Page 39 of Daddy Next Door

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Wesettledintothestudio's attached café area. Pendant lamps hung from exposed beams, casting pools of warm light over each small table. The air smelled of herbal tea and butter cookies, with underlying notes of clay and wet earth from the studio next door. I cupped my hands around a steaming mug of mint tea, watching as Ethan stirred honey into his own. He still had traces of clay beneath his fingernails.

"This was a good idea," I said, savoring the warmth spreading through my fingers. "I've never done anything like this before."

"I wanted something memorable." He set his spoon aside. "Something that wasn't just dinner and a movie."

"Mission accomplished." I smiled, thinking of his lopsided bowl and my galaxy mug waiting to be fired. Tangible reminders of this night that we'd each get to keep.

Ethan reached across the table, his hand covering mine. The simple touch sent a current up my arm. His eyes, serious now, held mine as he asked in a soft, private tone, "How are you feeling about everything? About us?"

The question hung between us, weighted with layers of meaning.

"Well, I told Jen about us today," I finally said, watching his face carefully for a reaction. "Not everything, but . . . the general idea."

His expression remained open, curious rather than concerned. "And how did that go?"

"Better than I expected." I traced the rim of my mug with one finger. "She was curious, of course. Asked a lot of questions. But she wasn't judgmental. She actually seemed happy for me. Said she wants to meet you—give you the 'best friend seal of approval,' as she put it."

Ethan smiled. "I'd be happy to meet her. She's important to you."

"You're not upset that I told her about . . . you know."

"No. It's part of who we are together. The people who matter in your life should know what makes you happy." He squeezed my hand. "I'm glad you felt comfortable enough to share."

The knot of tension I'd been carrying loosened. "She already knew I was a Little. So I just told her a bit about you. Just the basics. That you're... protective. That I sometimes need a space to be more childlike. That it helps with my anxiety."

"Of course. It’s great that you could talk to her about it," he agreed. He leaned forward, his face thoughtful. "I think it's important we talk about how this works—our relationship. It exists in multiple contexts."

"What do you mean?"

"We're neighbors. We're friends. We’re lovers. And we're also Daddy and Little." He spoke with the clear precision I was coming to associate with his professional side. "Each context has its own boundaries and expectations. It's important to establish those early, so we both feel secure."

I nodded, grateful for his directness. So many of my past relationships had been filled with guesswork and confusion.

"In private—your space or mine—our dynamic can flow naturally," he continued. "Those are safe spaces where you can be little if you want, where I can be your Daddy without any constraints except the ones we set together." His thumb traced small circles on my palm. "But in public, like tonight, I'll never do anything that would make you uncomfortable or expose aspects of yourself you want to keep private."

The consideration behind his words made my chest tighten with emotion. He'd thought about this—about protecting not just my physical safety but my emotional comfort.

"That said," he added, "I'll always be watching out for you, guiding when appropriate, regardless of setting. It might be subtle—a touch on your back, a reminder to eat when you're too focused on something, decisions about where we're going or what we're doing. But I'll never overrule your autonomy or treat you like you can't make your own choices."

I nodded, processing this. Then, almost in a whisper, I confessed something I'd barely acknowledged to myself: "I'm scared of becoming too dependent on you."

His eyebrows raised slightly, questioning.

"I've been independent my whole life," I explained. "Even as a kid, I was the responsible one, the one who had it together. But with you . . ." I searched for words. "I want to lean in. Let go. And that terrifies me because what if I forget how to stand on my own?"

Ethan's eyes softened. His hand tightened around mine. "Independence and healthy dependence aren't mutually exclusive. We all need connection, support, the ability to be vulnerable with someone. That doesn't diminish your strength—it complements it."

"But what if I get too used to having someone else make decisions? Handle things when they're overwhelming?"

"Then we adjust," he said simply. "This isn't about creating dependency. It's about creating a space where you can rest from always having to be strong. Where you can set down your burdens temporarily. The goal isn't for me to carry them forever—it's to give you the respite you need to carry them yourself."

The way he framed it made something tight in my chest loosen. Not a permanent abdication of responsibility, but a temporary shelter. A place to catch my breath.

"Besides," he added with a small smile, "you're one of the most capable people I've ever met. I don't think you're at risk of forgetting how to stand on your own."

I laughed softly. "You barely know me."

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