Page 79 of Off-Limits Daddy
Of wanting to exist beside him without the weight of secrecy pressing on the space between us.
Of wanting a life where loving him out loud didn’t come with consequences.
I crouched where the sand thinned, eyes scanning for something pretty. Found a shell shaped almost like a heart, chipped on one side, pink inside. I ran a thumb across it.
Footsteps padded close behind. A second later, Daddy crouched next to me. His hand rested on his thigh, fingers curling like he wanted something to do with them.
I held up the shell. “This reminds me of you.”
His gaze lingered on the shell. “Yeah?”
I passed it over. “Kind of rough. Chipped. But you wanna keep it anyway.”
He turned it over, thumb brushing the edge. “That supposed to be romantic or an insult?”
“Maybe both?”
He didn’t laugh, but his eyes softened. “I’d keep you, too.”
That got me. Lodged something in my throat.
We sat there for a minute. Let the tide lap against our feet. Let the sky shift into that hazy late-afternoon orange. The noise on the beach softened. Families packing up. Kids whining about leaving. Someone’s music playing faintly in the distance.
A couple strolled past us, walking slow. Their hands linked. The woman’s head leaned into the man’s shoulder.
I stared at their hands.
Then at mine.
Empty.
Want throbbed behind my ribs—quiet, familiar.
Daddy reached out and clasped my hand in his. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to my knuckles—briefly, sweetly, the kind of touch that left no heat behind.
He didn’t speak.
Didn’t need to.
The shell sat in his other palm, pale pink catching the last of the sun.
I turned my hand under his. Let our fingers curl together. Just for a moment. Long enough to feel it.
Long enough to want more.
“Daddy…” His name left my lips softer than I meant.
He looked over. “Yeah?”
It was right there. The thing I’d been holding.
I love you.
Not spur-of-the-moment or desperate.
True.
I swallowed. Blinked fast. “Nothing. Just… thanks for today.”
