Page 21 of Maldives & Mistletoe

ELEVEN

Abriella and Tommas

TOMMAS

“Did you like all those lights, huh?”

Tommaso nodded, holding tight to his father’s hand. “Yeah, Papa.”

Tommas grinned. “I bet. Did you help Ma decorate the tree, too?”

“I did. Put the star on top, too.”

Chuckling, Tommas bent down to pick his son up. Balancing Tommaso on his hip, he headed into the hut with Abriella close behind. She wandered into the sitting area as he headed for the back where the beds were waiting for them. Or rather, Tommaso’s bed was waiting for him. Tommas didn’t need his son to tell him for him to know—the boy was dead tired.

All that excitement today had really done him in. That was the thing about kids. They spent their whole day in a constant state of movement and then when nighttime fell, they were out because of it.

Not that he was complaining.

Setting Tommaso on the bed, Tommas went about pulling all the curtains down to give the boy a sense of privacy. Plus, it helped to block out some of the light that was still shining in through the windows. It wasn’t even dark yet, but that didn’t matter.

It was eight.

Eight meant bedtime for Tommaso.

“Do you want Papa to read you a book before bed?” Tommas asked as he helped his son undress.

“No, I sleep.”

Tommas smiled. “All right, buddy.”

Soon, Tommaso was dressed, and under the covers. All that could be seen was his dark hair and bright blue eyes peeking out over the edge of the blanket as he stared up at his father.

“Papa?”

“Hmm, what?”

“Will Santa still find me?”

Kneeling down beside the bed, Tommas rested his arms along the edge and met his son’s gaze. “Why wouldn’t he, Tommaso?”

“I not home, Papa.”

“Santa can find you anywhere. He’s magic like that, you know?”

“How?”

“He just is.”

“But why?”

Tommas laughed under his breath. Fucking kids. If he kept this conversation up with his son, Tommaso would find a reason to ask how or why for every single answer Tommas gave him. That’s just how it worked with these little monsters.

“Santa is going to find you, I promise,” Tommas said, leaning forward to press a kiss to his son’s forehead before smoothing down his unruly hair with his palm. “But only if you go to bed like a good boy. Got it?”

“Okay, Papa.”

“Night, little man. Love you.”