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. Intomyworld. 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 saveme 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.
Chapter 11
Denton
Iglare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. The usual scowl is firmly in place, but my eyes… they look restless. Unfocused.Get it together, Blake.Routine. That’s the answer. The cold, hard structure of routine.
The apartment is silent. Tabby’s still asleep, worn out from last night’s castle-building. Usually, this silence is a relief. A buffer against the noise of the world. Today, it feels… empty. Hollow.
My gaze drifts to the living room. The cool gray walls, sleek black furniture, bare windows framing the steel-and-glass Chicago skyline – offer no comfort. No warmth. Just… space. Ordered, controlled, lifeless space.
