Page 50 of Off-Limits Daddy
“Deal.” I smiled, something tight in my chest loosening a little more.
After a bit more banter and rough planning, the guys drifted out—chores to finish, shifts to prep for. Daddy lingered behind, gaze still locked on me.
When the door clicked shut again, I looked down at the scuffed floor, then back at him. “You really trust me with this?”
He didn’t answer right away. Just walked over, slow and sure, until I could feel the warmth of him in front of me.
“I didn’t ask you to do this just to keep you busy.” His voice softened, steady in a way that made it hard to look away. “I’ve seen what you can do—those canvases at your mom’s, the ones you did when you were in high school? The art you’ve gifted Sage and me in the past? You’ve got an eye most people don’t. You see more than what’s there. You see whatcouldbe.”
The back of my neck prickled. I’d never really thought anyone except my professors had paid attention.
“And this room?” he went on. “No, it’s not yours like you own it. But it’llbeyours. Because you’ll have touched every part of it. Because you’ll have started something and finished it. You’ll walk in here andsee yourselfin it. That’s what matters.”
My throat tightened. I hadn’t expected that answer. Not the honesty. Not the way it settled under my ribs and stretched.
“What if I screw it up?” I asked, quieter. “What if it looks like another half-started thing I couldn’t follow through on?”
Daddy reached for me, his hand curling gently around my jaw, thumb brushing the corner of my mouth. “Then you try again. And again. Until it looks like something you’re proud of.”
I blinked, trying to hold his gaze. “You really think I can do this?”
Daddy stepped in, hand brushing my jaw, his thumb rough but careful. “I know you can.” His eyes searched mine. “But you gotta show up for it. Not just with paint and brushes. With your whole damn self.”
And just like that, something settled in me, something I wasn’t sure I could name. It was confidence, but then again, it was more than that. Because I was beginning to get the feeling I could pull this off. Like maybe I wouldn’t be drifting anymore.
“Good.” My pulse quickened. “Because I’m gonna make this place better than you expect.”
“You better.” His voice dropped an octave. “And if you show up late again?—”
My heart tripped.
“—I’m bending you over that table.”
“Is that a promise?”
Daddy didn’t answer.
Just smirked and walked away.
And I stood there, heart thudding, already planning color palettes. And now I could figure out that something I wasn’t sure I could name before–purpose.
I also stood there secretly thinking Ishouldshow up late again.
SEVENTEEN
REID
I loved my ex-wife.
That always surprised people when I said it, like divorce had to come with bitterness or regret. But I loved her. Tessa and I met in high school, followed each other to college, got married just after graduation. We were together for five years as husband and wife, more than a decade in all.
She knew I was bisexual. I told her early. She didn’t flinch. Never used it against me. Never acted like it made me less committed to her. It wasn’t a secret.
It just wasn’t enough.
We weren’t a match in the ways that mattered most when you’re building a life together. We tried. But she wanted something different, and I couldn’t pretend forever. We never cheated. Never screamed at each other across a courtroom. But we stopped trying to fit. Instead of dragging each other through a lifetime of compromises neither of us wanted to make, we let go.
Since then, I kept things simple. Hookups. One and done. Or maybe two and done, if I felt generous. That was safer. Cleaner. But then Ari happened.
