“They want Santa in New York to basically do what he did for Thomas and Mason but with triple the team and budget.”
“New York?” I rubbed my chest. That was four, five states away.
“If you don’t ask him out, I swear to God, Felix…”
I nearly dropped the phone. “Jesus, Livvy, it’s not like that.”
“Sure,” she said, sing-song. Then: “You saw him with the kids yesterday. Max has not stopped talking about Santa. Could you maybe…invite him for Christmas Day?”
I hesitated. That was a hell of a step.
Livvy filled the silence for me. “He’s alone, right? No family? Just invite him. No expectation. Just food and company.”
I could do that. I could do that easily. “Yeah. Thanks, Liv. I owe you.”
She snickered. “You owe Carla, but maybe just pay it forward. See you Christmas Day, Felix.”
She hung up before I could answer.
I set the phone down and stared at the countertop. I ran a hand over my beard, thinking of how Clayton had looked last night. The raw need, the desperate pride every time I praised him. The way he’d eaten, careful and starved at once. I’d never seen a man so hungry for approval. For care.
I liked that about him. I liked it too much.
The condo was quiet. I made another coffee, just to keep my hands busy. Charlotte had texted again:Make sure you set a bedtime. Littles will skip sleep and then crash hard. They need permission to rest.
I thought about the way Clayton had burrowed into my chest last night, face pressed to my skin, greedy for every ounce of safety I could give him.
It was so simple. He just wanted to be kept close. Like he was important.
Clayton was still asleep in my room. I’d checked. More than once. I’d cleaned him up before I fell asleep myself last night, and he hadn’t stirred. He’d woken and tried to stumble to the bathroom himself around five, and it hadn’t registered when I helped him, which cemented more and more the realization I’d come to last night. That Clayton was a Little I didn’t doubt, but I had no idea what age he was or even if he knew himself. I doubted it. He curled up in the sheets like he expected to be kicked out, both hands fisted under his jaw, hair wild, face soft the way I doubted anyone had ever seen before.
He looked so damn peaceful it hurt.
I made toast and eggs for myself, then half-eaten, pushed the eggs aside and started a second batch. He’d want warm food when he woke up. Maybe juice, and I wished I had a special cup he could use. Littles liked that. I knew at least that much. I’d seen the way he reacted from the hot chocolate, the way his whole face changed, and I figured it was a good place to start.
The apartment was too quiet. I padded down the hall and just watched him for a second. Light from the window caught on the scar at his jaw, the gray streaks in his hair. He didn’t look young, but it suited him.
I almost didn’t want to wake him. He looked like he needed every second of it.
I leaned on the doorframe.
“Time to wake up,” I said, gently.
He startled. I’d been careful, but I could see the way his body went tight, panic before his brain caught up. Then he saw me and it faded. He blinked, slow and owlish, like he couldn’t believe he was still here.
“Morning,” he whispered. His voice was wrecked.
“Morning, yourself.” I watched him. “You slept well.”
He thought about it. “Yeah. Better than I have in a long time.”
I’d expected the self-deprecating laugh, the apology, but it didn’t come. He just blinked at me, hair sticking up, sheets tangled around his waist.
“Use the bathroom, then come eat. You need it.” I let my voice go a little firmer and watched the way he responded. It wasn’t like he was scared or frightened of disobeying me, it was more like the clear instructions settled him, gave him direction, and that was so appealing to the Dom in me.
I watched him disappear into the bathroom and had to force myself to stop following him. It wasn’t fair to send mixed signals. Clayton wasn’t a guy you played with for a night and moved on from. Clayton was a commitment. A life-long one. I’d tell him about his job prospects, make sure he got a ride home, then…no. No, I wouldn’t. I mean,yes,I’d tell him what Carla had said, but I wasn’t ready to let him go. I glanced around my sterile apartment. It was functional, but it had never been a home. Not that I’d ever had one of those. Not even when Livvy and I had been kids.
Then I remembered what Livvy had said to me once. It had been her wedding day, and they weren’t having a honeymoon because they couldn’t afford it, and she said they were just going home. I’d wrinkled my nose, thinking of their studio apartment, and she’d giggled and said she didn’t mean where they were living. Home wasn’t a place. Home was a person. Daniel was her person, and she would be at home wherever he was.
