Page 32 of Daddy's Muse
There were so many people in this town who were smarter, better-looking, more outgoing. People who could match him in confidence, instead of just smiling awkwardly and hoping they didn’t say something dumb.
But he was here for me.
He spotted me instantly, like he always did, and that easy smile curved across his face, like I was the exact person he’d been hoping to find.
“Hello, Colby,” he said as he slid into his usual booth. His voice had its usual deep, melodic quality to it, making me feel both calm and a little warm in my tummy.
I grabbed a menu out of habit, even though he never needed one. “Hi. Coffee?”
“You know me so well,” he said, leaning an elbow on the table. His eyes tracked me as I poured it, and even though I told myself I was imagining it, it felt like he was studying me.
When I set the cup down in front of him, his fingers brushed mine—not long enough to be an accident, but not long enough to be obvious.
“So,” he said, “did you think some more about what we were talking about yesterday?”
I frowned, trying to remember what we’d spoken about. “About… the reindeer?” He’d told me that his parents were reindeer herders, to which I had askedwhy on earth he was in West Virginia and not playing with the reindeer.
He chuckled, shaking his head. “No, although I shouldn’t be surprised that’s the part that stuck out to you. About what you’d do if money weren’t a problem.”
“Oh. That…” I shifted my weight, suddenly wishing I had something to wipe down just so I’d have somewhere to look that wasn’t directly at him.Couldn’t we just talk about the reindeer instead?“I don’t know. I never really thought about it. People like me don’t—” I cut myself off before the wordsdon’t dream like thatcould escape.
Bodin didn’t look away, his blue-gray eyes boring into me. “People like you?” he prompted, tilting his head slightly in question.
I shrugged, heat creeping up my neck. “It’s just… I don’t really like thinking about stuff like that. I need to focus on getting through the now. Thinking about…morefeels like tempting fate, you know?”
He stirred his coffee slowly, still watching me. “Maybe fate needs tempting.” The way he said it—like he really believed that—made something twist in my chest.
I laughed softly, trying to brush it off. “And what about you? If money wasn’t a problem?”
He didn’t answer right away. He just smiled faintly, like the answer was too complicated to give me right now. “Maybe I’ll tell you that someday.”
And then he took a sip of coffee, like we hadn’t just stepped into some quiet place between us that I didn’t know how to name.
As the conversation drifted to lighter things, I couldn’t stop thinking about that “maybe I’ll tell you someday.”
It stuck to me like static, pulling at my thoughts even when I tried to let it go.
I couldn’t be too upset because he was only doing what I’d been doing—holding back. For every little piece of himself he gave me, there was something else he kept behind his eyes. It was as if he were letting me peek through a half-open door, but never inviting me inside. I didn’t know if it was because he didn’t trust me yet, or because there were things about him I wasn’t supposed to see, or if he was waiting for me to open up first.
And maybe I shouldn’t have cared. I barely knew him. A normal person probably would’ve been grateful for the attention and left it at that. But the more time we spent together, the more I wanted to knoweverything.
When he left that afternoon, brushing his knuckles across the back of my hand on the way out, I stood there for a moment after the bell above the door went silent. Watching him walk away felt like letting go of something I wasn’t ready to lose.
I didn’t know what we were. I didn’t even know what he wanted from me. But I knew I wanted him to keep coming back.
* * *
Two days later, I was leaving the library with my backpack slung over one shoulder, my head still full of the dense textbook chapters I’d been forcing myself through. The sun was starting to set, warm light spilling over the campus green and catching in the leaves overhead. I was half-distracted, already thinking about getting cozy in bed.
But then I saw him.
Bodin.
He was leaning against a lamppost a few yards ahead, head tilted like he was listening to something in the distance. He wasn’t looking at me—at first—but there was no mistaking that easy posture, his long blonde hair—loose this evening—the dark coat, and the way he seemed completely comfortable anywhere, like he knew no one would dare question him.
His appearance temporarily distracted me, but then I remembered that he’d told me last week that he wasn’t a grad student or faculty member.
So why was he here?
