Page 57 of Off-Limits Daddy
“This was about you,” I said, voice low and warm. “Next time, you can get on your knees for Daddy.” Then I tucked him close, rock-hard and aching, but content to just hold him.
Ari went still for half a heartbeat.
A smile curled slow and satisfied across his mouth.
“Okay,” he said. “Next time.”
And just like that, I was already aching for it.
For him.
EIGHTEEN
ARI
The late-afternoon sun clung stubbornly to the sky, turning everything golden. Not scorching, but warm enough that every surface radiated with leftover heat. The scent of charcoal, grilled meat, and melting frosting hung thick in the air, mixed with the sharper bite of sunscreen and the faint sweetness of cotton candy.
Main Street had been shut down since noon. Red, white, and blue bunting drooped from lampposts and booth awnings. Kids ran wild, sticky-fingered and barefoot, plastic pinwheels spinning in their hands as they weaved between vendors and folding chairs. Laughter and music drifted everywhere—someone had set up speakers, and old Springsteen tracks were doing their best to compete with the chatter of the crowd.
At the far end of Main Street, just past the snow cone stand and the flag bunting, the VFW building stood. Its side wall blank and sun-faded. The same wall Mrs. Evans had mentioned for a mural—if the council approved.
They never did.
Something about timing. Or budget. Or too many opinions and not enough consensus.
Classic Briar Creek.
I wasn’t sure what I felt, staring at that wall now. Relieved, maybe. Disappointed, definitely. But there was something else too—something quieter, harder to name.
A part of me had been scared the wall would be covered by someone else’s vision. That I’d see bold shapes and colors and feel the ache of being left behind. But what I didn’t expect was how strange it would feel to see it still untouched.
I wasn’t sure which was worse—that I’d said no because I was afraid, or that I’d convinced myself I had nothing worth painting in the first place.
But I was painting now—over at the firehouse, inside the rec room.It wasn’t the same scale, wasn’t public. But it was something. I’d picked up a brush. I’d started.
Daddy had told me todo it scared.
And maybe I still was. But I wasn’t anchored by doubt the way I used to be.
That VFW wall would still be there.
And maybe one day, the council would approve, I’d be asked again, and I’d be ready—not just to paint it, but to believe I could.
I gave the wall one last glance, then turned back toward the square. I couldn’t stand there forever, staring at what hadn’t happened. Not when life was still unfolding in loud, vivid color all around me.
I’d already spent the past hour weaving in and out of the crowd. I helped a little girl pick out a balloon that matched her pinwheel and listened to Mr. Bledsoe from the hardware store talk for ten whole minutes about his smoker ribs. I helped Kyree talk Jon into entering the pie-eating contest, and high-fived a dozen sugar-rushed kids who wanted to show off theirface paint. I even got roped into judging a three-legged race, which ended with me and some poor middle-schooler both flat on our backs. I watched, amused, as Sage dragged Layton into a blindfolded water balloon toss, which he lost in spectacular fashion—soaked shirt, dented ego, the whole thing. I smiled through it all, played my part, let the town wrap around me. But every few minutes, my eyes would scan the edge of the crowd.
Not for anyone in particular.
Except maybe the tall, broad-shouldered someone I hadn’t seen since yesterday—the same someone who had coaxed me through my first driving lesson, who had seen me in lace and then dropped to his knees like it was the most natural thing in the world.
I spotted Sage standing beside our mom, both holding what looked like full plates and chatting with Mr. Alvarez from the Parks Committee, who had his clipboard tucked under one arm. I was too far to make out the conversation, but close enough to tell my mom was gesturing with her fork like she was making a point.
A little farther down, Jon, Kyree, and Layton crowded around a game booth, caught up in something loud and ridiculous. Kyree threw his hands up in exaggerated protest, pointing toward the prize table while the other two doubled over laughing. Whatever they were arguing about, it was clearly life or death.
I looked around and tried to feel the way everyone else looked—happy, relaxed, like nothing in the world was complicated. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was standing just outside of it all, not sure if I should step closer or keep my distance.
A moment later, Cael appeared at my side, camera in hand, already snapping photos before he even said hello.
