Apparently, my plan to have Charlie distract Tabby while I kissed Holly didn’t go completely as planned. Tabby snuck back and saw us kissing before Charlie ushered her back up to the front of the bakery for some hot cocoa.
But Tabby is right. The kiss was magic. For those few, stolen seconds, the world narrowed to the warmth of Holly’s lips, the soft sigh against my mouth, the dizzying rightness of holding her.
I unlock the SUV. “Alright, alright. Get in, Tabby Cat.”
She scrambles into her booster seat, chattering non-stop. “—youdidit! You kissed her! Iknewyou would! Holly makes the bestest cookies, and her bakery is so sparkly, and now you kissed her! Are you gonna kiss her again tomorrow? Can we bake morecookies? Can Holly come over?” The questions tumble out, a rapid-fire assault on my already overloaded brain.
I slide into the driver’s seat and start the engine. Tabby’s excited monologue continues as I pull out of the garage, navigating the city streets on autopilot. The festive lights blur past—twinkling trees in windows, garlands strung on lampposts, glowing reindeer on lawns.
What the hell was I thinking back there?I’m Denton Blake. I block shots. I control the defensive zone. I maintain structure. Holly James is chaos incarnate. A walking, talking, glitter-covered hazard.
Letting her in… it’s not just a bad play. It’s a career-ending injury waiting to happen. Worse. It’s inviting devastation back into the one life I’m sworn to protect: Tabby’s.
“—and then maybe Holly can come for Christmas! And we can have cookies for breakfast! And open presents! And?—”
“Tabby,” I cut in, sharper than I intend. She falls silent, blinking at me in the rearview mirror. I force my tone down a notch. “It’s late. Just… quiet time, okay?” The request feels unfair. She’s radiating innocent joy, and I’m shutting it down because I can’t handle it right now.
She nods, snuggling deeper into her coat. She starts humming softly. It’s not a Christmas carol. It’s the happy little hum she makes when she’s deeply content. When her world feels safe and bright. It’s the sound she used to make when Sarah would read her stories before bed.
The memory slices through me, cold and sharp. Sarah’s laugh. The way she’d tuck Tabby in, whispering silly secrets. The crushing silence that followed when she was gone. The years of carefully constructed numbness, building walls thick enough to keep out the pain… and anything else that might remind me of how much it hurts to lose someone.
And now I’ve kissed Holly James. I’ve felt the terrifying pull towards her. Letting that in… it’s not just risking my own shattered pieces. It’s risking Tabby’s. She’s already attached, weaving Holly into her fantasies of Christmas magic and happy-ever-afters.
If this… whatever this is… implodes? If Holly walks away? Or worse… The icy fist of fear clenches around my heart, squeezing the air from my lungs. I can’t. Ican’tput Tabby through that kind of loss again.
By the time I pull into the underground garage of my building, my jaw aches from clenching. I lift Tabby out of her booster seat. She’s half-asleep, her head resting heavily on my shoulder. Her small arms loop loosely around my neck.
When we get to the apartment, I carry Tabby down the hallway to her room. Soft lavender walls, a fluffy white rug, shelves overflowing with books and stuffed animals. But even here, the order is enforced. Toys are neatly binned. Books arranged by size. A stark contrast to the joyful, flour-dusted pandemonium of Sugar Rush.
I lay her gently on her bed. She stirs, blinking sleepily up at me. “Daddy?” Her voice is thick with sleep.
“Yeah, sweetheart?”
“Did you like kissing Holly?” Her gaze is earnest, hopeful.
I kneel beside the bed, brushing a stray curl from her forehead. Her skin is impossibly soft, warm. “Go to sleep, Tabby Cat,” I murmur, evading.
She yawns, snuggling into her pillow. “I liked it,” she declares softly, her eyes drifting shut. “It was sparkly. Like Christmas.”
Sparkly.Like Holly. Like the bakery. Like the glittering hope she represents. Hope that feels like standing on cracking ice over deep, dark water.
I tuck the covers around her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. She smells like sleep and baby shampoo and cookies. “Sleep tight,” I whisper, the words catching in my throat.
“G’night, Daddy,” she murmurs, already drifting off. “Love you to the moon and the stars.”
“Love you more,” I rasp automatically, the words a familiar, painful echo of a ritual Sarah started.
I stand there for a moment, watching her peaceful face, the slow rise and fall of her chest. She’s my everything. The reason for every wall, every rule, every ounce of rigid control.
I flick off her lamp, plunging the room into soft darkness lit only by the glow-in-the-dark stars on her ceiling. I close her door softly and head toward the living room. It’s pristine. A gray sectional facing a massive, dark TV screen. A single abstract painting on the wall. A sleek, empty coffee table. No photos. No personal touches.
It’s the visual representation of my life for the past three years. Functional. Safe. Unemotional. No risk of devastating loss. Just me and Tabby, insulated from the world.
And then Holly James exploded into it. With her sunshine smile and her messy bakery and her relentless, terrifying optimism. She didn’t just chip at my walls. She blasted through them with the force of a cannon shot.
She made Tabby laugh with joy. She mademe… feel. Things I haven’t felt in years. Things I swore I’d never feel again. Annoyance first. A grudging respect next. And then… desire. A bone-deep, terrifying pull towards her warmth, her light, her complicated, vibrantlife.
I walk over to the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. Chicago glitters below, cold and distant. I press my forehead against the cool glass.
