Page 5 of Daddy Next Door

I think I will,I wrote.There's something about him that feels important. But I'm scared too. I've never met someone in real life who made me feel the way I do in my little space—safe, seen, small in a good way. Is that weird? To just meet someone and immediately feel that connection?

I hit send before I could overthink it, then added:

There's something about him that makes me want to be small, to be taken care of. I've never felt that with someone in real life before. Is that weird?

My heart raced as I watched the message status change to "Read." The typing indicator appeared immediately. Three dots pulsing as ProtectorE composed his response. I held my breath, watching those dots blink. One second. Two. Three.

What would he say? Would he warn me to be careful? Tell me I was projecting my desires onto a stranger? Or would he understand this inexplicable connection I'd felt with Ethan?

The cursor continued to blink. Whatever E was writing, he was taking his time with it. Just like Ethan had taken his time selecting exactly the right books for each shelf, finding the perfect place for each one.

Ethan, who had just moved. Who was a mental health professional in his early forties. Who understood children and boundaries and safety.

ProtectorE, who had said earlier today that he was moving. Who had professional insight into creating safe spaces. Who was online right now, carefully composing a response to my confession about a neighbor who made me feel small.

The dots continued to pulse. I waited, heart thumping against my ribs, for words that might change everything.

Then, the dot next to his name turned red. He was offline.

Chapter 2

Therhythmicthudofa hammer next door pulled me from sleep an hour before my alarm. I blinked at the ceiling, mentally calculating how early Ethan must have woken to already be so productive.

I rolled over, burying my face in my pillow, but curiosity about what he might be building won out over my attempt to reclaim sleep.

My phone showed 6:23 AM. The Vitality Juice rebrand was due in three days, and I'd promised myself an early start anyway. The persistent hammering next door seemed like the universe's way of enforcing that promise.

I shuffled to my bathroom, the cool tile shocking my bare feet awake. As I brushed my teeth, my thoughts drifted to last night's abrupt ending with ProtectorE. We'd been in the middle of a conversation when he'd suddenly gone offline. No goodbye, no explanation. Just gone. It wasn't like him at all. ProtectorE was always careful, always communicative. The inconsistency nagged at me as I spat toothpaste into the sink.

My home office was bathed in the soft glow of morning light through sheer curtains. I settled at my desk with coffee in my favorite mug – a ceramic cup with tiny painted stars that no client would ever see on video calls. The Vitality Juice mockups were spread across my second monitor, their vibrant greens and yellows still not quite right. Too corporate for a company that prided itself on being earthy and authentic.

I adjusted the color palette, twisting my hair into a messy bun as I worked. From next door, the hammering had stopped, replaced by the occasional thud of what sounded like moving furniture. I imagined Ethan arranging his living room, those strong therapist arms positioning couches and bookcases with methodical precision.

Stop it, Lily.

I forced my attention back to the screen, adding more organic shapes to the logo design. My fingers worked quickly, but my mind kept slipping next door. What kind of furniture did he have? Was his taste minimalist? Traditional? Was he hanging photos of family, of past relationships? Did he have a special mug he drank from every morning too?

The sound of a truck rumbling outside my window gave me a legitimate excuse to peek. I pushed back from my desk and parted the curtains to see a delivery truck stopped in front of Ethan's house. The driver and Ethan were gesturing at a massive box on the truck bed.

I watched them attempt to slide it onto a dolly, Ethan's T-shirt riding up to reveal a stripe of skin above his jeans as he leaned into the effort. The box was clearly too awkward for one person to manage. The delivery guy's body language screamed "this isn't in my job description."

My coffee was half-finished and getting cold. The Vitality Juice logo was half-completed and going nowhere. I recognized the box design from my own purchase last year–a premium standing desk, the one item that had made my work-from-home life bearable during endless video meetings.

Before I could overthink it, I was stepping into my slip-on shoes, not bothering to change out of my yoga pants and oversized Marvel T-shirt that Jen had gotten me last Christmas. The shirt had a subtle pattern of Baby Groot peeking from behind the logo. Professional enough for a neighborly hello, but a tiny nod to my little side that most people wouldn't notice.

"Need a hand?" I called, jogging down my porch steps. Both men turned, the delivery guy with visible relief and Ethan with surprise that quickly warmed into a smile.

"Morning, Lily," Ethan said, his voice a deep contrast to the bright day. "This is a bit more than I bargained for."

"I recognize that box," I said, pointing. "XR3000 standing desk? I have the same one."

The delivery guy had already started inching back toward his truck. "It says 'delivery to door' on the order, not 'assembly required.'"

Ethan sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I've got it from here, thanks."

As the truck pulled away, we stood examining the monolith of cardboard and packing materials. Ethan turned to me with an apologetic smile. "I didn't mean to recruit you for heavy lifting first thing in the morning."

"Better than staring at a screen. Besides, these things are tricky. Two sets of hands make it easier." I positioned myself at one end of the box. "On three?"

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