Page 121 of Daddies' Holiday Toy
Coward.
“Maybe I just wanted an excuse to spoil you all,” I say, forcing myself to laugh a little.
Jack’s brow furrows. “Your text sounded serious.”
I can feel him wanting to push the subject but before he can, I’m already moving, scraping my chair back, and pretending I don’t notice the tension in the room. I grab the dessert cooling on the counter, little ramekins of chocolate mousse topped with shavings of dark chocolate, and bring them back to the table.
My hands are steady only because I’m forcing them to be when I pass them out, setting them down one by one.
“I’ve been working on some new holiday desserts for the bakery. You’re my test subjects for tonight.”
Reece shakes his head but picks up a spoon anyway. “You know how to derail a conversation, don’t you?”
“Guilty.” When I hand one to Liam, he gives me a small smile.
It doesn’t quite erase or hide the flicker of curiosity in his eyes, but I’m happy when he doesn’t decide to push it either.
If I can just make it through tonight without telling them… if I can keep the bomb from going off for one more day…
Coward, coward, coward.
“Go on,” I say, gesturing to the ramekins. “Taste and tell me which one’s your favorite.”
Dessert buys me time.
It buys me their laughter, too, surprisingly.
Reece accuses Liam of being a “mousse hog” after he tries to swipe another spoonful out of Reece’s ramekin after finishing his own, while Jack pretends to be some impossibly strict judge who quickly caves as soon as the sweet texture hits his tongue.
The sound of them teasing each other softens the knot in my stomach, just enough that I can breathe again for the moment.
But the weight is still there.
Pressing at the back of my mind. Heavy and certain and impossible to ignore.
Maybe that’s why, instead of calling it a night after dessert, I stand and hold out my hand.
“Come on,” I say to them.
There’s no hesitation in following me.
No questions asked.
I lead them down the short hallway to my room, the playful ease from earlier fading with every step until the air between us feels different, charged in a way I can feel practically crawling over my skin with eclectic pulses.
My bedroom is dim, lit only by the soft amber glow of the fairy lights strung along my headboard.
The air smells faintly of vanilla from the candle I lit earlier, its flame flickering low on the dresser from where I forgot to blow it out before they arrived.
We leave the door open, but the entire room seems to shift.
The space between us shrinks without any of us moving much at all, like the magnetic pull is entirely mutual and completely inevitable.
Jack’s the first to close the gap.
His palm comes up to my jaw, tilting my face so I’m looking right at him.
There’s nothing playful in his expression now, no more of the teasing he’d shown at the dinner table.
