Page 42 of Daddy Enforcer
I clasp my hands together, giving him my best pleading look, and he raises an eyebrow, considering.
“Alright,” Max says finally, his voice firm but fond. “You showed some real skill out there. But you stay close, follow my lead. No showing off, or you’re in big trouble.”
His warning’s stern, but there’s a twinkle in his eyes that makes my heart skip.
“Yes, Daddy!” I squeal, hopping up and rushing to change.
I pull on my jeans, a thick sweater, and my wooly hat, tucking my hair under it to hide the pop star vibes.
Max’s soon outside, checking the snow-skis, his jacket zipped up against the morning chill. The air’s crisp, the blizzard’s aftermath leaving a sparkling blanket of snow, but the path to town is clear enough, the dawn light painting the forest in soft pinks and golds.
“Ready?” Max asks, knowing full well I am totally ready.
“Yup,” I reply, winking and smiling.
I climb onto my ski, the one I rode like a pro yesterday, and grip the handlebars, a mix of excitement and nerves bubbling in my chest. Max gives me a nod, his eyes steady and reassuring, and we fire up the engines, the rumble vibrating through me as we take off.
Yas!
I love this!
I feel so free…
Riding solo is a whole different thrill, the wind whipping past me, stinging my cheeks as I lean into the turns, following Max’s ski down the snowy path.
The forest blurs by, trees heavy with fresh snow, their branches glistening like they’re straight out of a fairy tale. I’m grinning like a kid, feeling free and wild, like I’m flying without a stage or a spotlight. This is so much better than being cooped up on tour, Trent barking orders, telling me I can’t do fun stuff like this because of “insurance” or whatever bull reason he came up with.
I’m keeping pace with Max, staying close like he said, my heart pounding with the thrill of it all, when something catches my eye—a shadow moving in the trees, quick and dark, like a figure darting out of sight. My heart skips, my grip tightening on the handlebars.
Was that real?
Or just my imagination, spooked by all this secrecy and Max’s cryptic tension?
I shake it off, telling myself it’s probably a deer or a trick of the light, and power closer to Max, the rumble of his ski grounding me like an anchor. He glances back, checking on me, and I give him a thumbs-up, pushing the unease away.
There’s no way I’m letting a maybe-shadow ruin this moment.
We reach the town, the same sleepy place with its cozy shops and snow-dusted streets and park the skis behind a hardware store, out of sight.
Max adjusts my hat, his fingers brushing my cheek, sending a shiver through me that’s got nothing to do with the cold.
“Low profile, remember,” Max says, his voice low and serious, and I nod, pulling my collar up to hide my face.
We head to a diner, all checkered floors and red booths, the smell of coffee, bacon, and syrup hitting me like a warm hug.
“Perfect,” Max says, smiling warmly. “Justperfect.”
We slide into a booth near the back, away from the windows, and I scan the menu, my eyes lighting up at the sight of flapjacks and granola bowls.
“I’m getting a breakfast milkshake too,” I declare, grinning at Max. “Strawberry, with whipped cream and a cherry!”
Max raises an eyebrow, ordering his usual espresso, his grumpy Daddy face in full effect.
“A milkshake for breakfast?” Max chuckles. “You’re gonna be bouncing off the walls, young man.”
“That’s the point!” I tease, sticking out my tongue.
The waitress brings our food—fluffy flapjacks dripping with maple syrup, a crunchy granola bowl with creamy yogurt, and my giant pink milkshake, topped with a mountain of whipped cream and a cherry.
