You Can Count On Me (Christmas Daddies, #2)

by Fae Quin

There was nothing sexier than a man who cared about kids. Who knew how to talk to them. Treated them like they were real people—because they were—with big feelings tucked into bodies tiny enough they couldn’t carry them on their own yet.

I’d craved him for centuries, not weeks.

When Mom died we went to the funeral. We bought flowers and dressed in black. I stared at her pretty-pretty casket and cried. Except it didn’t hurt the way it’s supposed to when your mom dies. Maybe being broken was genetic, because even though I was sad she’d passed, I was relieved too.

Relieved she wouldn’t be around to disappoint anymore. Relieved Bubba would grow up without remembering her. Relieved I could move forward now, that I didn’t have to be a stain anymore. I could just be me.

Being a dad wasn’t about the title. It wasn’t about perfection. Being a dad meant showing up when you were needed. It was as simple as that. Doable. Wonderful.