Page 11 of Off-Limits Daddy
Cael hesitated, teeth clenched like he wanted to argue—but Daddy didn’t give him the chance. He was already moving, cutting across the floor, crouching near the stove, yanking the lower cabinet open.
He grabbed a large lid and dropped it straight over the pan, movements quick and efficient.
The flames spat once, angry and wild—but the lid smothered them, choking the fire down.
“Windows. Open them,” Daddy barked, already flicking off the burner with two fingers.
I heard the guys moving around, windows creaking open. I was just a step back from the kitchen entrance, my phone clenched in my hand.
Daddy didn’t look at me right away. He was busy, making sure the fire stayed out.
Sirens wailed in the distance.
Finally, Daddy straightened, glanced over, eyes on me. Measuring. Knowing.
“You good?”
I nodded. Swallowed. Managed, “Yeah.”
His gaze softened—not much, but enough that I felt it.
The smoke alarm kept wailing, sharp and insistent.
Daddy grabbed the edge of a dish towel hanging nearby and stepped closer to the window.
“It’s got a sensor,” he said, voice calm but loud over the shriek. “Move the smoke, and it’ll stop.”
I didn’t know that. Never thought about how alarms actually worked—just that they screamed when you burned toast.
He stretched up one long arm and swept toward the open window. His fingertips just short of the ceiling, muscles shifting under his T-shirt with the motion.
The sirens were closer now. And, mercifully, the alarm gave a hiccup and fell silent, leaving nothing but the sticky press ofsummer heat and the low, steady rumble of an engine outside. Not the sharp wail of sirens anymore.
“Let’s go,” Daddy said quietly, with a nod toward the living room. “They’ll want to see the space.”
I followed him out.
The front door stood open. Two firefighters were already at the entrance, guys I knew worked with Daddy. Daddy stepped aside to let them through, giving a rapid, clipped summary. “Kitchen fire. Grease. Contained with a lid. Smoke’s clearing. No visible spread.”
One of them, Ledger, gave him a nod—professional, but with that quick flick of recognition between people who’d worked side by side before. “We’ll check it.”
The second firefighter, Keaton, gave the rest of us a quick once-over. Just making sure we all had our limbs and eyebrows, probably. He followed his partner into the kitchen without another word.
Daddy gave us a once-over, his voice low. “Anyone hurt?”
Cael nodded first. “We’re okay.”
Jon dragged a hand down his face. “I owe everyone chicken strips. And probably my entire paycheck.”
That got a rough laugh out of Layton, more breath than sound. “Man...”
Cael bumped Jon’s shoulder, eyes on the floor. “Chaos gremlin.”
But there was no heat in it.
Daddy’s gaze shifted to Jon for a beat—just long enough for something to click behind his eyes. His expression didn’t change much, but I caught the faint crease between his brows. Reading the room. Putting things together.
Daddy's gaze landed on me. “Need a word with you.”
