If Only In Our Dreams (Christmas Daddies, #3)

by Fae Quin

Welcome back, Uncle Dad Robin. Dad Uncle Robin. Duncle Robin. Robin the First. Duncle Robin the 1st. Duncle Robin the 1st, the coolest duncle in all the land.

And again, Jason-Statham-level child-yeeting was not on my Christmas to-do list. Not that he’d ever yeet a child. He’d yeet people—adult people.

Maybe that was love. Accepting that one day you might lose the person that made your heart full, but choosing them anyway. The deeper I sank, the harder it would be to heal, but I was at peace with that.

It was a pattern. A beautiful, glorious, wonderful pattern. Like a patchwork quilt, different squares, all sewn together to make what would one day be the stories I told my grandchildren. They’d ask me if I’d ever been in love, and Robin’s eyes would come to mind. His laugh. His smile. The way he was more open than anyone I’d ever met, and yet more guarded too.