Page 35 of Off-Limits Daddy
THIRTEEN
REID
Boxes thumped against my thigh as I shifted the stack, sweat sliding down my spine beneath the weight of too much sun and too little shade. Folding tables leaned like drunks against each other across the lawn, streamers tangled like someone had lost a fight with a patriotic octopus, and Mrs. Evans, chairperson of the Fourth of July organizing committee, wielded her clipboard like it came with arrest powers.
“Careful with those,” she called, pointing with her pen. “Those go by the main tent. Not near the dunk tank.”
“Didn’t know we had a dunk tank,” I muttered.
Gemma, stationed by a folding table loaded with Tupperware. “For the kids,” she said. “But if you ask nicely, I’m sure someone’ll volunteer you.”
That earned her a grunt, half amusement, half don’t-push-me. She offered a cinnamon bun the size of my palm. I politely declined. Figured I hadn’t done enough to earn it. Perhaps by the seventh or eighth box.
Beside the main tent, Sage knelt next to a crate of folding chairs, sleeves rolled, cap backwards, grinning like a kid up to something. “You volunteering or brooding, Daddy Reid?”
My shoulders tensed before I could stop them. “Sage, I’m warning you?—”
“Aw, come on,” Sage said, interrupting me in mid-sentence, lifting a chair one-handed. “Just trying to keep things festive.”
Festive. Right. Sure.
Couple years ago, Sage told me people used that name behind my back—Daddy Reid. Said it with a gleam in his eye, like he might’ve made it up on the spot or heard it from someone drunk at Eddie’s Bar & Grill. Never did find out if it was true or if he’d just wanted to get a rise out of me. Knowing Sage, both were equally possible. Since then, he only used it when he wanted to poke at me like a kid with a stick and a wasp’s nest.
It didn’t usually bother me. Not like this.
Not with the way Ari had looked at me that night in his room, all smiles and that smart little mouth finding new ways to make me lose sleep. Little brat knew exactly what he was doing—flirting like it was breathing, leaning into every word, every glance, waiting for me to slip.
And God help me, I wanted to.
I should’ve stopped visiting after the first night, after dropping off that bag of art supplies. Should’ve left it at good intentions. Except good intentions turned into a nightly habit—checking on him, bringing snacks, sitting out on the porch pretending I wasn’t memorizing every expression that crossed his face like a man in the middle of a drought trying to ration water.
Every smile from him was trouble in a prettier package than I deserved.
Mayor Eleanor Price swept by, all floral perfume and polite nosiness, her hand fluttering over my arm like a sparrow. “Reid,dear,” she said sweetly, “how’s your Mr. and Mrs. Santana? And how’s work at the firehouse? And how’s that sweet boy, Ari, doing after his little scare? Poor thing.”
“Everything’s good.”
“Good,” she said brightly, eyes narrowing just a fraction. “Such a talented young man. So devoted to his art. I always thought he had potential.”
Not subtle. Not even trying to be. Small towns didn’t need subtlety; they ran on implication, gossip served hot with pie on the side.
Before I could offer anything polite enough to move her along, Officer Lane Carter strolled by, sunglasses crooked, badge gleaming. “Y’all keeping these fireworks legal, right?” he called, flashing a grin that probably made him insufferable at barbecues. “No black-market rockets packed in those boxes?”
“Only illegal thing here’s that shirt,” Sage shot back without missing a beat.
Lane barked a laugh. “Good one, Jackson.” He gave Sage a salute before ambling off, probably in search of someone else to bother—or maybe free pastries.
“Sage,” Mayor Price called sweetly, “why don’t you help Mr. Webster with the canopies? He’s not as young as he used to be, but he hasn’t gotten the memo. I don’t want him breaking the other hip.”
Sage shot me a look that saidhe’drather break a hip, but he dropped the chair he was about to unfold anyway and headed off like a man heading to his own execution. “Can’t even be a menace in peace,” he grumbled under his breath as he passed me.
Everything happening today was familiar because this time of year had been this way even before I was born, and yet every inch of me felt off-balance, like I was carrying too much weight somewhere no one could see.
Cael slid into view like he’d been waiting for a gap. “Reid,” he greeted.
“Hey, what’s up?” I said as we bumped fists.
“Not much.” The man had a mischievous grin on his face. “Finally crawled out of that firehouse to do some community service, huh?”
