.
I chased him around the yard, both of us throwing snow and dodging and laughing like kids. At some point, we ended up in a heap in the snow, both of us breathing hard and grinning at each other.
"That was fun," Tanner said, his chest heaving.
"Yeah," I agreed. "It really was."
We lay there for a moment, looking up at the gray sky, comfortable in the quiet.
"Thank you," Tanner said softly. "For this. For knowing I needed to play."
"Anytime, sweet boy." I squeezed his hand through our gloves. "Anytime."
When we finally went inside, frozen and happy, Harlan had hot chocolate waiting just like Corey promised. We shed our wet outer layers and wrapped our hands around warm mugs, sitting close together on the couch.
Tanner pulled out his goldfish crackers again, offering me some. I took a handful, even though I wasn't particularly hungry, because I knew it made him happy to share.
"Best day ever," he murmured, leaning his head on my shoulder.
"Yeah, bud," I said, pressing a kiss to his hair. "Best day ever."
And I meant it. Because watching Tanner learn to play, to be young, to let himself just exist without purpose or productivity—that was worth everything.
That was what I'd been waiting for.