“Your bakery—the kids mentioned it earlier,” Holly said, breaking the comfortable silence. “How long have you had it?”
“Ten years this spring.” Daniel smiled at the memory of opening day. “I always enjoyed baking, and so I figured I’d go for it. Life’s too short, right?”
“Right,” she said, with a flicker of a smile.
“It wasn’t easy. I put in long hours, working solo most of the time as I built the business.” Daniel nodded to himself as he remembered those first months. “But my friends had my back. Kept me going.”
“And your family?” Holly asked, then quickly added, “Sorry, you don’t have to answer.”
“No, it’s okay.” He took a breath. “My father had some strong opinions about it.” Daniel chuckled, though the memory still carried a sting. “But then he always had. When I wanted to go to culinary school after college, he said baking wasn’t ‘manly enough.’ He wanted me to go into construction like him. And so I did.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Holly said, indignation flashing in her eyes. “Have you seen yourself? You could knead dough in a pink apron and still look like you could bench-press a truck.”
Heat crept up Daniel’s neck at her words. Had she been noticing his physique?
Wait until she sees mine, his bear said.
“Yeah, well. Dad had old-fashioned ideas about a lot of things.” Daniel shrugged. “I opened Brooks’ Bakery anyway. Turns out Bear Creek was desperate for a decent croissant.”
Holly laughed, the sound warming him more than the fire. “Those pain au chocolat this morning were evidence enough of that.”
They fell silent again, the crackling fire filling the space between them. Holly pulled the sleeves of his sweater over her hands, creating makeshift mittens as she tucked her feet further under herself. The movement was unconsciously endearing, like she was burrowing deeper into his world.
“How do you manage it all?” she asked after a moment, her voice filled with curiosity. “The bakery and two young children. It can’t be easy.”
The question touched something deep within Daniel, a vulnerability he rarely exposed. But the intimacy of the moment, just the two of them in the firelight, the children sleeping upstairs, the snow falling outside, invited honesty in a way he couldn’t resist.
There was nowhere to hide here, and for once, he wasn’t sure he wanted to.
“It wasn’t part of the plan,” he admitted, watching the flames dance. “Being a father. I mean, I always wanted kids someday, but not like this. Not alone.”
Holly’s eyes never left his face, her attention a tangible thing that encouraged him to continue.
“Three years ago,” he began. “I got a call from Fiona over at social services. Emergency placement needed for two siblings. Their mother had been ill for months but had tried to keep the family together. There was no other family available…”
He took a breath, the memory vivid despite the years that had passed.
“It was supposed to be temporary. Just until they could find a more permanent situation.” Daniel’s voice cracked at the memory. “But the moment they arrived—you know, Holly, they were so small. Clinging to each other like they were all either of them had left in the world. And I had this overwhelming need to protect them.”
He could still see them standing in his doorway, Maisie’s thin shoulders squared protectively around her little brother, both of them with hollow eyes that had seen too much.
His bear had risen so fast then, a wall of instinctive fury and protection, that he’d barely heard the social worker’s explanation over the roar in his head.Ours.
“Their mom died a short time later. And by then...” He swallowed hard. “By then, I couldn’t imagine them anywhere else. They were already mine, you know?”
Holly nodded, her eyes bright with unshed tears.
“The town rallied around us. The paperwork took months, but the love? That was immediate.” Daniel smiled, remembering the casseroles that appeared on his doorstep, the offers of childcare, the way Bear Creek had embraced his unexpected family. “I rebuilt everything around them. Changed the bakery hours to work around school drop-offs, rearranged my entire life to givethem stability. Therapy appointments, bedtime routines, school plays—all of it.”
“That’s...” Holly’s voice wavered. “Daniel, that’s incredible. You’re incredible.”
Her words hit him hard. She understood him.
And the choices we’ve made. His bear rumbled with pleasure at her approval.
“Not really,” he demurred, uncomfortable with the praise. “Anyone would have done the same.”
“No,” Holly said firmly. “They wouldn’t have. Trust me.”
