Chapter 4 #2
"Actually," I say before I can stop myself, "I'm free all afternoon."
Hudson's jaw tightens, and I can practically see him searching for another excuse. But before he can speak, Angie surprises everyone.
"I want her to come too," she says quietly, her soft voice barely audible. She blushes when all eyes turn to her. "She's nice."
Something in my chest melts at her words. Shy, sweet Angie, who barely spoke yesterday, wants me around. I'm already winning over two of the three.
Hudson looks to Silvie for help, but she just shrugs, clearly unwilling to be the villain who disappoints her sisters. He sighs, defeated.
"Fine. If Violet wants to come, she's welcome to join us."
"I'd love to," I say, meeting his eyes. Something electric passes between us, just like yesterday when I touched his arm. His pupils dilate slightly, and I know he feels it too.
"We're having lunch at Grizzly Pine Diner first," Hudson says gruffly. "Meet us at the community center around two?"
"Perfect." I smile, warmth spreading through my chest at this small victory. "I'll see you all then."
As I turn to walk back to Ivy, Lucy calls after me. "Bring more cookies if you have them!"
I laugh, glancing back at Hudson, who's shaking his head but can't quite hide the small smile tugging at his lips. "No promises, but I'll see what I can do."
Ivy is practically bouncing in her seat when I return. "Well?" she whispers excitedly.
I can't contain my grin. "I'm seeing Santa today."
"You're a genius," Ivy declares. "Those girls are your ticket in."
"They're not tickets, Ivy. They're people." I frown slightly. "Sweet, wonderful little people who deserve stability."
"And you could give them that," Ivy points out. "You practically raised yourself while taking care of your dad. You'd be an amazing stepmom."
The word 'stepmom' sends a jolt through me. I hadn't thought that far ahead. If this happens it’d just be a business arrangement. But looking at those three girls, I can't deny the pull I feel toward them already.
"One step at a time," I mutter, mostly to myself.
The community center is bustling with families when I arrive just before two. A massive Christmas tree dominates the lobby, and volunteers in elf costumes direct people to the line for Santa, which wraps around the perimeter of the main hall.
I spot them immediately—Hudson's tall frame stands out in any crowd.
Lucy is bouncing on her toes, pointing excitedly at the decorations, while Angie clutches a piece of paper that must be her wish list. Silvie stands slightly apart, pretending to be too grown up for all this, though I catch her eyeing Santa's throne with interest.
Hudson notices me first. Our eyes lock across the room, and my stomach does that ridiculous flip again. He says something to the girls, and Lucy whips around, waving frantically when she spots me.
"You came!" she shouts, drawing several amused looks from nearby parents.
I make my way over, self-conscious under Hudson's intense gaze. "I promised I would," I say to Lucy, but I'm looking at him. “And I always keep my promises.”
"We've been in line for ten minutes already," Silvie informs me, checking an imaginary watch. "Probably another twenty to go."
"That's okay," I say, unfazed by her attitude. "Gives us time to talk."
"About what?" Silvie challenges.
"About what you're asking Santa for," I suggest. "Unless it's a secret."
"I'm too old for Santa," she declares, though I notice she stuffs a folded piece of paper in her pocket.
"Nobody's too old for a little Christmas magic," I tell her. "I still make a list every year."
She looks skeptical but slightly less hostile. Progress.
Lucy tugs at my hand. "What are you asking Santa for?"
I kneel down to her level. "Well, I'm trying to save my mom's house. It's been in our family for generations."
"Where is your mom?" Lucy asks innocently.
"Lucy," Hudson warns gently.
"It's okay," I assure him before turning back to Lucy. "My mom died a few years ago. She got very sick."
"Like our grandma?" Angie asks, joining the conversation.
"Your grandma is sick?" I ask, surprised.
"She died before we were born," Angie explains solemnly. "Daddy says she would have loved us very much."
My heart constricts at the simple statement. I glance up at Hudson, who's watching the interaction with an unreadable expression.
"I bet she would have," I agree. "My mom would have loved you girls, too. She always wanted grandchildren."
"We could be her pretend grandchildren," Lucy suggests brightly.
Hudson coughs awkwardly. "Lucy, that's not how it works."
"Why not?" she persists. "Violet could be our pretend mom, and then we'd be her pretend daughters, and her mom would be our pretend grandma!"
The innocent suggestion warms my heart. Hudson looks like he wants the ground to swallow him whole, while I struggle to find an appropriate response.
"That's a sweet thought," I finally say, tucking a strand of hair behind Lucy's ear. "But for now, why don't you show me your Christmas list?"
The line inches forward as Lucy enthusiastically details every toy she's requested. Angie occasionally chimes in with corrections or clarifications, while Silvie pretends not to listen but clearly is.
Hudson and I find ourselves standing side by side, watching the girls.
"They're amazing," I say quietly. "You've done an incredible job with them."
He glances at me, surprise flickering across his face. "They're easy to love."
"Not all parents find that true," I say, thinking of my own father's struggle after Mom died. "It takes dedication to be as attentive as you are, especially as a single dad."
"I'm not looking for compliments," he says gruffly, but I can tell he's pleased.
"I'm not giving them to earn points," I counter. "I'm stating facts. Those girls adore you, Hudson. Anyone with eyes can see that."
He studies me for a long moment. "Why are you really here, Violet? And don't tell me it's just about the money."
The question catches me off guard. "Isn't that enough?"
"For most women I'd say yes. But you..." He shakes his head. "You don't strike me as someone who'd marry a stranger just for money, even to save a house."
I consider deflecting but decide on honesty instead.
"It’s not just a house to me. My mother's house is all I have left of her.
Every corner holds a memory. Losing it would be like losing her all over again.
" I pause, searching for the right words.
"But you're right. It's not just about the money.
I'm also genuinely interested in your story. The journalist in me, I guess."
"So I'm a story to you?" His voice hardens.
"No," I say quickly. "You're a person. A father. Someone who seems to be fighting for his family. That resonates with me because I'm fighting for mine too, in a way."
Something in his expression softens slightly. "And the fact that I'm sixteen years older than you doesn't bother you? Or that I have a past that would make most people run in the opposite direction?"
"Age is just a number," I shrug. "And everyone has a past, Hudson. I care more about who you are now."
"You don't know who I am now."
"No, but I'd like to," I say simply.
Before he can respond, Lucy calls out, "Daddy! We're next!"
The moment breaks as Hudson turns his attention back to his daughters. I watch as he helps Lucy straighten her coat and smooths Angie's hair. Even Silvie allows him to adjust her hoodie before stepping up to Santa's throne.
The man playing Santa is convincingly jolly, with a real beard and twinkling eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. He hoists Lucy onto his lap first, listening intently as she whispers her Christmas wishes in his ear.
Angie goes next, shyly handing over her carefully written list. Santa reads it, nodding seriously at each item before promising to do his best.
Silvie tries to skip her turn, but Santa beckons her forward. "Even big girls get Christmas wishes," he says kindly. After a moment's hesitation, she approaches and murmurs something too quiet for anyone else to hear. Santa's expression turns thoughtful, and he pats her hand gently.
"Now, how about a family photo?" the elf assistant suggests, gesturing to the professional camera setup.
"You all go ahead," I say quickly, stepping back.
"Nonsense!" Santa booms. "The whole family should be in the picture. Mom and Dad, too!"
"Oh, I'm not—" I start to correct him.
"She's not our mom," Silvie interrupts, her tone sharp.
"Not yet," Lucy stage-whispers, giggling.
Hudson looks mortified, but Santa recovers smoothly. "My mistake! But friends are welcome in Santa's photos too."
"Please, Violet?" Angie asks, her quiet voice somehow cutting through the awkwardness.
Hudson sighs, resigned. "One picture," he agrees. "If you don't mind," he adds to me.
"I'd be honored," I say honestly.
We arrange ourselves around Santa's chair—Hudson and me standing behind, the girls seated on and around Santa. When the photographer instructs us to move closer together, Hudson's arm brushes against mine, sending that now-familiar electricity through my body. I swear I hear his breath catch.
"Smile!" the photographer calls.
Hudson's hand settles lightly on the small of my back, steadying me. It's a brief touch, gone almost as soon as it begins, but it leaves a burning imprint through my sweater.
After the photos are taken and the girls have received their candy canes, we make our way back to the lobby. I should say goodbye now, leave while things are still pleasant, but I'm reluctant to end the afternoon.
Lucy solves my dilemma for me. "Violet, are you coming over for dinner?" she asks innocently. "Daddy's making spaghetti. It's Angie's favorite."
"Lucy," Hudson warns, but his tone lacks conviction.
"Please?" Lucy begs, turning her wide eyes to her father. "She made us cookies! We should make her dinner!"
"It's only fair," Angie agrees softly, surprising everyone again with her boldness.
Silvie rolls her eyes but doesn't object, which I'm starting to recognize as tacit approval from the oldest Wilder girl.
Hudson looks torn. I can see him weighing his options—disappoint his daughters or invite the woman who wants to be his mail-order bride to dinner.
"It's okay," I say, giving him an out. "I don't want to impose."
"Please, Daddy?" Lucy persists, joined now by Angie's hopeful expression.
Hudson exhales heavily. "Fine. Violet, would you like to join us for dinner?"
The invitation isn't exactly enthusiastic, but it's genuine. His eyes meet mine, challenging me to say yes.
"I'd love to," I reply, holding his gaze. "What time should I be there?"
"Six," he says gruffly. "And don't bring anything. You've already supplied enough baked goods to last us through Christmas."
"Yes, sir," I salute playfully, earning giggles from Lucy and Angie and the smallest hint of a smile from Hudson.
As we say our goodbyes, with promises to see each other in a few hours, I catch Silvie watching me thoughtfully. When our eyes meet, she doesn't look away.
"Don't hurt him," she says quietly, while her father is distracted with Lucy's coat.
The simple statement hits me like a punch to the gut. This ten-year-old girl has taken on the responsibility of protecting her father's heart.
"I won't," I promise her solemnly. "That's not why I'm here."
She studies me for another moment before nodding once, a barely perceptible dip of her chin. Not approval, not yet, but acknowledgment of my words.
It feels like passing a test I didn't know I was taking.
As soon as I’m back in the safety of my car, I call Ivy to fill her in.
"You're having dinner at his house?" Ivy practically squeals. "Tonight?"
"His daughters invited me," I explain, unable to keep the excitement from my voice. "He couldn't say no without disappointing them."
"This is perfect," Ivy declares. "You've got your foot in the door. Now you just need to refuse to leave until he agrees to marry you."
"I'm not going to barricade myself in his house, Ivy."
"Why not? It worked for me with Nash."
I laugh, remembering how Ivy had essentially broken into the Hunter Distillery, gotten drunk on their reserve whiskey, and passed out at Nash's feet.
Then she refused to leave his mountain cabin, claiming she was "not going" despite his protests, until he eventually admitted he had feelings for her.
"Hudson is different," I say. "He's more guarded. And he has his daughters to consider."
"Who clearly already adore you," Ivy points out. "Two out of three, anyway. The oldest will come around."
"Silvie's protective of him," I say, respecting the girl's concerns. "She should be. They sound like they’ve been through a lot."
"And you could help make things better," Ivy says softly. "Vi, this isn't just about the money anymore, is it?"
I stare out the windshield at the snow-covered mountains in the distance, thinking about Hudson's intense gaze, the gentle way he touches his daughters' hair, the electric feeling when our skin makes contact.
"I don't know what it is," I admit. "But I'm going to find out."
"That's my girl," Ivy says approvingly. "Now go home and put on something that says 'I'm your sexy as hell future wife but also appropriate to wear around children.'"
I laugh, feeling lighter than I have in weeks. "Any other advice?"
"Just be yourself," Ivy says seriously. "That's who those girls responded to today. And I have a feeling that's who Hudson is responding to as well, whether he wants to admit it or not."
As I drive home to prepare for dinner, I can't help but wonder if this crazy plan might actually work—not just to save Mom's house, but to create something new and unexpected.