Clayton
The first thing I noticed when I woke was warmth. Not just the kind that came from the blankets or the steady heat in the room, but the quiet kind that seeped into your chest when you realized you weren’t cold, or alone.
Felix’s arm had been heavy around me through the night, not trapping, just…there. Solid. Safe. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d slept like that—not braced, not pretending, not listening for the sound of someone slamming a door.
It didn't matter what time Jason ever rolled in, he expected me to be there waiting.
I lay there for a while, watching the soft rise and fall of his chest. He looked younger in sleep. Less guarded. I wanted to stay here forever, but the part of me that could never sit still started whispering that I shoulddosomething—show I was grateful, make myself useful before he woke up and remembered I was still here.
I slipped out of bed carefully, tucking the blanket back around him. He didn’t stir.
The house was quiet as I padded down the hallway in my socks. The floor was cool underfoot, and the faint scent of his cologne lingered in the air—clean, cedar, steady. It made me smile before I even realized I was doing it.
In the kitchen, I found the coffee. Just smelling it was enough to make my chest loosen another notch. It felt like a normal morning—something I hadn’t had in too long. I started humming before I knew it, pulling out eggs and bacon from the fridge, setting water to boil.
I wanted him to wake to warmth. To something soft.
The rhythm of cooking calmed me—stirring, flipping, plating. I found cinnamon in the cupboard and added a dash to the toast, just because. The way Mom used to.
My phone sat on the counter, and when I scrolled through playlists, my thumb landed onChristmas Favorites.It was muscle memory, I guessed—from years of running the holiday display at the toy store. Back when I used to start every day with carols and the smell of sugar cookies from the mall bakery next door.
I smiled, remembering the chaos of those mornings—tangled garlands, sticky candy canes, kids shrieking with laughter. I’d loved it. The mess, the sparkle, the believing.
Now the sound of “Jingle Bells” even quiet echoed in the space, and for a second, I almost felt like that man again. The one who made other people happy.
I was just finishing the eggs when I heard soft footsteps behind me.
“Morning,” Felix said, voice still rough from sleep.
I jumped and nearly dropped the spatula. “Sorry! I was trying not to wake you.”
He leaned against the doorframe, looking at me in that way that made my stomach flutter—like he sawme, not the mess I’dbeen lately. “You succeeded. Barely. I thought the coffee was a dream.”
I couldn’t help smiling. “Breakfast is ready. I was keeping it warm.”
His eyes landed on the plates. “You’ve been up a while.”
“Not really,” I said, suddenly shy. “I just…didn’t want to waste the morning. I hope it’s okay.”
“More than okay,” he said, and the warmth in his voice made my throat go tight.
I handed him a mug. “One sugar, right?”
His eyebrows rose. “You remembered.”
“Of course.”
He took a sip and smiled, that lazy, dangerous kind of smile that made my pulse trip.
The song changed to “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas,”and I realized too late that I’d left the Santa hat out on the chair. He followed my glance, smirking.
“Planning something festive?”
I laughed, embarrassed. “Kind of. I’ve got a booking with the agency this afternoon. Office party in town. They need a Santa.”
“I bet they do,” he said, softer this time, almost fond.
That warmth spread through me again, curling deep in my chest.
