Page 77 of Off-Limits Daddy
He tipped his head. “Lifeguard at the Y. Thought it’d be laid-back. It wasn’t. The chlorine strong enough to melt your nose hairs, screaming kids with floaties, a clogged drain situation I still have nightmares about.”
I grimaced. “Yikes.”
“Yours?”
“Worked at this artsy bookstore. Think incense and overpriced tea. No one ever bought books. I spent hours rearranging the same stack of poetry chapbooks, pretending to be deep.”
Daddy smirked. “Let me guess. You wore a vest.”
“Worse.” I sipped. “A beret.”
He choked. “Aberet?”
“I was committed,” I said solemnly.
“You were a walking Tumblr post.”
“Don’t judge me,” I said, nudging his leg with mine.
He laughed under his breath. “What happened to the beret?”
“Burned it.”
We sat for a moment, the breeze lifting the edge of the towel, sand warm beneath us. I eyed the open snack container between us.
“You brought all this and no chips?”
Daddy tilted his head, then gestured to a smaller bag tucked under the jerky. “Sour cream and onion. Your favorite. You think I packed all this forme?”
My hand darted for the bag. “I take back everything I was about to say about you.”
“That’d be a first.”
I popped one in my mouth, then pointed at the rest. “Okay, let’s see—jerky, obviously. Trail mix with the off-brand M&Ms. Grapes, nice touch. And…” I pulled out a little container. “You made sandwiches?”
“Turkey and cheese. Extra mustard. Told you—I pay attention.”
I smiled into the chip bag, chest warming in a way that had nothing to do with the sun.
He tossed a piece of jerky into his mouth. “Say you could only eat one snack for the rest of your life. What is it?”
“That’s easy. Popcorn.”
He glanced over. “Microwave?”
I made a face. “With that radioactive-yellow butter? Gross. Stovetop popcorn all the way, baby. You can make it sweet, salty, spicy, whatever. Plus, there’s the joy of the pop.”
Daddy gave a slow nod, chewing. “The joy of the pop?”
“You ever stood over a hot pot and listened to the first kernel explode?” I asked. “It’s magic.”
He squinted, amused. “You’re weird.”
“Okay, food snob. What’s yours?”
“Jerky.”
“Ofcourseit is. That’s so… dad-coded.”
