Chapter 12
I t had been a magical evening. The kind of evening that reminded you just what made life worth living. A beautiful woman. The feeling of safety and intimacy. The knowledge that I was looking after someone—doing a good job.
When I woke, though, she was gone. She’d curled up next to me in my bed again, the little spoon to my big, so warm and soft and huggable.
“Maisy?” I asked quietly.
But I had nothing to worry about. The smell of coffee hit me and then I heard her humming in the kitchen, soft and sweet, like she didn’t have a care in the world. It tugged at something deep in me—the kind of pull that made me want to wrap her up in my arms and keep her there forever.
I rolled out of bed, still feeling the warmth from last night. Little moments with her stuck like glue—her giggle when I teased her about her stuffed animals, the way her nose crinkled when she concentrated on coloring. I ran a hand through my hair and headed toward the sound of her voice.
"Morning, Daddy," she said over her shoulder as I stepped into the kitchen. She was wearing one of my old flannels, swallowed up by it, her bare toes curling against the hardwood floor. She had a plate of pancakes set out, syrup pooling around the edges like a sticky frame.
"Good morning, sweetheart." My voice came out lower than usual. I kissed the top of her head, and she leaned into me like it was the most natural thing in the world. "You cooked?"
"Uh-huh!" She beamed, holding up a spatula like it was a trophy. "I only burned two this time."
"How many do you normally burn?" I teased, grabbing us both some coffee.
“A lot more than two.”
I smiled when she wrinkled her nose at hers. Too bitter for her taste. I knew she'd dump half a cup of creamer in before she’d drink it.
We sat down together, the quiet hum of the town filtering in through the open window. It was another day off for us. The world was our oyster. “What’s the plan today?” I asked between bites. Her pancakes were lopsided but perfect.
"Can we go to the movies? Or maybe the arcade?" Her eyes lit up, and she swung her feet under the table, full of energy she hadn’t burned off yet. “I saw they’ve got that new zombie alien shooting game at the arcade. You’d be so good at it! Those magic fingers of yours.”
Naughty girl.
"Movies or arcade, huh?" I leaned back in my chair, watching her face light up. "Sounds like a fun day. What would you pick if you had to choose?"
"Both!" she said instantly, giggling behind her hand. "But if had to pick… arcade. Can we, Daddy? Pleeease?"
"How could I say no to that face?" I reached across the table and ruffled her hair, earning another giggle. The way she looked so carefree made my chest tighten. Moments like this were so precious—Maisy being fully in her Little mindset, no walls, no worries. I wanted to give her everything she asked for.
My phone buzzed on the counter. The vibration rattled loud against the wood, cutting through our bubble. Maisy tilted her head, curious, but stayed quiet while I got up to check it.
"Shit," I muttered when I saw Marcus's name pop up. A reminder slammed into me like a truck—I’d promised him I’d tag along for his tux fitting today. Completely forgot.
"Everything okay?" Maisy asked, her voice small. She was twirling her fork in the syrup puddle, her earlier excitement dimming a little.
"Yeah, just . . ." I scrubbed a hand over my face, trying to figure out how to explain without letting guilt creep in. "It’s Marcus. I have to meet him today, help him out with some wedding stuff. We’re getting fitted for tuxes. Forgot all about it.”
"Oh," she said, setting her fork down. Her shoulders dropped slightly, but she gave me a soft smile anyway. "That’s important. You should go."
"Maisy . . ." I knelt beside her, resting a hand on her knee. "I hate bailing on plans. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. Tonight, alright? We’ll do whatever you want."
She nodded, her smile turning genuine again. “Whatever I want?” Her smile was hot enough to melt steel.
“Within reason.”
“Booooring.”
I smiled right back."Thank you for understanding, baby girl." I kissed her forehead again, lingering just long enough to feel her relax against me.
"Go get all sexified," she teased softly, fingers brushing against mine before I stood.
“I’m not meant to look sexy, I’m meant to look smart.”
“You always look sexy.”
I leaned in, took her lips with mine, breathed her in. “You make me feel sexy,” I growled into her ear.
“Daddy don’t, you’re making me all excited.”
I sighed. “Fine. I’ll go. Wish I was hunting aliens at the arcade, though.”
***
T he bell over the tailor shop’s door gave a sharp ding as I stepped inside. The air was thick with the smell of fabric, starch, and time—musty but not unpleasant. Bolts of cloth lined the walls like soldiers at attention, each one vibrant under the warm glow of overhead lights. A sewing machine hummed steadily in the back room.
"Well, well." Marcus's voice pulled my attention to the raised platform near the fitting mirrors. He stood there, arms crossed over his broad chest, looking every bit the smug older brother. "You decided to show up."
"Sorry," I said, brushing a hand through my hair. "Lost track of time."
He stepped down from the platform, clapping a hand on my shoulder. "You’re here now. That’s what matters. Besides, you can make it up to me by telling me if this tux makes me look fat."
"Pretty sure Lucy would love you even if you showed up in cargo shorts and a tank top," I said, forcing a smirk.
"True," Marcus admitted, his smile turning softer, more private. "But she deserves better than that. Anyway, come on. Tell me what you think about the color scheme. Is navy too boring?"
I followed him back toward the platform, trying to focus on the bolts of fabric he pointed out, but my mind kept drifting. To Maisy. To her laugh. To how utterly right she felt pressed against me, like some puzzle piece I didn’t know I was missing. God help me, I was already in too deep.
"Earth to Brett?" Marcus waved a hand in front of my face. "You good, man?"
"Yeah," I lied, shaking myself out of it. "Navy’s solid. Classic."
"Classic," he repeated, giving me a side-eye. "That all you’ve got? You’re usually full of opinions when it comes to this stuff."
"Just tired," I deflected, leaning against one of the shelves. My fingers brushed against a bolt of fabric—not navy, but a soft pastel pink. It reminded me of the tiny pajamas she’d worn the other day, when we’d done our bratty role play and spanking. Damn it, focus.
"Uh-huh." Marcus stepped back onto the platform while the tailor adjusted the measuring tape around his chest. "You’ve smiling way more than normal. What’s going on?"
"Nothing," I said too quickly, folding my arms across my chest.
"Right." He didn’t sound convinced, but thankfully the tailor cut in, asking him to hold still.
"Wedding date coming up fast," I said, steering the conversation back to safer ground. Routine stuff. Easy stuff. "You nervous?"
"Not really," Marcus replied. "Lucy’s doing most of the planning, thank God. I just nod and say ‘looks great.’ I keep pushing to have some Little stuff at the wedding, but Lucy isn’t keen. I get it though. Think it’s better we keep that part of us to ourselves."
This, of course, made me think of Maisy.
“Yeah, people don’t really get it, huh?”
“Right. But I don’t ever want Lucy to feel ashamed of who she is. I want to celebrate that part of us.”
The tailor stepped out, leaving the hum of the sewing machine to fade into silence. Marcus shifted his weight on the platform, rolling his shoulders like standing still was suddenly unbearable. I leaned back against the wall, arms folded tight across my chest, trying to blend into the bolts of fabric behind me.
"Hey," Marcus said, tilting his head just enough to catch my eye. "Did you ever fix Maisy’s door?"
My stomach clenched, but I didn’t move. "Yeah," I said after a beat, keeping my tone flat. "Got it done."
I hadn’t of course. But I would.
"Good." He nodded, slow and deliberate, like he was filing that little piece of information away for later. "She’s lucky you’re handy like that."
"Mm-hmm," I grunted, staring at a scuffed spot on the hardwood floor.
"Small Falls’ knight in shining armor," he added, his voice light but probing. "Always coming to the rescue, huh?"
"Something like that." My jaw tightened. The room felt smaller, like the walls were creeping in.
Marcus turned slightly, one eyebrow lifting. "You been checking in on her? Lucy was asking how she’s settling in. She’s curious, you know, if Maisy’s . . . well, you know." His grin flickered, teasing but not unkind.
"Curious about what?" I asked, even though I already knew. My pulse thudded steady and heavy in my neck.
"A Little. Like we talked about the other day."
“You spoke to her about that?”
“She’s my fiancée, bro. I talk to her about everything. Don’t worry, though, she knows not to out Maisy.”
I wasn’t angry. I trusted Lucy—she was a good person.
“Fair. I have to remember that you don’t keep secrets from her.”
“After you mentioned it, Lucy said it makes sense about Maisy, considering how shy she is around new people. But hey—I wouldn’t know, obviously."
"Yeah well I wouldn’t know either," I said, too fast. My voice came out sharper than I intended. "And she’s settling in just fine."
"Okay, okay," Marcus said, holding his hands up. "Touchy subject. Got it."
I exhaled hard through my nose, running a hand over the back of my neck. The truth hovered on the edge of my tongue, heavy and sharp, begging to break free. But saying anything—especially here, especially now—felt like stepping onto thin ice.
"Everything okay with you?" Marcus asked, his tone softer now. The teasing had melted away, leaving something quieter, more serious in its place. He stepped down from the platform, closing the space between us.
"Yeah," I muttered, looking anywhere but at him. “I’m fine.”
"I’m serious, Brett." He laid a hand on my shoulder, grounding me whether I wanted it or not. "I love you, man. And I’m glad you’re here. It means a lot to me. So, if there’s something on your mind . . ." He trailed off, waiting.
I sighed, long and heavy, feeling the weight of it press down on my chest. Something inside me was trying to get out. I wanted to tell him. I trusted him. He was my brother. "Fine," I muttered, rubbing a hand across my jaw. "I feel like you know already. But . . . I’m seeing Maisy." My voice steadied, but inside, I was anything but calm. "It’s new. Delicate. Nobody knows. Especially not her dad."
"Jesus, Brett. He doesn’t know?" He ran a hand through his hair, pacing a few steps before turning back to me. "That’s . . . big. You realize how serious that is, right?"
"Of course, I realize." My jaw tightened, muscles locking up. Serious didn’t even begin to cover it. The Fire Chief wasn’t just my boss—he was my mentor, a man who’d shaped me as much as this town had. And now, I was treading straight into territory that could blow everything apart.
"Do you think her dad would be okay with it?" Marcus asked, his voice low but pointed. "Brett, this isn’t just dating some girl. This is the Chief’s daughter."
"Yeah, I know," I shot back, sharper than I meant to. I ran a hand through my hair, feeling the tension coil tighter in my gut. "But it’s not . . . I can’t walk away from this, Marcus. Not from her."
"Why not?" His brows knit together, confusion plain on his face. "What makes this different?"
"Everything," I said quietly, the word thick in my throat. I took a breath, grounding myself before looking him in the eye. "I care about her, Marcus. More than I’ve cared about anyone in a long time. Maybe ever. And I can’t change that. I wouldn’t even want to."
He was smiling. "Damn, Brett. For how crazy this situation is, it’s making me feel pretty happy."
Marcus leaned back against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. His measuring gaze pinned me in place. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, the old wooden floor creaking beneath my boots.
"Maisy’s father is . . . he’s old-fashioned." The words came out low, careful. I kept my voice steady, but saying it aloud brought a new weight to the thought. "And I’m not sure he’d handle this well."
"Old-fashioned how?" Marcus asked, his tone curious but sharp enough to cut through my hesitation. "Like 'wear a tie to Sunday dinner' old-fashioned? Or something worse?"
I hesitated, running my hand over the back of my neck. My fingers brushed against the collar of my shirt, warm and damp from the tension rolling off me. "He’s strict," I said finally. "Set in his ways. He’s got this idea of how things should be. And Maisy—" My throat tightened as her name left my lips. I paused, willing myself to tread carefully. "You’re right. She’s a Little."
Marcus tilted his head slightly, his brows drawing together. “I know I’ve been teasing about this stuff, bro, but I want you to know I support you. I want you to be happy, and I want Maisy to be happy, too.”
"I don’t want her Dad to make her feel bad." My hands curled into fists by my sides, nails pressing into my palms. "I can’t let that happen. She’s . . . fragile right now. Only just opening up about who she really is. And this thing between us—it’s good. It’s real. But it’s new, and we’ve got to handle it right."
"Fragile," Marcus repeated, his tone more thoughtful now. He rubbed his jaw, his stubbled fingers making a soft rasping sound. "I get wanting to protect her, Brett. I do. But you know secrets have a way of coming out whether you’re ready or not."
"Yeah, I know," I muttered, not bothering to hide the frustration lacing my voice.
"Then don’t wait too long," he said simply. "You keep this quiet too long, and someone at the station’s gonna slip. You know how people talk. You think the Chief hearing it secondhand’s gonna go over better?"
"Of course not," I snapped, though the edge in my tone wasn’t aimed at him. I knew he was right. Hell, I’d thought the same thing a hundred times already. "But I’ve gotta do this her way. On her timeline. Pushing her into anything she’s not ready for isn’t an option."
"Fair," Marcus said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. "But for your sake—and hers—don’t drag it out too much longer, man. Just remember. You’re a good man. Anyone would be proud to have you dating their daughter."
"Thank you," I said. And I meant it. It felt good to have my brother support me like this. I should have come to him sooner.
The door to the back room creaked open, and the tailor stepped in, his arms full of a tangle of pins and a spool of navy thread. The soft clatter of metal against his wooden work table broke the silence, sharp enough to snap me out of my own head.
"Alright, alright," the old man muttered, mostly to himself, as he shuffled toward Marcus. "Hold still now, son. Don’t wanna jab ya." He gestured for Marcus to stretch his arms out again.
Marcus smirked, but his eyes flicked toward me from the platform. I could see it—the unspoken itch to keep talking, to dig deeper. I shifted where I stood, leaning against the wall, arms crossed tight over my chest like I could physically hold the tension in place. My gut churned.
"How’s that feel?" the tailor asked, stepping back to squint at the drape of the fabric over Marcus’s shoulders.
"Fine," Marcus said, voice even. His gaze darted to me again, just long enough to make my jaw clench.
I focused on a rack of suits by the wall, trying to look disinterested, but it didn’t help. The air felt thicker now, like every word Marcus had said earlier was sticking to me, weighing me down. Secrets have a way of coming out. Yeah, no kidding.
***
I pushed the door open with a little more force than I meant to. The bell above it jangled sharp and tinny. Marcus followed, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. We were done.
"Alright, man," he said, stopping just short of the sidewalk. He squinted at me like he was trying to figure out if I’d snap or stay quiet. "I’m not gonna press you, but . . . don’t let this blow up, okay? We’re not kids anymore. Be careful."
"Yeah," I muttered, forcing a nod. My jaw tightened as I tried to match his half-smile with one of my own. It didn’t stick. "I got it."
"One more thing," he said, stepping off the curb toward his truck. His tone turned casual, but the kind of casual he used when he knew he was about to drop something heavy. "Dwight called me yesterday. Said he’s coming back for the wedding."
That stopped me cold. "What?"
"Yeah. Got in touch outta nowhere. Guess Lucy reached out to him. Wanted to make sure he knew." Marcus shrugged, but his eyes flicked over me, watching for the reaction I couldn’t swallow fast enough. "Figured you should know."
"Great," I said, too quick, too bitter. I crossed my arms, staring past him and into the street. Dwight. Our other brother.
Of course he’d come strolling back into town now, after years of radio silence, dragging all that messy history with him. "That’s just perfect."
"Hey," Marcus said, softer now. "Not saying it won’t be . . . awkward. But maybe it’s time."
"Time for what?" I snapped, meeting his gaze head-on. "To pretend like nothing happened? Like he didn’t—" I cut myself off, shaking my head. "Forget it."
"Your call," Marcus said evenly. He opened his truck door, pausing before climbing in. "But he’s still your brother, Brett. Just think about it."
"Yeah," I muttered, turning away. That word felt like all I had left to give him.
His truck rumbled to life behind me, and by the time I looked over my shoulder, he was pulling out, one hand raised in a lazy wave.
I turned my mind back to Maisy. Time to give her whatever she wanted.