Page 9 of A Little Cinny Latte
I shuffle my way to the kitchen and start a pot of coffee. Even though I’m a little groggy, I got plenty of sleep, and I’m thinking my body just needed it after the move and the drive back.
Riley: Yes! I love baking. I co-own a business with my twin sister. We expanded the business this year and renovated the kitchen.
Once my coffee is ready, I settle back on the sofa since most of my furniture is already in Oliva Cove.
Riley: And what do you do? Or is being a Santa Daddy a full-time gig?
I chuckle.
Over the next hour, we text back and forth, just getting to know each other. I tell him about my career in finance and how I’m now in a position to retire early so that I can go full time with my woodwork.
He sprinkles me with questions about all the different furniture I make, and when I admit I make kinky furniture as well, he litters me with even more questions that have me giggling like a schoolboy. Riley is vivacious yet sweet, and his sense of curiosity is endearing.
Riley tells me all about how his baking took off when he was invited to make colorful cookies and sweets for Olivia Cove’s Pride Event the year before.
John: No way, I was there! I loved your baked goods. I had the cutest sugar cookie that was in the shape of a rainbow with a little bear sitting on it.
Riley: You even remembered what my cookie looked like?
Riley: Oh my gosh! That sounds so dirty!
I can’t stop smiling as I make it to work an hour early. I’m determined to get my ducks in a row so that I can move sooner rather than later.
Maybe it’s the romantic in me, but as we continue texting throughout the day, I’m starting to think that what started off as me needing a fresh start in a new town has turned into something that feels a little more like fate.
John: If you don’t mind me asking, how old are you?
Riley: I’m thirty-two. How old are you?
Something about reading his age makes me feel better. I’ve dated younger, but I always feel like I’m robbing the cradle when I do, especially when the boys I dated seem to be after my money. Knowing that Riley owns his own business, seemswell-liked in town, and is older than most of the boys I’ve met recently soothes my nerves.
John: Forty-five.
I hold my breath. Now, let’s hope he doesn’t mind how old I am.
Riley: Good to know. Am I supposed to call you Santa Daddy from now on?
I groan. Oh shit, I haven’t even told him my name. Not to mention, he doesn’t even know what I look like. Should I send him a photo? I scroll through the gallery on my phone and frown when I realize I don’t have any photos of me.
I toggle over to my social media and notice my only decent photo is several years old. Damn. I’m going to have to update my profile picture. I’ve been so focused on work for the past ten years. I can’t remember the last time I took a fun selfie.
John: I don’t mind if you call me Daddy Santa. But my name is John. I also go by Daddy John to most.
But if I’m being honest, I would prefer him to just call me Daddy.
Damn.
With just a few stolen glances and a day spent filling each other’s phones with text messages, Riley now has me wrapped around his little finger.
I’m in so much trouble with this little.
(December 25th)
John: Merry Christmas, baby boy!
Riley: Merry Christmas, Santa Daddy! Thank you for the gift. I love it!
Suddenly, the breath leaves my lungs as a photo loads on my phone.
