Page 1 of Off-Limits Daddy
ONE
ARI
Stop-N-Go smelled like burnt bacon and cheap coffee. Comforting if you grew up here. Gross if you didn’t.
It shouldn’t have made me smile. But it did.
The diner sat exactly where I remembered it—right on Main, next to the old video rental store with faded movie posters curling in the windows. The linoleum was still cracked near the counter. Ceiling fans spun lazily, like they knew nobody was in a hurry here. Everything smelled like fryer oil and too many breakfasts on the same griddle, but honestly? I’d missed it.
Briar Creek wasn’t fancy. But it was home.
Sage slid into the booth across from me, tossing his keys on the table like he’d been doing it his whole life. Which—small town, familiar faces, same old story—he basically had.
“You look like someone microwaved you on high,” he said with a grin.
“Love you too, big bro,” I shot back, dragging a hand through my hair. “It’s called traveling light.”
“More like traveling wreck.”
He wasn’t wrong. My sneakers were dusty from the walk up from the bus stop, and the T-shirt I’d slept in on the bus was trying to glue itself to my back. But under it all, there was this twisty little feeling in my stomach that wasn’t dread for once. Maybe... hope.
Coming home felt weird. Not bad. Just... weird.
I hadn’t even seen Mom yet—Liz, queen of emotional texts and lasagna—but I could already picture her in the kitchen, halfway through making something ridiculously mouth-watering and indulgent, ready with a dozen questions about whether I’d been eating enough.
Spoiler: I hadn’t.
The bell over the door jingled, and my best friend Cael strolled in like a burst of color against the diner’s neutral tones—graphic tee, cuffed jeans, chipped blue nail polish, black boots scuffed at the toes, rings flashing under the lazy ceiling fan. His hair was pushed back today, wild but somehow on purpose. Grin sharp as ever.
His gaze flicked first to Sage—of course it did—and then to me. “There he is,” Cael said, loud enough for the few people that were in the diner to take notice. Luckily the small commotion that ensued when I came in had settled. Everybody and their pets had already greeted me. That’s one of the things about small town living I loved.
Before I could say anything, Sage was already rising to his feet, like someone raised him right. He gave Cael a little nod, not quite a smile, and gestured to the now-open space.
“Here,” Sage said, voice low. “You sit.”
Color rose at the edges of Cael’s cheeks, like he wasn’t expecting it, but he dropped into the booth anyway and scooted over, giving Sage a look like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to tease him or thank him.
Sage slid back in, this time sitting at the end, posture too straight, too careful, like maybe he was trying not to touch Cael but still wanted to be close.
“The prodigal son returns,” Cael teased.
“More like the mildly disappointing cousin,” I muttered, breaking whateverthatmoment was between them.
Cael shot me another grin. “Please. You’re my favorite disaster.”
“Hey. I’m spontaneous.”
“You’re allergic to common sense.”
Sage shook his head, amused, but didn’t quite meet either of our eyes. “Mom’s making your favorite tonight.”
“Lasagna?” I asked, grinning.
My brother scoffed. “Like she’d make anything else for your dramatic homecoming.”
“Can’t wait,” I said softly.
That stupid little twist in my stomach squeezed tighter than when I’d decided to come back home to sort my life out. I didn’t want to admit how much I’d missed this—the familiar faces, the smell of fryer grease and burnt toast, even the rattling AC that sounded like it was holding on for dear life.
