"Ready for bed, bud?" I asked Tanner quietly.
He nodded, already half-asleep. "Will you read to me tonight?"
"Of course."
Upstairs, he went through his nighttime routine while I picked out a book from his shelf. When he emerged from the bathroom in his elephant pajamas, he stopped short.
"Daddy." His voice was hushed, almost reverent. "There's something on the nightstand."
"Is there?" I tried to keep my expression neutral. "Maybe you should check it out."
He approached the package slowly, like it might disappear if he moved too fast. When he picked it up, his hands were trembling slightly.
"Another gift," he whispered.
"Open it, bud."
He unwrapped it carefully, and I watched his face as he revealed the nightlight. It was sleek and modern-looking, with a rotating dome that would project the stars across the ceiling.
"It's a star projector," he said, running his fingers over the smooth surface.
"There's a note," I pointed out.
He found it tucked in the box and read it silently. I watched emotions play across his face—surprise, understanding, gratitude, and something that looked like it might be more tears.
My boy was a crier.
"They noticed," he said softly. "My Secret Santa noticed that I leave the light on."
It wasn’t all that hard to figure out I imagine. The light was bright enough to create a glow both under my door and against my window. All it would take is the person knowing which room I was staying in for them to put the pieces together.
"Seems like they notice a lot about you."
"They do." He looked up at me. "Daddy, I—" He stopped, biting his lip.
"What is it, bud?"
"Nothing. I’m not all that tired anymore." His voice was coy, like maybe he wanted something more. At the same time, I couldn’t let him skip over seeing his gift in action, no matter how much I wanted to explore him.
I took the nightlight from him. "Want to try it out?"
He nodded eagerly, and I set it up on the nightstand, plugging it in and turning off the main light.
When I switched on the projector, the room transformed.
Stars and galaxies swirled across the ceiling and walls, soft blues and purples and whites creating the illusion of floating in space. It was beautiful and calming and perfect.
Tanner's breath caught. "Oh."
"Like it?" I asked, though his expression already told me the answer.
"I love it." He climbed into bed, never taking his eyes off the ceiling. "It's like sleeping under the stars."
We laid there together for several long minutes, neither of us speaking. There was a peacefulness to it all. A quiet that I appreciated.
“Daddy,” my boy eventually whispered, voice soft with awe, “I need you.”
That word—Daddy—always did something filthy to my blood. I reached over, tugged the box from his fingers, and set it aside. Then I hooked an arm around his waist and rolled half on top of him, pinning his wrists above his head with one hand.
