Page 49 of Off-Limits Daddy
He led me upstairs to a room tucked at the end of a narrow hall. It was behind a door that creaked when he pushed it open. The air inside smelled like dust and cleaner, stale but not unpleasant. Light filtered through two small windows, throwing soft lines across worn tile.
Scuffed floors. Dented lockers pushed against one wall. A busted vending machine stood in the corner like it was part of the original foundation. On the far wall, a faded fire safety poster peeled at the edges. The walls were off-white—or maybe they’d started that way, before years of sun and sweat dulled them to nothing.
Daddy leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed again. “Used to be a rec room. Got left behind when we turned the kitchen into the main hangout. Captain and I were talking. Figured it’s time to give it a second life.”
I stepped inside slowly, turning in a slow circle as the space settled around me. “So what, you want me to sweep up and hang some fairy lights?”
He raised an eyebrow. “You’re the artist. Make it something we’d actually use.”
My throat tightened. I didn’t say anything for a second. Just looked around again, slower this time. The far wall was big—wide enough for a mural. The lighting sucked, but I could fix that with softer fixtures. Maybe color block the corners, do something geometric to modernize the shape of the room. A shelf for old trophies. Hooks for gear or hats. And maybe photos—firefighters past and present. Community stuff.
“You’re serious,” I said finally.
Daddy’s gaze held steady. “Dead serious.”
Something in my chest cracked open a little. Not the bad kind. Not like breaking. More like letting in air after holding my breath for too long.
Footsteps pounded up the stairs, followed by the unmistakable voice of Marco cracking a joke. Boone and Griff followed him into the room, all easy grins and morning energy. I knew them all from around town—Briar Creek was small like that. Familiar enough to be friendly. Not enough to guess what they’d think of me taking the lead on something like this.
But Daddy didn’t move. Just gave me a nod, likethis is yours now.
I walked the perimeter, sizing up the wide wall that would be perfect for something spectacular.
Marco whistled low. “Damn, I haven’t come in here since the card game Boone lost hard enough to sulk for a week.”
Boone rolled his eyes. “That was five years ago.”
“Still remember it,” Griff muttered.
I cleared my throat. “So, uh. I was thinking maybe a mural here—” I gestured to the far wall, “—like a timeline or something. Calls, crews, maybe past chiefs. Paint the trim darker, sand the floor down to something halfway decent. Bring in a few floor lamps, swap that vending machine for something that actually works.”
Marco leaned in, squinting like he could already see it. “You got a style in mind?”
“Something clean. Nothing fussy. Firefighter red for accents, maybe some matte charcoal on the lower walls. Could do decals or stencils of the station logo.”
Boone grinned. “I’m into it.”
Daddy hadn’t said a word, but when I glanced back, he was still there—against the doorframe, watching me like I was something worth betting on.
More ideas flowed before I could stop myself. Earth tones along one wall. A mural with the town skyline, maybe. Something honoring the firehouse’s history. Swappable art panels so they could change things seasonally. Floor cushions for off-duty hours. Cards, maybe a corkboard wall.
For the first time in a while, I could see a startanda finish.
“How long you think it’ll take?” Marco asked.
“Couple weeks if you let me in during downtime. I’ll work around your shifts.”
Daddy added, “We’ll help. When we’re not out on calls.”
“You sure?”
Griff shrugged. “Anything’s better than looking at that goddamn vending machine.”
Laughter broke through the room.
“If we get the paint and supplies this week, I could start Monday,” I said. “Maybe we take tomorrow to clean out the corners, sand a few spots. I’ll make a plan. Could use help with the heavy stuff.”
“You’ll have it,” Griff said. “As long as you let me pick the playlist.”
