Page 35 of Daddy Next Door

"He had a long-term relationship before. She moved away." I sipped my chai. "He's so patient, Jen. When I'm stressed about work or spiraling about something stupid, he just listens. Then he tells me exactly what I need to hear—not what I want to hear, but what I need."

Jen studied me. "So when you're with him, you act like a kid?"

"Not all the time. It's more like . . . moments. Spaces where I can let go of being an adult with a mortgage and deadlines and just be." I struggled to articulate it. "He calls me 'little star' and sometimes I color while he reads nearby, or he'll make me hot chocolate with the tiny marshmallows I love, or remind me to take breaks when I'm working too hard."

"And the sex part?" Jen asked bluntly.

I nearly choked on my chai. "Uh . . . that’s good.”

She quirked an eyebrow. “Good, eh?”

“Okay fine it’s the most incredible, amazing experience I’ve ever had.”

She laughed, then leaned forward and asked, "So is this just a kinky thing, or are you actually falling for this guy?"

The question hit me like a splash of cold water. I'd been so caught up in the discovery, in the relief of someone understanding this part of me, that I hadn't fully processed the emotion behind it.

"Both," I admitted. "I'm falling for all of him, Jen. He has this way of being authoritative without being controlling—like he's creating a space for me to be myself more fully, not trying to change me."

"You're glowing," Jen observed. "When you talk about him."

"Am I?" I touched my cheek self-consciously.

"I haven't seen you like this in years. Maybe ever." She paused. "You know I need to meet him now, right? Get the best friend seal of approval?"

I laughed. "I figured that was coming."

We spent the next hour talking about her work drama and my latest design project, but underneath our normal conversation ran a new current of understanding. As we left the coffee shop, Jen hugged me tighter than usual.

"Text me later," she said. "And remember—I want all the details. Well, most of them."

I walked home with lighter steps than I'd had in months, the afternoon sun warm on my face, feeling like I was finally becoming the person I was meant to be.

***

Laterthatday,Istared at my computer screen where the restaurant logo I was redesigning stared back, mocking my lack of focus. The sunset-colored palette blurred as I toggled between layers, trying to find the exact shade that would make the bistro's name pop against the background. I'd opened and closed the file six times in the last hour, each time promising myself I'd concentrate. But my mind kept drifting back to the coffee shop, to Jen's face when I'd explained about Ethan, to the way saying it all out loud had made it more real.

"Focus, Lily," I muttered to myself, selecting the text layer of the logo. The bistro had specified warm colors that evoked Mediterranean evenings, but all I could think about was the cool blue of Ethan's eyes when he smiled at me.

I sighed and minimized the design program. Maybe a quick break would help clear my head. My fingers moved automatically, typing the URL for LittlesOnline into my browser. The familiar pastel interface loaded, and I logged in as StarryLittle, checking first for any notifications. Nothing new except a welcome message to a newcomer in the forums.

Before I could stop myself, I was searching for ProtectorE's activity. His profile showed he'd last been online two days ago—a significant drop from his usual daily presence. Scanning the advice column he typically moderated, I noticed several questions had gone unanswered. The pinned thread about "Creating Safe Spaces" had no recent contributions from him.

A small smile tugged at my lips. I knew exactly why the normally attentive moderator had been absent. He'd been creating a safe space all right—just not online. The thought sent a warm glow through my chest.

My phone chimed from its spot beside my keyboard—a gentle bell sound I'd assigned specifically to Ethan's messages two days ago. My hand darted out so quickly I nearly knocked over my coffee.

Finished with clients earlier than expected. Would you be free this evening for a proper date? Nothing fancy, but something I think you'll enjoy. 7pm?

My heart accelerated like I'd just sprinted up three flights of stairs. A proper date. Not just bumping into each other after I’d trespassed on his property. A planned, intentional date.

I stared at the message, reading it three more times. The clock in the corner of my screen showed 3:24 PM. Less than four hours to prepare—and to finish at least some of this project before allowing myself the evening off.

I typed:That sounds wonderful. I've been looking forward to spending more time with you.

I hit send before I could overthink it.

The response came almost immediately, as if he'd been waiting with his phone in hand:Wear something you won't mind getting a little messy. I'll pick you up at your door.

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