Page 117

She blinked. Cleared her throat. Reached up and wiped her face with the back of her hand in that brisk way she had — the move that said I'm fine, I'm always fine, don't look at me.

Then she looked up at him with the full force of those blue eyes and said, "Hey. If it's not too much trouble, could you maybe drive me into — "

He reached into his jeans pocket.

Set the truck keys on the counter between them.

Sage looked at the keys.

Looked at him.

"Your — " She picked them up. "Your truck. Cal, this is your — "

He picked up his plate and carried it to the sink. Turned on the water.

"I'd appreciate it if you kept her mostly in one piece," he said.

"I — " She was still staring at the keys. He could feel it without turning around — the weight of her looking at the back of him, at the breadth of his shoulders in the flannel, processing what had just been handed to her without ceremony or condition. Her voice when it came out was very quiet.

"Cal."

He kept washing the plate.

"Thank you," she said. Soft. Real. All the armor off.

He grunted “Welcome. No crashing.”

She paused and he could feel her eyes shine and that grin.

"Yes, Daddy," she said innocently.

His hands slipped on the plate causing it to crash into the sink with a loud thud as she giggled.

Did she just?

Something moved through his chest and other regions of his anatomy that he was choosing, with great discipline and deliberate violence, not to examine.

Daddy. Ah…shit.

Her arms came around him from behind. Small arms, mostly wrapping around his waist, her hands pressing flat against his stomach, her face between his lower shoulder blades, her whole weight leaning into his back the way Brutus leaned when he wanted something — completely, without apology, trusting him to hold it.

He stood there with the water running over his hands and every circuit in his body doing something he never thought they would do. Ever.

Slowly, he brought his hands up. Covered hers where they pressed against him. His hands were twice the size of hers. He held them there — just held them, steady and warm, the way he'd held her through the night, the way he suspected he could spend a significant portion of the rest of his life holding her.

Best day of my life.

He patted her hand once. Twice.

"Drive safe, sweetheart," he said. His voice came out mostly even. He was proud of that. "I'll see you when you get back."

She held on for one more second and squeezed. Then she let go, and he heard her grab the keys off the counter, and her sock-clad feet on the floor toward the stairs, and could sense her grinning even though he couldn't see it.

He stood at the sink for a long moment after she was gone.

Daddy.

He turned off the water.