Sugar Dusted Dad Bod (Dad Bod Christmas)

2. Jasper

Two

Jasper

D ecember usually kicks my ass, what with all the late nights and early mornings at the bakery. All the extra orders pile on, and I keep working and working in a frenzy until finally it’s Christmas day and I can crash out and sleep for forty-eight hours.

At this time of year, only a couple weeks to go until Christmas, I’m usually in the thick of it. Too buried under the avalanche of orders to even think about anything else except work.

Then yesterday, Cady told me she doesn’t have a tree this year and my whole brain stalled.

Now I’m lit up from within, burning with an inner fire, with a need to get Cady that tree. I’ve already found a place selling trees 24/7 only a few blocks from here, and Cady’s place is a short walk beyond that. This is happening.

Today’s shift can’t end soon enough. I’m gonna get my assistant baker her holiday cheer, and I’m gonna make her happy, damn it.

It’s what any good boss would do. No need to look too closely at these feelings.

“You’re being weird,” Cady observes from her spot by the kitchen island, where she’s icing rows and rows of gingerbread snowmen. There’s a smudge of icing sugar on her freckled cheek, and every time I glance over and see it, my insides riot.

What the hell is wrong with me? I’m thirty six years old. I’m a grown adult male with a thriving business and a reputation as one of the best craftspeople in the city. I do my taxes on time each year, and I keep several houseplants alive.

Yet a single glance at my sweet young assistant baker is enough to take me out at the knees. This is messed up.

Has Cady always had such a cute little nose? Has her auburn hair always gleamed like that beneath the warm kitchen lights? She pulls it back in two braids for every shift, the ends tickling at her shoulders, and fuck, the demon inside me wants to grip those braids and steer her pretty mouth wherever I want it.

Evil. Awful. No Christmas tree deliveries can make up for this.

But Christ, I want my assistant baker badly.

These feelings are always there, of course, simmering away under the surface. But it’s so much easier to ignore them for the rest of the year, when we work together in daylight hours while people bustle out in the bakery store. The holiday season is the only time the two of us are truly alone.

When we hole up together in this kitchen late at night, radio crooning and snowflakes swirling past the dark windows, it feels like we’re the last two people on Earth.

Then I start noticing Cady’s delicate hands, and her soft, pink lips, and her big brown doe eyes. All stuff I notice at other times of the year, sure, but at least then, there are other people around. Distractions.

“I found a tree farm.” My voice sounds rough—like, say, a man who’s been lusting after his off-limits employee. “They’re open all night.”

Cady laughs, delighted, and ices a perfect carrot nose onto a snowman. Her hand is steady, and her back must ache from leaning over these trays of baked goods for hours on end, but she never complains.

“Seriously? In the city?”

“Yeah. Not far from here.”

Cady adjusts her grip on the piping bag, smiling wide as she moves onto the next snowman. “Oh, wow. I can’t believe you’re committing to this, Jasper.”

“Why not?” If I sound offended—I am. Why can’t she believe I’m following through on a promise? I may be a terrible boss in the sense that I’m constantly battling the urge to pick Cady up and kiss her, but I’m not unreliable. I’ve always been true to my word.

“It’s just crazy.” Cady’s still smiling down at the snowmen when she says, “No one ever does stuff like this for me.”

I go still.

And I’m standing by the wall ovens, where I just slid a tray of pain au chocolat to bake. The heat seeps out through the oven cracks, blasting the side of my body, but I can’t bring myself to step away. Can’t do anything except replay Cady’s words in my head, over and over and over.

No one ever does stuff like this for me.

No one ever does stuff like this for me.

Well. What the hell have I been doing for the last three years I’ve known this young woman? What’s been the point of me?

Sure, I gave Cady a job and I pay her well and always make sure she takes her breaks and days off. I’m a good boss… with the basics. But all along, Cady’s been alone in the most important ways.

Part of me just assumed she must have a boyfriend taking care of stuff like that. Cady’s so sweet, so funny, so smart and kind, and so heart-breakingly beautiful… yeah, it seemed crazy to ever think that she might be single.

But she’s never mentioned a guy in her life. And now it’s all but confirmed.

Cady is single.

Much good it does me.

“Well, fuck that,” I declare to the quiet kitchen, shocking another laugh out of my assistant baker. “You’re done suffering alone, you hear? You need help with something, you come to me. I’ll take care of it.”

I’ll take care of her.

It would be the greatest honor of my long, lonely life. Even if I take care of Cady until she finally meets the guy she settles down with… that’ll have to be enough for me.

My chest burns as I check on the pain au chocolat. Cady is quiet behind me, icing the gingerbread snowmen in thoughtful silence.

“Thank you,” she says at last, and she sounds so fragile that I get a lump in my throat. Can’t turn around or reply, else I’ll say something we both regret. I grunt instead, reverting to flustered caveman mode. “You’re a really good man, Jasper.”

Yeah… somehow I doubt Cady would think that if she knows the filthy thoughts I get around those auburn braids.

* * *

The Christmas tree ‘farm’ is an old parking lot between a launderette and sex shop with a leather-clad mannequin in the window. The lot has been turned into a maze of Douglas firs, Norway spruces and Scotch pines, the trees bound up in netting and stood upright in buckets, the snow around them littered with dropped needles.

As we browse the rows so Cady can pick out her tree, more than one person wanders through the lot past us, pretending to check prices on buckets, before scuttling into the sex shop instead. Each time, I snort, and each time, Cady shoots me a wry smile.

“You can go wait in there if you like,” she says, and grins even wider when I boom with laughter. The stars above us twinkle, like they’re in on the joke.

“I’m good.”

“You sure?” Cady nudges my elbow, teasing, and even through our thick winter coats, my nerves spark at that contact. “I bet you’d look great with a ball gag, boss.”

“Watch yourself.” Can’t remember the last time I felt this light—not tired at all, despite the long hours of work. No cares in the world. “Else I’ll have to go in there and buy you a paddle.”

Now, Cady’s blush has always been a thing to behold. It starts beneath her scarf, climbing higher and higher up her delicate throat until it spreads over her cheeks and makes her freckles fade. She pokes her tongue out at me before turning back to the row of trees. “I dare you, Jasper. I dare you.”

And I could never do that. It would truly cross a line—way worse than this shameless flirting, even. Cady is my assistant, and I’ll never do anything to make her life more complicated.

But it’s sweet to think about. The most tempting daydream. Cady, pink-faced and laughing as she sprawls over my lap, so petite compared to my bulk. Cady, nude and writhing. Cady, tilting her hips up, coaxing me to spank a red hand-print onto the perfect curve of her ass. Crying out and twitching. Why use a paddle when I could feel her heat beneath my bare palm?

“Do you think this tree will survive until Christmas?” My assistant baker prods at branches bound up in netting, completely oblivious to the slideshow playing in my brain. With effort, I shake off those thoughts and drag myself back to the present.

“Should do.” I lean closer, inspecting the tree as best I can. I’m a baker, not a gardener, but I know enough to stay away from the trees where the needles are already turning brown. “Looks healthy to me.”

Besides: if it dies, I’ll get Cady another one. She will have an apartment full of holiday cheer, if it’s the last thing I do.

“Let’s get this one, then.” Cady bounces on her toes, excited as a little kid, and that happiness is contagious as I wave one of the sellers over. Cady tries to pay, but I hand the cash over her head before she’s even dug her wallet out.

“What? No!”

“Let’s get this show on the road.” The tree is heavy and awkward, and it takes a minute to balance it against my shoulder. Then I turn on my heel and start marching.

“Jasper! You can’t pay!”

“Sure seems like I can.”

“But this was—you shouldn’t have to—”

“I don’t have to do anything,” I interrupt, pausing on the slushy sidewalk outside the lot as taxi cabs trundle down the street. “But I want to buy my assistant baker a tree, and I want to carry it home for her, and I want to make her smile. You gonna stop me, Cady? You gonna ruin my night?”

There’s a string of soft curses, then a small hand grips onto my sleeve. Can’t turn to see her with all the branches in the way, but it sure feels good to know she’s there.

“No, I’m not, you big jerk. Thank you.”

I wait for a gap in the traffic, then step out into the road. “Let’s go, then. This shit is heavy.”