Santa Baby Daddy by Paula Dombrowiak
(Hollow Reign, #4)
Publication date: November 3rd 2026
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Holiday, Romance
Hollow Reign's bassist, Casey Beaumont, came to town for the holidays—to catch his bandmate’s Christmas show and have a little fun. One reckless night with a gorgeous stranger definitely counts as fun.
What he didn’t count on was running into her again… as the show’s costume designer. Or spotting the baby bump under all that holiday sparkle.
Casey was never great at math but he’s an expert at falling—for Ava, for the baby, and for a future he can’t stop picturing.
Ava Ramirez has been burned before. The last man who put a baby in her life walked out and never looked back. She is not handing her heart to a serial playboy no matter how cute he is.
But for once, Casey isn’t running. He’s all in.
Ava can’t make the same mistake twice… but would she be missing out on the family she so desperately wants?
Santa Baby Daddy is Book 4 in the Hollow Reign Christmas Novellas, a series of interconnected, steamy holiday romances. Each book can be read as a standalone and features a guaranteed happily ever after.
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EXCERPT
The pregnancy book I’m reading says hormones may increase sexual desire. May, in the same way the ocean may be damp.
So I’m chasing waffles—a safe, legal, closed-toe-shoes kind of craving I can actually satisfy at midnight. Because I’m alone, four and a half months pregnant, in a city where I know exactly four people, and one of them just secretly married a guitarist.
A few months ago, my life was predictable. Planned. I knew where I was going and what the next year was supposed to look like. Now I’m pregnant, living on savings and a theater paycheck, hiding out in Sin City because packing a suitcase felt easier than sticking around to watch that carefully constructed future fall apart.
Vegas was supposed to be temporary. A place where I could keep my head down, sew sequins onto costumes for a naughty Christmas show, and buy myself enough time to figure out how the hell I’m going to raise a human being on my own.
The diner is all buzzing neon and cracked vinyl. There are maybe six people scattered through the place, including a waitress named Lou who looks like she’s been working the graveyard shift since Vegas was built, which is exactly the kind of quiet I came looking for.
Casey Beaumont is sitting at the counter with a milkshake and a stack of pancakes tall enough to qualify as architecture, looking like the universe personally designed him to test the limits of my second-trimester self-control. His blond curls are a little wild, his skin somehow still golden in December, like the sun makes a special exception for him.
He catches sight of me before the bell above the door finishes chiming, and his whole face lights up.
And suddenly, my cravings have been given a target.
“Ava Ramirez,” he says, like I’m the best thing that’s happened to him all day. Considering his band imploded into a tabloid circus before dinner, I’m competing against a remarkably low standard.
I sit. Not because he patted the stool like I’m supposed to come when called, but because the counter is closer to the syrup, my feet already hurt from walking in high-heeled boots—I’m pregnant, not fashion-averse—and refusing a perfectly good seat just to make a point would be childish.
The fact that Casey Beaumont is ridiculously easy to look at has absolutely nothing to do with it.
Lou comes over with her order pad. “Strawberry waffles, extra whipped cream, and a side of dill pickles?” God bless her, she doesn’t even blink.
Casey turns on his stool and looks at me, those pretty blue eyes full of something close to reverence.
“Bold,” he says, lifting an eyebrow. “I respect a woman with range.”
“Don’t judge me, Third Row. My stomach wants what it wants.”
He nudges his milkshake toward me. “Want some? It’s peppermint and festive.”
“I don’t share milkshakes with strangers. Especially ones with carnal knowledge of pretty much the entirety of the chorus line.” I roll my eyes.
“First of all, hearsay. And don’t believe a word of what Denise says—she likes to embellish, unless it’s about certain areas.” He not-so-discreetly gives a nod to his lap before pulling the milkshake back, completely unbothered. “Second of all, we’re not strangers. I know you belt Mariah Carey when you think the theater’s empty, I know nobody touches the thread wall and lives, and I know exactly which pocket the emergency Snickers lives in.” He lifts an eyebrow.
“What are you, the Phantom of the Opera lurking around the theater? It’s creepy.”
“A Phantom sounds badass, but it’s not lurking—it’s called paying attention,” he says, and points his fork at me with delight.
I hold in a giggle. He’s lucky he’s pretty.
That’s the thing about Casey Beaumont. For weeks, I’ve watched him make himself at home in my theater, usually sprawled across the third row with his boots propped on the seat in front of him, radiating the energy of a golden retriever who found the treat cabinet open. He’s Hollow Reign’s bass player and, according to the warning I received shortly after meeting him, “the one we don’t leave unattended.”
My waffles arrive and I stop pretending I have manners. Casey watches me drag the pickle through the whipped cream with the rapt attention most men reserve for playoff games.
“Incredible,” he says softly. “You’re my favorite person I’ve ever watched eat.”
Paula Dombrowiak grew up in the suburbs of Chicago, Illinois but currently lives in Arizona. She is the author of Blood and Bone, her first adult romance novel which combines her love of music and imperfect relationships. Paula is a lifelong music junkie, whose wardrobe consists of band T-shirts and leggings which are perpetually covered in pet hair. She is a sucker for a redeemable villain, bad boys, and the tragically flawed. Music inspires her storytelling.
For more ways to learn about Paula and her books, check out her website: @www.pauladombrowiak.com
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