Page 34 of Daddy Next Door

IarrivedatTheCopperCup fifteen minutes early, my mind racing faster than my heart. The little bell above the door announced my entrance to a room that smelled of cinnamon and coffee beans. I'd been here a hundred times before, but today felt different—I was different. My fingers tapped against my phone case as I secured our corner table, checking the time every thirty seconds like it might suddenly leap forward if I wasn't vigilant.

The barista nodded at me with familiar recognition as I ordered Jen's usual caramel latte and my standard chai. I couldn't stop the smile that kept breaking across my face, no matter how many times I tried to compose myself. A woman in the opposite corner caught my eye and smiled back, probably thinking I was responding to her. I quickly looked away, embarrassed.

The coffee shop's mismatched furniture—part vintage charm, part budget necessity—had always made this place feel like someone's eccentric living room. Today, settled into the worn velvet armchair by the window, I noted how the local artwork on the exposed brick walls seemed more vibrant, the colors deeper. Even the cinnamon roll I'd ordered looked more decadent, its frosting glistening under the pendant lights.

I checked my phone again. Three new notifications, none from Ethan, all work stuff. I swiped them away, then pulled up our last text exchange from this morning:

Sleep well, little star?

Like a baby. You?

I dreamed of you. It was perfect.

Simple words that made me tingle all over. I was so absorbed in re-reading our conversation that I didn't notice Jen until she collapsed dramatically into the chair across from me.

"If my boss asks me to 'circle back' on one more project that he torpedoed himself, I swear I'm going to—" She stopped mid-sentence, narrowing her eyes at me. Her windblown hair fell across her face, and she pushed it back impatiently. "Okay, what’s going on. You’re smiling."

I slid her latte across the table. "What? I can't be in a good mood?"

"You're practically vibrating." She reached for her drink, took a sip, and studied me over the rim. "Did you agree to work with that big client? The one with the ridiculous deadline?"

"No, I’m still deciding." I traced the rim of my mug with one finger.

"Then what? You look like you've been mainlining pixie sticks." She leaned forward. "Spill."

I bit my lip, suddenly unsure how to begin. Jen and I had been friends since college—she knew about my disastrous dating history, my career struggles, even that I was a Little. But this was different.

“Remember I mentioned my neighbor?”

“Mr. Hot?”

“He’s called Ethan!”

"It's about Ethan," I said, trying to keep a straight face.

I didn’t do a good job, because her eyes widened. "Did you finally hook up?"

"Well . . ." I lowered my voice, though the nearest customers were well out of earshot. "Remember when I was watering his plants while he was away?"

"I do," Jen nodded, dunking a piece of croissant into her latte.

"Well, while I was at his place, I accidentally found something." I paused, gathering courage. "A room. A special room."

Jen raised an eyebrow. "Like a sex dungeon?"

"No!" I felt my cheeks flush. "Well, not exactly. It was . . . softer than that."

I explained about the pastel decor, the stuffed animals, the tiny details that had confused me at first. As I spoke, Jen's expression shifted from scandalized curiosity to thoughtful interest.

"So it's a . . . little girl room? For adults?" she asked, her voice mercifully quiet. “The stuff you’re into?”

"Yeah. DDLG."

"So Ethan is into it too? Obviously, given the room, but he wants this with you? This is huge!"

"After he caught me in the room, we talked. For hours." I remembered the careful way he'd approached me, without anger or embarrassment. "He explained everything, answered all my questions. He's been part of this community for years. He even moderates an online forum."

"Wait, so he's experienced at this?"

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