“And this is your father’s.” She holds up a larger two-piece set in the same pattern. “Although I don't think it's going to fit you, darling.”

My father grumbles at her.

She smiles sweetly at him. “It’s okay, I bought it in the next size up as well.”

Everyone laughs as my dad’s grumble gets louder. But after holding up both pairs, he agrees that the larger size is more likely to fit him. My mom claps her hands together. “Great! Now Jake can wear—”

“Oh no,” I interject. “That is not necessary. He doesn’t—”

Jake steps around me. “I love them, Mrs. Gibb. What great luck that you happened to get an extra pair.”

My mother swoons. Literally does a dip backward, and my father has to catch her. “It's like it was meant to be.”

I roll my eyes, seeing right through her over the top response. That was planned from beginning to end.

My dad frowns. That's more like it. He should be skeptical of this whole thing.

Jake seems pleased with my mom’s reaction and unperturbed by my dad’s as he turns around. He drags his gaze down my body, all the way to my toes. Then all the way back up again before lifting his PJs in the air. “So do we put these on now, or save them for Christmas Eve? What's the tradition?”

“Movie night tonight,” I say faintly. “We all watch White Christmas and people sneak out in turns to do last-minute wrapping.”

He beams at me. “Sounds amazing.”

Sounds like torture.

When can I be alone with him and find out more about how he likes me to call him Daddy?

* * *

Jake sends me upstairs to shower and get into my jammies alone. I want to protest, but there’s no way to do that subtly in front of my family, and he gives me a sharp look that says, I know what you want, and you will wait like a good girl.

It’s an effective look.

It’s a hot look.

It’s also deeply frustrating and makes me want to be a brat, so after my shower, I loosely plait my damp hair into two braids, playing up the not-at-all-innocent innocent look. And for good measure, I don’t put a bra or underwear on under the PJs.

When I come downstairs, he’s having a glass of scotch with my dad, and he chokes on his next sip as he sees me bound in, my curves stretching the limits of the festive onesie.

Good.

I hope he enjoys his solo shower.

* * *