Page 8 of A Little Christmas Jericho

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Just say thank you, Jericho. Stop being a dweeb. Keep it short and sweet. Don't make it weird!

But the urge to say what I really wanted to say was super overwhelming.

Thank you, Daddy.

Because in one interaction with Colter, he'd shown he was ten times the Daddy that Oscar ever was.

I groaned, tossing the phone down onto the bedspread before I could give in to my urge.

What was I even doing? Colter was a vet. The vet tomypets. So he might be gorgeous, broad-shouldered, gentle-handed and sexy-as-sin. But he was theirdoctor. There were probably some kind of rule against the vets dating the clients.

Except... He'd given me his personal number. Winked at me.Definitelyflirted with me.

I scrubbed my hands over my face. "You're overthinking this, Jericho," I muttered. "Just text the man back before you grow so old it's time for you to retire."

I picked up my phone again and typed it out.

Jericho: Thank you, Colter. Really appreciate the update. Talk to you later.

Then I stared at it.

Deleted it.

Retyped it.

Jericho: Thanks, doctor. You have no idea how much that eases my mind.

Dammit. Still too much.

On a lark I typed out:

Jericho:Thank you, Doctor Daddy.

I was about to delete the words, so I could retype a better version of the first two messages when my alarm sounded. I got such a fright that instead of swiping away the offending wake up call, I sent the text.

I sent the damned text.

I stared down at my screen in mounting horror.

Oh no.

Oh, no no no no no.

Delete.

Unsend.

Dammit, can I even do it on a simple text?

My pulse hammered while I scrambled with the phone, as if sheer panic might reach through the screen and snatch before he saw.

Too late.

The typing bubbles popped up almost instantly.

Doctor Daddy: You're welcome, boy. And what good manners you have.

My breath left me in a sharp squeak. I clutched my pillow to my chest, half tempted to bury my face and scream into it.

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