Page 78 of Off-Limits Daddy
He gave a short laugh. “It’s protein-packed. Portable. No fuss.”
“Dry,” I said. “Chewy. Hard pass.”
“You’re impossible.”
“You love it.”
He didn’t answer right away. Just leaned back further, one leg brushing mine again—barely there, but enough to notice. I let the quiet stretch, let the ocean do the talking for a minute.
A shadow stretched across the blanket.
“Reid? Ari?”
I blinked up. It was Heather Reece, back from wherever life had taken her. Still tan, still beachy in a way that looked effort-free. She was in the same year in high school as Daddy and Sage. Her floppy hat nearly took me out when she leaned to hug Daddy and then me. I’d always liked her.
“Come back for good, Heath?” Daddy asked.
“Nah. I’ve got a family reunion this weekend. You haven’t aged a day.”
Daddy gave her a quick smile. “You look good.”
“And you,” she said, turning to me with a playful squint. “Still breaking hearts?”
“Trying to be good,” I said, lifting my hand in a lazy wave. “No promises.”
She laughed. “Figures you two would be camped out here, playing hooky from real life.”
Daddy gave a small shrug. “Today’s my day off.”
Looking between us, she said, “You two look like an old married couple. I mean that in the best way.”
Something flickered across Daddy’s face. Not panic. Just the tightening of muscles. A shift.
I jumped in before things got weird. “We’ve known each other forever. Comes with the territory.”
“And where’s Sage? At his shop?”
“Yep.”
She nodded, sunglasses sliding back on. “Well, enjoy the sand and sun, boys. Tell your mom I said hi, Ari.”
I nodded. “Will do.”
And just like that, she breezed off.
The silence she left behind stretched longer than it should have. The kind that usually meant something was wrong, even if no one said it out loud.
I stood, brushing sand from my legs. “Gonna walk a bit.”
“Need company?”
I shook my head. “Nah. I just need a minute.”
He didn’t push.
I walked toward the waterline. Let the tide soak my ankles. Breeze cooled the sweat behind my knees. Too many feelings pooled behind my ribs, none of them clear enough to name, but all crowding the same space. It wasn’t that Daddy had stiffened. It wasn’t even the lie—or omission, or whatever we were calling it.
It was the ache of wanting to reach for his hand without having to check who might be watching.
