Chapter 17
Luke
“Right… I guess it’s… fine,” I say, looking around, determined to put a positive spin on things. I’m safe at least, and that’s what’s important right now. Anyway, as a journalist I’ve stayed in worse places that’s for sure.
The new safehouse in Crestwood is a far cry from the mountain cabin’s cozy charm. It’s a nondescript suburban condo, all beige walls and generic furniture, with none of the games room’s fun or the cabin’s fairy-tale vibe.
I’m sprawled on the living room floor, my backpack open beside me, Swift taking pride of place next to me as I stack wooden blocks into a wobbly tower.
The blocks were left in a dusty box under the coffee table, probably by some kid of a previous tenant or safehouse guest, and they’re a godsend for my Little side, which is bubbling up hard after the whirlwind of the last few days.
I might pride myself on being tough and fearless when it comes to my work, but I’m still rattled by Mike’s murder, the cartel hit list, and the move from the cabin, but these blocks—simple, colorful, worn at the edges—are like a lifeline, pulling me into a softer, safer headspace.
Connor’s in the kitchen, his laptop open, probably digging into more intel on Haynes or coordinating with his buddies.
I’ve heard him refer to them as the Night Ops Guard.
It’s a kind of cool name, I have to admit—but other than that, the exact details of who he works for are kind of unclear to say the least. Still, I know he’s on my side, and that’s what matters right now.
I can hear the faint tap of his keys, the occasional low murmur of his voice on a call, and it’s comforting, like a steady heartbeat in the background.
My journalist side’s still there, itching to crack that flash drive, to chase my next lead, but right now, my Little side’s winning, and I’m letting it.
Swift’s propped against my backpack, his beady eyes watching my tower grow, and I giggle as I place a red block on top, wobbling precariously.
“Look, Swift, we’re gonna make the tallest tower ever!” I whisper, my voice high and playful.
The floor creaks, and I glance up to see Connor standing in the doorway, his broad shoulders filling the frame, his dark eyes soft but intense. He’s in a black tee, his hair slightly mussed, and there’s a warmth in his gaze that makes my cheeks flush.
“Building a masterpiece, Little Scoop?” Connor asks, his voice low and teasing, that Daddy tone slipping through that makes my heart skip.
I nod, hugging Swift to my chest, my Little side fully out now, unguarded.
“It’s a castle,” I say, pointing at the wobbly stack. “For me and Swift to live in. No bad guys allowed!”
Connor chuckles, a deep rumble that fills the room, and drops to the floor beside me, crossing his legs.
“Looks like a solid fortress,” Connor says, picking up a blue block and twirling it in his fingers. “Mind if I join?”
I giggle, scooting closer, my shoulder brushing his.
“Only if you’re good at building,” I say, my voice all playful challenge. “No knocking it over or being clumsy with the blocks!”
Connor raises an eyebrow, that Daddy smirk tugging at his lips.
“I’m a Daddy, I’ve got many skills,” Connor laughs. “Watch and learn.”
I laugh, handing him a green block, and we start building together, our hands brushing as we stack. It’s easy, natural, and for a moment, I forget about Haynes, the cartel, the flash drive hidden in my backpack.
It’s just me, Connor, and this little world we’re creating, block by block.
My Little side’s in full swing, all giggles and warmth, and I feel safe, seen, like I can just be without the weight of the world on my shoulders.
But as we build, a memory creeps in all of a sudden, sharp and painful. I pause, my hand hovering over a yellow block, and my chest tightens. Connor notices, his eyes narrowing, all Daddy concern.
“You okay, Luke?” Connor asks, his voice soft but firm, like he’s ready to fix whatever’s wrong.
I bite my lip, clutching Swift tighter, and the words spill out before I can stop them.
“I… I was just thinking about something,” I say, my voice small, almost lost in the quiet room.
“A while back, I had this boyfriend. Not a Daddy, just… a guy. We dated for a few months, and I thought it was serious, you know? I told him about being a Little, about Swift, about all of it. He said he was cool with it, but then one day, he just… stopped texting. Stopped calling. He ghosted me completely. Didn’t even say why.
” My eyes sting, and I blink hard, focusing on Swift’s beak.
“It hurt. A lot. Made me feel like I wasn’t enough, like my Little side was too much or something. ”
Connor’s quiet for a moment, his hand stilling on the block he’s holding, and when he speaks, his voice is low, steady, full of that Daddy warmth that makes me want to crawl into his lap.
“I’m sorry you went through that, Little Scoop,” Connor says, his eyes locked on mine, all sincerity.
“That guy was an idiot. Life’s complicated, and people can be cruel, but one bad experience doesn’t define you.
You’re enough—more than enough. Your Little side, your fire, all of it.
Don’t let some jerk with no guts close your heart. ”
Connor’s words hit me hard, and I feel a lump in my throat, the memory of ghosting him three years ago rising like a ghost.
I’d run from that kiss, from the spark, because I was scared, because my career came first, because I wasn’t ready for a Daddy like Connor.
Now, sitting here, his eyes so kind and steady, I wish I hadn’t. I wish I’d stayed, given us a chance.
“I… I’m sorry I ghosted you,” I whisper, my voice barely audible. “Back then, I mean. I was scared, and I didn’t know how to handle it. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Connor’s eyes soften, and he reaches out, brushing a strand of hair from my face, his touch gentle but electric.
“I know, Luke,” he says, his voice low, forgiving. “You were younger, figuring shit out. But you’re here now, and so am I. That’s what matters.”
I nod, my cheeks burning, and feel that connection between us, stronger now, like a thread pulling us closer.
Connor gets it, gets me, in a way no one else has.
My Little side’s buzzing, wanting to lean into him, to let him be my Daddy, but my journalist side’s still there, reminding me of the flash drive, the story, the danger. I push it down, focusing on the moment, on the blocks, on Connor.
Connor shifts, reaching behind him to grab something from his gear bag, and pulls out a neatly folded piece of clothing.
“Got you something,” Connor says, his voice teasing but warm, and hands me a pale blue romper suit, covered in unicorns and stars. “Had it delivered from a local specialty store while you were napping earlier. Thought it might make you smile.”
My jaw drops, and I squeal, my Little side exploding with joy.
“Oh my gosh, Connor!” I say, grabbing the romper and holding it up, the soft fabric catching the light. “It’s perfect! Unicorns and stars? How did you know?”
He chuckles, his eyes sparkling.
“I’ve got a good memory, Little Scoop,” Connor chuckles, his voice full of warmth. “Figured it’d suit you.”
I blush, my heart racing, and clutch the romper to my chest, Swift still in my other arm.
“I love it,” I say, my voice high and giddy. “Can I… can I put it on now?”
“Go for it,” he says, leaning back on his hands, his grin all Daddy approval. “Show me how it looks.”
I hesitate for a second, my cheeks flaming, but my Little side’s too excited to care.
I stand, turning to face him, and start changing right there in the living room, slipping out of my jeans and tee.
Connor’s eyes stay on me, steady but respectful, and I feel a rush of warmth, knowing he’s watching but not pushing.
The romper slides on, soft and snug, the unicorns and stars making me feel like I’m in a dream.
I twirl, giggling, and flop back onto the floor, Swift in my arms, my mind slipping fully into Little Space.
“Look, Swift, we’re a unicorn young man team now!” I say, stacking another block, my voice high and playful.
Connor’s watching, his grin widening, and I can see the Daddy in him, loving this, loving me like this. I feel seen, safe, like I can be all of me—journalist, Little, everything—and he’s not going anywhere.
“Pretty damn cute, baby boy,” Connor says, his voice low and warm, and I blush, my heart fluttering.
I grab another block, adding it to the tower, and start babbling about our “castle,” about how Swift’s the king and I’m the queen, and Connor’s…
well, maybe the knight. Connor laughs, joining in, placing a block with exaggerated care, and we’re building together again, the room filled with giggles and warmth.
I glance at him, his eyes soft but alert, and feel that regret again, for ghosting him, for running…
Connor’s different, like he said, not like the others, and I’m starting to believe it.
I want to let him in—fully, not just halfway.
But for now, I’m content to play, to be his Little Scoop, building castles in a safehouse while the world outside waits—and with me and Connor in tune together and fighting as one, Haynes and the cartel won’t stand a chance…