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

by Fae Quin

Baxter was…sunshine.

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I hated sunshine.

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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.

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Underneath his gaze I felt about two inches tall and I shuddered, crossing my arms over my chest to protect myself, like maybe if I held tightly enough my heart would stop pounding and I could think straight.

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Except, as I glanced at him again, I noticed his lips were curled into an amused little smile and heat washed through my body at the sight. My toes curled, my fingers tingled, and my heart gave an unsteady thump, thump.

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Inflation apparently didn’t have the Christmas spirit.

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those massive green eyes glimmering with starlight almost like he’d caught the stars themselves within them.

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“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.

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I tried not to be charmed by how the swell of his shoulders filled out his cream colored sweater. He

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was always in sweaters. Looked fucking fuzzy and soft and…man, when I bent closer I caught the scent of snickerdoodles wafting from his skin like he was made out cookies himself. I wondered if I licked him if I’d taste sugar.

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Paxton’s voice grew all growly again and my toes curled inside my winter boots. Jesus. I wondered what he sounded like in bed? All…gruff and…grrrrr. Like a big bear. I bet he had chest hair.

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I noticed his laugh lines for the first time and I had to bite back the urge to reach out and trace over them with reverent fingers. I wanted to kiss them. Kiss his lashes, kiss his dimples, kiss the years of laughter right from his face.

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I should’ve assumed, but somehow I was constantly surprised by sweetness when directed toward me. Like I didn’t deserve it, even though deep down I knew that was a silly notion. Everyone deserves a little love. Even broke bakers with hollow smiles.

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