Let Your Hearts Be Light (Christmas Daddies, #1)

by Fae Quin

Today was going to be a good day.

Today was going to be a horrible day.

This town was too small. Too crowded. Too…cheerful.

And the worst of them all was Baxter Baker.

Baxter was…sunshine. I hated sunshine.

surreptitiously

Kill me now.

Grumpy. Big. Thick. Intimidating. With tattoos galore and more salt than pepper in his beard and wavy, sandy-brown hair. I was maybe only a little ashamed to admit he looked like he’d stepped straight off the webpage of the Nice Wood lumberjack porn website that I paid a monthly subscription to.

With an addition on the back that I was sure Paxton used for all of his…talented shenanigans. He said he preferred ‘handyman’ but I couldn’t help but privately think of him as a house-magician.

Or! Maybe he’d heard about my new dog.

And just a dash of friendship.

That night the thought of Baker sitting alone in his car staring off into space followed me like a specter as I went through my nighttime routine. His green eyes haunted me as I brushed my teeth. His freckles, a poltergeist where their memory hung overtop my bed frame as I lay naked beneath the covers.

I’d gone to the gay bar an hour out of town and fucked a cute twink in a bathroom stall.

“Which room do you think is Becca’s?” he asked, like an absolute fucking creep. But he was my creep, so I loved him anyway. “Weird question, bud.”

By the time we arrived at the movie theater I’d sweated through my sweater (Ha!).

“You’re late.” Paxton said. No greeting for me. Nooope. No ‘hi, Baxter.’ No ‘how are you Baxter?’ No ‘sorry about the hot mess you landed yourself in last week Baxter.’ Just…‘you’re late.’ As if I wasn’t already completely aware.

Ha, think straight. Impossible.

Paxton’s chest flexed as he moved and I had to close my mouth for fear of drooling. He was all muscles. Dark curls. Honey eyes. With chest hair curling at the collar of his shirt.

Inflation apparently didn’t have the Christmas spirit.

however–because I had snacks now–I

nothing but a solid little chocolate-pumpkin soldier.

The man’s biceps looked like they could command a troupe all on their own.

He didn’t respond, just held up a finger to shush me. So. There was that.

Bad dick, I admonished internally as my cock gave a little twitch at the memory.

Why was I thirsting after a six-foot-five boulder with a fabulously groomed beard?

And with that she utterly fucking abandoned me.

his freckles twitching as he scrunched his nose again. I wanted to… I wanted…Fuck.

I supposed he wasn’t wrong. From an outside perspective, what I shared with most members of Belleville could be seen as friendship. What it was however was…good will? The desire to chase off my demons. Chasing light instead of shadows. Drops of sunlight in puddles of darkened memory.

“I’m not happy.” I stared at him, suddenly unafraid, despite the way his brows lowered and his eyes only grew darker. “If you hate me because I’m happy, then you’re just…” I shook my head. “You’re just completely fucking stupid.” “What?” “I’m not happy, Paxton.” I pointed my spatula at him, my voice wobbling as the words that I’d kept barricaded inside of me since the day my sister died barreled to the front. “I’m absolutely fucking miserable.” My hands were shaking, shaking, shaking. “Now, go wash your fucking hands.” Paxton did as he was told.

I couldn’t help but forgive him a little for his earlier rudeness when I saw the pink tip of his tongue poke out in concentration as he plopped a carrot nose artfully on one of his snowmen.

Becca was an asset. My sanity. My heart. My everything.

Why did remembering the painful, angry bite to his words, the quiver of his lips, the flutter of his wet lashes—why did that make me want to fucking punch something?

I couldn’t help but think about him again. His dark circles. The exhaustion written in his every pore. It was no secret that Baxter’s bakery was down for repairs. Everyone in town had heard of it the day it had happened. Suddenly it went from “don’t forget to pick up your everyday bagels from Baker’s Bakery” to “poor Baxter, I wonder what he’s going to do now that he’s out of work.” Clearly, he’d made it work though. His massive kitchen had been full of all the appliances that had somehow survived the death of his bakery. It hadn’t been a tragedy that had ruined the rest of them, but the curse of time. When Baxter had bought it from old man McMillan the place had already been old as fuck. Ten years in and well, things were bound to break. There was only so much duct tape and determination could hold together. Maybe… Maybe. Maybe I could help. I penned down my thoughts on my notebook in the shop, flopping down on the couch as I mulled over what I could do to make right what I’d done. How do you say sorry to a person who you’ve wronged for no reason for years? You don’t. Or… Fuck.

As I lay in bed and stared out my window, loneliness crept up on me for the first time in a long time. I watched fat snowflakes fall from the heavens and my heart tapped an unsteady staccato against my breastbone. Somewhere halfway across Belleville, Baxter was at home, sleeping in his empty bed too. If he looked out the window maybe he’d see the same flakes I was seeing. Mirrored anyway. We weren’t so different after all. Maybe fixing up his bakery would help him financially but… It wouldn’t fix the mess I’d made of his feelings. Maybe I shouldn’t care as much as I did. Maybe I was growing soft in my old age. A new idea occurred to me, one on a much smaller scale, and with a small smile I set my alarm, tipped onto my belly, and let sleep consume me. Tomorrow was a new day and I knew exactly what I needed to do to make this right.

I needed some quality time with my right hand and an incognito tab if I was going to survive this.

“You’re going with me.”

“Saw through that, did you?” “Course.” He flashed me a smile.

right into Paxton’s fucking lap.

I just climbed to the top of the hill again, sat down on Paxton’s sled and took him for another ride.

“What can I say?” I hummed, watching as horror dawned on her face. “I’m a sled for it.”

Paxton’s laughter broke the silence, interrupting me as the quiet rumbling chuckle filled the room like an avalanche. “Sled for it.” He shook his head and I turned to stare at him, my jaw dropping.

“Like slut?” I offered, in case for some reason he was laughing at something else—something that wasn’t my amazing (horrible) pun. That apparently no one else got.

“Dad jokes,” I agreed, flashing Paxton a secretive smile that he—to my surprise—returned.

I hired her.

For some reason I wasn’t ready for Baxter to meet my family yet. Maybe it was because they were embarrassing. Maybe it was because they all knew shit about me I didn’t want him to know. Maybe it was because…well. Maybe it was because he was fucking pretty, and all they’d need to do is look at me to see right through the mask I’d had to throw up around him since that night he put me in my place. I deserved what he’d said to me. I’d been a dick. Judged him for his coping mechanism of choice, like it was his fault I was fucking miserable too. Man, what a joke. Ever since he’d been honest with me though, it felt like the wall between us was slowly crumbling. I was letting myself feel again and it was…terrifying.

Why was it cute he was asking me this? Why was he cute? Why? Fucking. Fucking fuck.

and Paxton Montgomery was holding my fucking hand.

Holding hands with possibly the most attractive man I had ever seen, in the most magical place I had ever been. My heart was soaring, my ears pink as I tugged Paxton from booth to booth and loaded up on roasted nuts and chaos.

His hands were massive—as massive as he was. Callused. Warm. Scratchy as he tucked me inside his grip and refused to let go. I never knew hand holding could be so sensual. It seemed so innocent. Tell that to my dick.

Platonic hand holding, platonic hand holding, platonic hand holding,