Chapter Four – Holly
Teddy’s marshmallow mustache dissolved into giggles as he sipped the last of his hot chocolate.
It was such an infectious sound that Holly chuckled despite everything.
The simple joy of this moment was such a stark contrast to the elaborate wedding reception she should have been attending, but she knew which she’d prefer to attend. And it did not have a four-tier cake!
“Bedtime, munchkins,” Daniel announced, gathering the empty mugs. “It’s getting late.”
“But Holly just got here,” Teddy protested, his lower lip jutting out.
“And Holly will still be here in the morning,” Daniel replied, his voice gentle but firm. “The storm isn’t going anywhere tonight. So neither is Holly.”
“Yes!” Teddy punched his small fist in the air.
Holly’s chest tightened at his certainty that she belonged here, even if just for the night. “I can help,” she offered, rising from the sofa. “With bedtime, I mean. If that’s okay.”
Something flickered across Daniel’s face…surprise and maybe gratitude. A softening at the corners of his eyes, like she’d stepped over some invisible line from guest to…something else. And she liked the idea of being something else. She liked it a lot. “That would be great.”
Upstairs, Holly found herself drawn into the familiar rhythm of a routine she’d never experienced but always dreamed of being a part of.
Teddy insisted on showing her his dinosaur pajamas, each prehistoric creature named and described in detail.
Maisie, more reserved but no less welcoming, asked if Holly would help braid her hair “the way princesses do it.”
Holly’s fingers worked through Maisie’s soft brown hair; the repetitive motion soothing. “My mom used to braid my hair every night before bed,” she said, the memory surfacing unexpectedly.
“Does she still?” Maisie asked with innocent curiosity in her voice.
“No,” Holly croaked, and then cleared her throat before securing the end of the braid with an elastic that Maisie handed her. “Not for a long time now.”
“My mom used to braid my hair too,” Maisie murmured. “But not for a long time.”
So many questions filled Holly’s head. But she kept them to herself. Not wanting to pry.
“Story time,” Daniel announced from the doorway, holding up a well-worn book. The cover was soft at the edges, the spine creased from a hundred bedtimes.
Holly started to excuse herself, to give them privacy for their family ritual, but Teddy burst into the room, grabbed her hand and led her toward Maisie’s bed.
“You have to stay for the story,” he insisted as he jumped into the bed and snuggled under the covers with Maisie. “Dad does all the voices.”
So she stayed, perched on one side of Maisie’s bed while Daniel sat on the other. His deep voice filled the room, bringing to life a tale of winter magic and brave children.
Holly found herself leaning forward, as captivated as the kids by his storytelling. The rise and fall of his voice smoothed over the jagged edges of her thoughts, tugging her along with the story whether she wanted to go or not.
But she did want to go. Wherever he led.
Then the story was over. As Daniel closed the book, both children sighed with satisfaction.
“Goodnight hugs,” Maisie announced, arms already outstretched toward her father.
Daniel leaned forward and hugged his daughter, murmuring good nights that made her smile. It was such a simple, ordinary intimacy, and it made something deep inside Holly ache with longing.
“Come on, bud.” Daniel scooped his son up in his arms and carried him to his bed.
“Night,” Holly said to Maisie.
“Night,” Maisie replied as she snuggled down.
“Come and say goodnight to me!” Teddy beckoned from his father’s arms.
Holly dutifully followed behind, for how could she refuse?
“Night, night, Dad.” Teddy hugged Daniel tight.
“Night, son.” Daniel kissed his son on the top of the head and tucked him under the covers.
Then Teddy’s arms reached for Holly. “You too,” he said, the expectation in his eyes impossible to deny.
Holly hesitated only a moment before leaning in, enveloped by the pure, uncomplicated affection of a child who had decided she belonged in his world.
His small arms squeezed around her neck as if it were the most natural thing in the world, as if she hadn’t crashed unannounced into their lives less than two hours ago.
“Sweet dreams,” Holly whispered, her throat tight with an emotion she was not ready to name.
Then she stood up and backed toward the door where Daniel stood watching. There was something in his eyes, something that stirred a feeling deep inside her…one she was also not ready to name.
Downstairs, the house felt different, quieter, and more intimate. The Christmas tree lights cast shadows across the living room, and the fire Daniel had stoked earlier still crackled in the hearth.
“They really like you,” Daniel said, breaking the silence as he lingered by the door. “Teddy especially. He’s not usually so quick to warm up to strangers.”
“They’re wonderful children,” Holly replied, sinking back onto the sofa. “You’re doing an amazing job with them.”
Daniel’s expression softened. “Thank you. That means a lot.” He hesitated, then asked, “Can I get you anything? Another hot chocolate? Or maybe something stronger? I think we could both use it after the day you’ve had.”
Holly surprised herself by nodding. “Something stronger sounds perfect, actually.” If ever there was a day for liquid courage, it was this one.
Daniel disappeared into the kitchen, returning with two tumblers of amber liquid. “Bourbon,” he explained, handing one to her. “Nothing fancy, but it warms you up on winter nights.”
Their fingers brushed during the exchange, and Holly felt that same inexplicable spark from earlier. She took a sip, letting the liquid burn pleasantly down her throat.
“So,” Daniel said, settling into the armchair across from her, “how are you really doing?”
The question was simple, direct, with no expectation or judgment behind it. Just genuine concern. No one had asked her that all day, not really. They’d asked what had happened, why, what she was going to do next. Not this.
Holly stared into her glass, watching the firelight play through the bourbon.
“I honestly don’t know,” she admitted. “This morning I was getting ready for my wedding, and now I’m.
..” She gestured vaguely at herself, at the borrowed clothes, at this stranger’s living room that somehow felt safer than anywhere she’d been in years.
“Now you’re here,” Daniel finished for her, his voice warm. “And that’s enough for tonight.”
The simplicity of his statement made her eyes burn with unexpected tears. When was the last time someone had told her that just existing, just being where she was, was enough?
“The storm’s getting worse,” she observed, changing the subject as she listened to the wind howling outside. “I hope your power doesn’t go out.”
“We’re prepared if it does,” Daniel assured her. “Plenty of blankets, flashlights, and a wood stove that keeps this place toasty.”
“You seem prepared for everything,” Holly said, unable to keep the admiration from her voice.
He radiated a kind of quiet competence she’d only ever pretended to feel, but Daniel’s laugh was soft, self-deprecating. “Hardly. But with kids, you learn to anticipate the disasters you can.”
“And the ones you can’t?”
“Those,” he said, taking a thoughtful sip, “you weather together.”
As she sipped her bourbon, the idea of weathering storms with Daniel by her side was dangerously appealing, given that she barely knew him. But her heart didn’t seem all that interested in a background check right now.
“Your tree is beautiful,” she said, her gaze drawn to the multicolored lights. “So personal.”
“Is that a polite way of saying messy?” Daniel asked, his tone teasing.
“No, it’s just…” She took another sip. “My mother always decorated the tree. She always insisted it was just so. Not an ornament out of place.”
“Not in this house. The kids insist on decorating it differently every year. And there are always new ornaments to add to it,” Daniel explained, his pride evident. “That paper star near the top? Teddy made that his first Christmas with me. And the pinecone angel is Maisie’s from last year.”
“Their first Christmas with you?” Holly asked, curious despite her exhaustion.
Daniel’s expression shifted, something vulnerable crossing his features. “I adopted them three years ago. They’d been in foster care since their mom had gotten sick. When I met them, they’d been bounced around too much. They deserved stability, a home.”
The simple way he stated it, as if taking in two children had been the most natural decision in the world, made Holly’s heart constrict.
“That’s... incredible.” Andrew’s face flashed through her mind for the briefest moment, and she knew without a shred of doubt he would never have done something like that. Not in a million years.
Daniel shrugged, but she could see how much it meant to him. “They’re incredible kids. I’m the lucky one.”
Holly’s eyes grew heavy as they talked, the bourbon warming her from the inside while Daniel’s deep voice lulled her.
The emotional whiplash of the day, the warmth of the fire, the safety of this unexpected haven, all conspired against her attempts to stay alert.
Her muscles ached with the kind of tired that went beyond the physical, the kind that seeped into bone and thought.
“I should probably let you get some sleep,” Daniel said, noticing her struggle to keep her eyes open.
“Just a few more minutes,” Holly murmured, not ready to leave this cocoon of comfort.
She fought to stay awake, to remain in this moment that felt suspended outside of time. But her body had other ideas. Her eyelids grew impossibly heavy, and her breathing deepened as Holly mused over the strange sense of rightness, of safety, she hadn’t felt in longer than she could remember.
Not since before her parents’ divorce, before her mother’s remarriage, before all the careful planning and compromising that had led her to almost marry a man who’d never really suited her at all. Somewhere along the line, she’d lost sight of herself, and she wasn’t sure why.
Here, in a stranger’s home, surrounded by the scent of cinnamon and wood smoke, Holly was finally ready to let go of that version of herself.
As Holly drifted in that hazy space between wakefulness and dreams, she registered being lifted up.
She felt the solid strength of arms around her, caught the clean scent of Daniel’s shirt as her head lolled against him—woody cologne and laundry detergent.
The world narrowed to warmth and the steady rise and fall of his chest.
Any rational person would feel weird about a stranger carrying them, but Holly felt oddly secure. Her sleep-fogged brain surrendered to a certainty her fully conscious self might question. She was safe here.
Safer than she’d felt preparing to walk down the aisle, by a long shot.
With each step Daniel took up the stairs, he gently rocked her deeper toward sleep.
Her ear pressed against his chest, picking up the steady thump of his heartbeat as he carefully navigated the dark hallway, trying not to bump her legs against the walls.
The rhythm soothed her, slow and sure, like a lullaby without words.
When he set her down on the guest bed, the sudden absence of his warmth made her want to reach for him. But then came the soft rustle of blankets being pulled over her, the careful way he tucked them around her shoulders. Fingers light, respectful, never lingering where they shouldn’t.
“Night, Holly,” Daniel whispered, his voice low and close to her ear.
As she slipped under completely, Holly’s last clear thought was how bizarrely right it felt to be here—in this house with this man who’d somehow appeared when she needed someone most.