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

by Fae Quin

He wore his clothing like it was armor, carefully picked so you couldn’t see the chinks.

“You’re not fucking it up,” he disagreed, eyes crinkling at the corners. “You’re just…super fucking awkward dude. But in a cute way. I mean…the photo album was pretty extra, but I super appreciate it.” “I don’t want to be creepy.”

“If you can scare me I’ll tell you what happens to Beckett,” I promised, still holding his hand.

I was here, and it was going to snow, and Ben’s hands were larger than dinner plates—so there was no need to be sad.

And all the while, I wished and wished and wished that I could ride down that first time again. That I could feel Ben behind me. That his warmth could be mine, and that smile would stay forever. Snowflakes fell. The night grew dark. And for the first time in years, I felt like I belonged.

Ben Montgomery was warm dinners, late nights, and laughter. He was solid, and sure, and dependable. He was the sun rising every morning, and the moon at night. He was caring and predictable in the way only truly good people were.

In his bed, I wasn’t poison. I was just me. And he was Ben. And for a moment, I let myself pretend that this could be forever.

A life without Ben Montgomery was not a life at all. He was the click of a metronome. He was C major. He was lilting notes and revelation. He made my world quiver and shake, like the last tremulous notes of a love song. He was peace and longing, and happiness, all rolled into one tall, serious, but kind man.

Ben was the kind of man who deserved sacrifices. He was the kind of man who deserved to be chosen. To be chased. To be cherished. Bright as the winter mornings I’d seen in the Christmas movies I’d grown up coveting. He was childlike laughter, tearing open wrapping paper, and home—idealized in one, lovely, cologne-wearing person.