Yet her excitement was by far stronger than any negative emotions as she got out of bed.
Despite what they’d lost, there was so much to be grateful for. They’d escaped tragedy with their lives and their health. They’d found a new home, and they were forming a new family with Broxen. Maybe there’d be little in the way of presents tomorrow, but Gabby and Ana had received so much more than they could ever have hoped for.
It was the little things; the memories they were making, the love they were sharing. It was the way Broxen encouraged Ana to try new things, the way he kept her involved, the way he talked to her with respect and encouragement. It was the way he held Gabby, the way he looked at her, or how he seemed to always be making little adjustments around the house to make things more comfortable for her. It was the way he’d offer to help her in the kitchen even when he clearly had no idea what he was doing—or how he simply stood near and talked to her when she didn’t need help.
It was the thoughtfulness of leaving an extra light on for a little girl who’d had to move into a new place unexpectedly, the simplicity of scrambled eggs and jellied toast, the kindness of the fluffiest towel in the house always being ready when Gabby took a shower.
When Gabby emerged from the bedroom, she was hit immediately by the mouthwatering aroma of fresh pancakes. Her eyes rounded as she found Ana and Broxen in the kitchen.
The place was a mess. Flour was scattered everywhere, including on the two chefs. It stood out especially on the red skin of Broxen’s arms and hands. There were tiny globs of pancake batter splattered across the countertop, along with several folded and wadded paper towels smeared with more batter—and with blue and red stains, undoubtedly from the blueberries and sliced strawberries in two nearby bowls. A third bowl held sliced bananas.
Broxen was at the stove, tending a skillet in which a big pancake was cooking. His tail was free, swishing lazily in the air behind him, and he’d pulled his long, dark hair back into a messy manbun. For being a huge, muscular, horned alien, he sure looked good performing such a mundane task.
He’d look sexy doing any task.
Ana was beside him, holding one of those microwave lids over a plate piled with pancakes, its clear plastic all steamed up. There were three empty plates stacked beside that one, and a few items that would’ve triggered the mom alarms had Gabriela seen them in front of her child any other time.
Three bottles of syrup—maple, chocolate, and strawberry—and a can of whipped cream. Sugar, sugar, and more sugar.
“Ready,” Broxen said.
Ana lifted the plastic lid, bouncing in place. Broxen picked up the skillet, slid the spatula beneath the pancake, and flopped it atop the stack on the plate. Ana covered the food again as soon as the spatula was clear.
Seeing the two of them working together like that was bittersweet. She wished that Ana hadn’t had to go nine years of her life with no father, that she’d had to wait so long for moments like this.
She wished that they both hadn’t had to wait this long for Broxen.
“You two have been busy,” Gabriela said with a smile.
Ana turned her face toward Gabriela, lips spreading into a huge grin that made her missing canines seem more prominent and adorable. She had a smudge of flour on her nose. “Morning Mom. We’re making you breakfast. Well, there’s some for us, too, but mostly it’s for you.”
Broxen chuckled, glancing at Gabby briefly as he poured more batter into the skillet. He had some flour smeared across his cheek and one of his horns, and several loose strands of hair dangled in front of his face; his smile was somehow sexier than ever in that moment. “Morning, Gabriela. We’re almost done.”
Gabriela placed her hand on his back, leaned forward, and drew in a deep breath. “Mmm. Smells good. I can’t wait.”
Broxen dipped closer to her, brushing the tip of his nose over her hair, and inhaled. His tail stroked her calf. “You smell better, female.”
She caught her bottom lip with her teeth and looked up at him.
“Please don’t ruin my appetite,” Ana said.
Laughing, Broxen straightened and returned his attention to the skillet—though his heated gaze lingered on Gabriela for a fraction of a second longer before he did so.
Ana lifted the plastic lid and transferred one of the large pancakes onto an empty plate. “What do you want on yours, Mom?”
“Blueberries, strawberries, bananas, and whipped creamed.”
“What syrup?”
“I don’t need any.” Gabriela pinched Ana’s cheek. “You’re too sweet for me already.”
Ana giggled and wriggled out of her mother’s clutches. “Mooooom.”
They all sat at the table to eat after Broxen was done cooking, Gabby and Ana laughing at the massive stack of pancakes Broxen had served himself, which was overflowing with every topping—including all three kinds of syrup.
Though he didn’t ask Gabriela to help clean up afterward, Broxen didn’t turn her away, either; they cleaned the kitchen together, and she was unable but to shake her head at the mess they’d managed to make.
Once everyone was dressed and had brushed teeth and hair—and Broxen had reactivated his human disguise—they bundled up and ventured outside to hang the remaining Christmas lights on the house.
That led into Ana finally getting to make her snowman. She made a small one on her own, first, to show Broxen how. Then Ana and Gabriela had worked together to make a bigger snowman—one about the same height as Ana herself—while Broxen began one of his own.
Just the base snowball he rolled was as tall as Ana. When he was finally done, the snowman he’d built—more like a snow behemoth—was even taller than Broxen himself.
It was also more crooked than their little Christmas tree, and its head was nearly the same size as its middle.
After they used rocks for eyes, mouths, and buttons, carrots for noses, and sticks for arms, their snowmen were complete.
“Not bad for a first timer,” Ana said, one hand on her hip as she inspected Broxen’s creation, “but you need to work on your basics.”
“I think it’s good,” Broxen replied with a frown. He crouched down, scooped up a handful of snow, and tossed it at Ana. It struck her coat with a soft piff.
She gasped, her expression one of pure shock and insult. “I can’t believe you did that.”
Gabriela grinned, packed her own snowball, and threw it at her daughter, striking her in the shoulder. “Maybe you should be a little nicer.”
“It’s on!” Ana declared.
Unlike the forest battlefield where they’d had their first snowball fight with Broxen, there was little cover in his front yard, and the three of them were coated in snow in short order. Broxen finally retreated to take shelter behind his snowman, the only thing big enough to shield him.
“No fair,” Gabriela called.
Broxen leaned to the side to look at her. “How?”
The snowball she threw—a soft, powdery one—hit him in the face, bursting into a cloud that left him looking like he’d dunked his head in a bag of flour.
“That’s not fair,” he said, shaking his head to shed excess snow. “You’re playing—”
A snowball from Ana zipped past his ear, prompting him to duck behind the snowman again. He muttered something. Though Gabby couldn’t be sure what it was, it sounded an awful lot like devious females.