Sugar Dusted Dad Bod (Dad Bod Christmas)

7. Cady

Seven

Cady

T hree years later

December is always a crazy month for Sugar Dusted bakery. Inge takes on extra help out in the shop to serve the long lines of customers; Jasper works late every night to keep up with the holiday rush. The whole city gets a sweet tooth, craving Jasper’s gingerbread snowmen or frosted cupcakes, and the bakery works extra hard to deliver.

Tonight, when I arrive for my Christmas Eve shift, it’s no different. The kitchen is warm and bright, all the ovens stuffed full and rumbling as rows and rows of baked goods turn golden inside them. My husband stands at the kitchen island, his hands dusted with flour as he kneads a lump of bread dough, his shoulders tensed with exhaustion.

When I step inside in a flurry of snowflakes, Jasper looks up and smiles. The tension bleeds from his shoulders.

“Hey, you.” My bearded baker keeps kneading as I hang up my coat and bobble hat, then smooth my tunic over the small curve of my baby bump. It’s early days, so early I’m barely showing, but I can’t stop flattening my clothes against my bump and admiring it in every reflective surface. “How’re you both doing?”

“Good.” I crane up and kiss Jasper’s cheek on my way to the sink to wash up. The hot, soapy water makes my hands prickle after the cold walk outside. “We’re ready to rock and roll.”

“Are you sure—”

“Yes,” I interrupt. “I’m sure.”

After all, I’m only a few months along, and I still have plenty of energy. I want to bake for a few hours. Besides, what else am I gonna do with my Christmas Eve? Spend my night stretched out on the couch, mooning over my hardworking husband?

At least here, we can chat and laugh together and sing along to the radio out of tune. We can snack on the misshapen reject cookies that never make it to the shop display case, and if I get really antsy, at the end of his shift I can drag Jasper into the break room and strip the tunic off that magnificent body.

“Take lots of breaks,” Jasper says, frowning at me as I waltz past him to the ovens to check on a tray of pies. “Cady, are you listening? Sit down whenever you need and drink plenty of water. And if anything starts to feel off, even a tiny bit—”

“Yeah, yeah.” The oven door creaks open, and a wave of heat washes over my face. It smells like buttery sweet pumpkin goodness, and my stomach growls in response. I sense a slice of pie in my near future. “Don’t worry. I’m not really here to work that hard.”

Jasper chokes out a laugh. “Good.”

Snowflakes billow past the window, and the pies turn golden in the oven. My gentle giant of a husband smacks his bread dough down with enough force to make the island rattle, then slides me a bashful glance.

“Oops,” he says.

I grin.

It’s Christmas Eve, and I’m tucked up here in the bakery with my favorite person in the world. Life is good.

* * *

Thanks for reading Sugar Dusted Dad Bod! I hope you loved it. :)

For more burly dreamboats, check out the other books in the Dad Bod Christmas series!

And for another off-limits boss at Christmas-time, check out Santa Baby . We’re messing around when we call our boss Santa. But the truth is, I’d die to sit on his knee.

And for a bonus instalove story, grab your copy of Something Sweet . I spend every Valentine’s Day baking cookies for my friends and neighbors. But the bad boy who just moved to town? He’s hungry for something else…

Happy reading!

xxx