Small Town Daddy (Small Falls #1)

Chapter 6

Marcus

S omething pulled me out of a wonderful dream of auburn hair and shy smiles. I lay there a moment, thoughts drifting to Lucy asleep down the hall, the way her eyes had sparkled over dinner as we talked late into the night. Something had sparked between us, a subtle connection that made my heart stir in a way it hadn't in ages. But I had to be careful. The last thing Lucy needed right now was complications, with her dad's passing and the daunting task of renovating his old Victorian. I pushed aside the covers and headed to the kitchen, deciding to focus on something productive instead.

Mixing batter and heating the griddle, the routine of making Grandma's blueberry pancakes helped center my thoughts. The aroma of fresh coffee filled the air as I hummed an old tune under my breath. I set the table just so, placing a single sunflower in a vase at the center, hoping the cheery bloom would lift Lucy's spirits.

Soft footsteps padded into the kitchen as I flipped the last golden pancake. Lucy stood in the doorway, wrapped in my oversize robe, auburn waves tumbling over her shoulders. Mr. Whiskers, her beloved stuffed bunny, was tucked under one arm. Our eyes met and a shy smile curved her lips, making my pulse quicken.

"Morning," she said softly. "Something smells amazing."

"Blueberry pancakes and fresh coffee," I announced, trying to ignore the flutter in my chest. "Hope you're hungry."

"Famished." She slid into a chair as I brought over two steaming plates.

We fell into easy conversation over breakfast, talking about everything from Small Falls' quaint charm to our favorite books. I couldn't help noticing how her eyes lit up when she spoke about literature, hands animating as she described her love of horror stories. Cute how passionate she got. I made a point not to mention our intimate moment from the night before though, wanting to keep things light and comfortable between us. For now.

As we cleared the last bites from our plates, I leaned back in my chair, considering. "I was thinking," I began carefully, "maybe we could head over to your dad's place today. I can fix those pipes, and you can tackle prepping for painting."

Lucy sipped her coffee, green eyes thoughtful. "Sounds like a good plan," she agreed after a moment. "There's definitely a lot to do."

I nodded, relieved she was on board. "Great. This way, we can cover more ground. And don't worry—I'll stay out of your hair. We'll be in different rooms, focused on our own tasks."

A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "You make it sound so strategic."

"Just trying to be efficient," I chuckled, gathering the dirty dishes.

“Don’t you need to open up the store?” she asked.

“I’m sure the town can survive without screws for a couple of days.”

“Screws, eh?” she said, a dirty look on her face.

“Nails, too.”

“Lots of nailing goes on in this town, I guess?” A look like butter wouldn’t melt.

“If my hardware sales are anything to go by.” I tried to move the chat back to less sexy ground.

“Let’s clean up, eh? Things get so dirty so fast.”

Okay, she was definitely flirting with me. Dangerous. Very dangerous.

As we moved around the kitchen cleaning up, I couldn't stop my gaze from drifting to Lucy. There was an air of innocent sweetness about her—the way she hugged Mr. Whiskers close, how her face glowed talking about life's simple joys. It stirred up this protective instinct deep inside me, one I hadn't felt in a long time.

Watching her, a thought began niggling at the back of my mind again. The way she carried herself, little quirks in her behavior . . . I couldn’t shake the idea she was a Little. Being a Daddy Dom myself, I recognized potential signs.

I briefly considered bringing it up as I rinsed suds off the frying pan, but decided against it. Too soon. Last thing I wanted was to make her uncomfortable when she was already dealing with so much. For now, I'd focus on being there for her, helping with the house. There'd be time to explore that connection later, if it was meant to be.

"Ready to get this show on the road?" I asked, drying my hands on a dishcloth.

Lucy looked up with a determined nod, hugging Mr. Whiskers a little tighter. "Let's do this."

Keys in hand, I followed her out the door, wondering what the day would bring. Whatever challenges that old house threw our way, we'd face them. Together.

***

The old Victorian loomed before us, its faded elegance still evident beneath peeling paint and overgrown shrubs. Lucy gazed up at it, emotions playing across her face - nostalgia, apprehension, resolve.

"Home sweet home," she murmured, voice soft with memory.

I offered what I hoped was a reassuring smile. "It's got great bones. Lotta character. We'll get 'er shining again in no time."

She glanced over, green eyes meeting mine, and I caught a glimmer of gratitude. "I hope so."

Grabbing my trusty toolbox from the truck bed, I quirked an eyebrow at her. "Ready to tackle this beast?"

Lucy squared her shoulders, determination flickering in her eyes. "Let's do it."

Inside, the house seemed to hold its breath, a museum of memories coated in dust. Even though I’d been round here yesterday, I’d been a little busy averting a potential flood to take much in. This morning though, I noticed it all. Motes danced in sunbeams slanting through lace-curtained windows. Family photos marched along the wall up the staircase - glimpses of happier times.

The aged wood smell hit me, undercut with something earthier. Damp. I frowned. Probably the pipes. Breaking the reverent hush, I cleared my throat.

"Alright, I'll head down and see what the plumbing gremlins cooked up. Maybe you could start upstairs in your old room?"

Lucy hesitated, fingers toying with the hem of her sweater. Her gaze flitted up the staircase and back. "Yeah . . . that's a good place to begin."

I watched, wishing I could smooth the furrow from her brow. "Hey. If ya need anything, gimme a holler, okay? I'm here for ya."

A ghost of a smile touched her lips. "Thanks, Marcus. I will."

As she made her way upstairs, I turned toward the basement door. The weight of the house seemed to press down, a mantle of memory and unspoken emotion. I drew a steadying breath.

The basement was a dim cavern, cooler than I expected. Damp too. The air felt thick, laced with something musty and metallic. Wrinkling my nose, I set my toolbox on the bottom step with a muffled thunk.

I squinted into the gloom, waiting for shapes to resolve. A single bare bulb dangled from the low ceiling, cocooned in cobwebs. It cast a sickly light over a chaotic tangle of pipes—copper, PVC, galvanized steel, all jumbled together like some plumber's fever dream.

"What a mess," I muttered. This was gonna be a challenge, no doubt. But hell, I'd faced worse. Plus, I was stubborn as a goat. Maybe even more stubborn.

Rolling my shoulders, I got down to business. The familiar rhythm of the work settled me some—cutting, measuring, fitting. Damn pipes fought me every step, corroded and pitted.

As I wrestled with a particularly ornery valve, my mind wandered to the girl upstairs. Lucy. She put up a brave front, but I could see the hurt in those green eyes, the way her fingers twisted in Mr. Whiskers' ratty fur like he was a lifeline.

I wondered what secrets these walls held for her, what ghosts lingered in the dusty rooms above. The urge to go to her, to wrap her in my arms and tell her it would be alright, caught me off guard. I gave myself a mental shake.

"Head in the game, Wilkins," I chided myself softly. "Girl's got enough on her plate without you mooning over her like some teenage rom-com reject."

I leaned into the work, letting the clank and hiss of the pipes drown out the whisper of inappropriate thoughts. Time slipped away, an hour or more, marked only by the slow ache building in my shoulders.

Straightening with a groan, I swiped my sleeve over my sweaty forehead. I needed a breather, maybe some water. Dropping the wrench into the toolbox, I headed for the stairs.

Halfway up, I froze. A sound drifted down from above, faint and muffled. I cocked my head, listening hard. There it was again - a soft, hiccuping sound. Almost like . . .

Crying. My heart twisted. Lucy.

I took the rest of the stairs two at a time, the need to get to her a sharp pull in my gut. The sound grew louder as I moved down the hall, each stifled sob like a punch to the chest.

Her door stood ajar, a slim rectangle of light spilling across the faded carpet. I raised my hand to knock.

"Lucy? Everything okay in there?"

No response, but the sobs didn't stop, either.

I made up my mind and pushed the door open, my heart pounding in my ears.

Lucy sat in the middle of the floor, her back against a half-empty trunk. Tears stained her cheeks, but it was the anguish in her eyes that stopped me dead.

She clutched a ragged stuffed bear to her chest, and a faded photograph lay discarded on the floor beside her.

"I'm sorry," she hiccuped, frantically swiping at her face with the back of her wrist. "I didn't mean for you to see me like this."

My chest constricted. I forced myself to move, edging cautiously into the room like I'd stumbled into a wild animal's den. "Hey, it's alright," I said, soft as I could manage. "Want to talk about it?"

She sniffled, her gaze dropping to the bear cradled in her lap. "I just . . . found some old things." Her voice caught on a sob. "It brought back memories."

I nodded, feeling like an ass. Of course cleaning the room would dredge up the past. I would've had to be made of stone not to recognize the pain in her eyes.

"Sometimes memories can be . . . overwhelming," I ventured, stopping myself just shy of the cliche 'a time machine'. "I'm . . . I'm here if you need a shoulder to cry on."

Her green eyes met mine. "Thank you," she whispered. "It . . . it means a lot."

I cleared my throat, suddenly uncomfortable with the vulnerability she'd just shared. "Your dad was a good man," I said, hoping to steer the conversation towards safer ground. “We weren’t close, but I also respected how hard he worked to be there for you.”

She nodded, her lower lip trembling. "He was," she sniffled. "We had our ups and downs, especially after Mom died, but he always . . . he always tried his best."

I nodded, remembering their arguments, the slammed doors and tear-stained cheeks. "Loss is hard. It's okay to feel overwhelmed."

She took a shuddering breath, and seemed to gather herself. "I guess I just . . . I didn't realize how much I'd buried," she said, her voice still hoarse. "I mean, I thought I was ready for this . . . but being back here . . ."

I hesitated, unsure if I should intrude further , but the words spilled out before I could stop them. "It's normal to not be normal after something like this. Take your time. There's no deadline on grief."

I reached out and touched her shoulder gently. "You don't have to go through this alone," I said softly. "I'm here if you need me."

Lucy looked up, her green eyes brimming with unshed tears. "Thank you," she whispered. "That means a lot."

An idea struck me. "Would it help to share some stories? Sometimes talking about the good times can ease the pain."

A flicker of warmth entered her eyes at that. "I'd like that."

So we sat there amidst the memories, trading tales from our pasts. Lucy spoke of lazy summer days spent skipping stones with her dad down at the Blueway River. Of how he used to read her favorite horror stories in funny voices, even though they terrified him. And the elaborate tea parties they'd host in the garden, with Mr. Whiskers always getting a place of honor.

I found myself opening up too, sharing stories of helping Grandpa at the hardware store as a kid. The pride in his eyes when I finally mastered the cash register. Our annual fishing trips up at Barrow's Lake.

Then talk turned to more recent wounds. "It was hard when Emily and I split," I admitted, surprising myself with the confession. "I felt like I'd lost a part of myself."

Lucy's gaze held such sympathy it almost undid me. "I'm sorry. That must have been difficult."

I shrugged, trying to play it off. "It was, but it also taught me a lot about who I am and what I need."

She cocked her head, curiosity sparking. "Like what?"

I took a deep breath, steadying myself. The room felt charged with unspoken tension. Lucy's green eyes searched my face, curiosity mingling with apprehension.

"Well," I began, my voice low, "I realized I need a certain dynamic in relationships. A connection where I can be nurturing and protective."

Lucy tilted her head slightly. "You mean like . . . a caregiver?"

"Yes." I swallowed hard. "I'm a Daddy Dom."

Her eyes widened, but there was no judgment—only intrigue. "Really?"

I nodded, heart pounding. "It's a part of me I hid for a long time. Then I told Emily and she told me she was a Little. But . . . she wasn’t. It’s why we separated in the end. I wasn’t right for her."

“I’m sorry. That must have been so hard.”

“It wasn’t the happiest time of my life,” I admitted with a grim smile.

Lucy went quiet, twisting a strand of auburn hair around her finger. When she spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper. "I think . . . I might be a Little."

Hope sparked in my chest. "I've had a feeling," I said gently. "The way you cherish Mr. Whiskers, how you find joy in simple things—it resonates with me."

She looked down, cheeks flushing. "I've never told anyone before. Well, not anyone except Marie. Not anyone I . . . liked.” She blushed bright red. “I was afraid they'd think I was weird."

"You're not weird," I assured her, fighting the urge to pull her close. "And you don't have to hide who you are."

A tentative smile spread across her face. "It's a relief to talk about it," she admitted. "I've always felt like something was missing."

Affection surged through me. God, she was beautiful when she smiled like that. "You deserve to be accepted for who you are," I said earnestly. "Everyone does."

Her eyes met mine, vulnerability and gratitude shining in their depths. "Thank you, Marcus."

I placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, electricity crackling at the touch. "Anytime."

After a moment, I stood up, extending my hand to help her. "What do you say we get back to work? You feeling any better?"

She accepted, her small hand warm in mine as she rose to her feet. "I'd like that. I'm ready."

I didn't let go right away, savoring the connection. The air between us felt thick with possibility.

A sharp knock at the door jolted us apart. I cleared my throat, trying to shake off the lingering warmth of Lucy's touch.

"I'll get it," I said, heading for the door.

Marie burst in before I could reach it, her arms laden with an enormous picnic basket. Her eyes widened when she saw me.

"Marcus? What are you doing here?" she asked, a sly grin spreading across her face.

I felt my cheeks heat up. "Just, uh, helping with some plumbing issues."

Marie waggled her eyebrows. "Well, I brought food, anyway. Enough for everyone!" She wrinkled her nose. “What’s that smell?”

“Don’t think too hard about it,” I said. “But, uh, it’s all fixed now. Like I said . . . pipes.”

We gathered around the kitchen table, the rich aroma of fresh-baked bread and fruit filling the air. I couldn't help sneaking glances at Lucy as we ate. She seemed more relaxed now, laughing at Marie's animated stories.

"You two seem to be making great progress," Marie observed, her eyes darting between us.

Lucy smiled, a hint of pink coloring her cheeks. "Couldn't have done it without Marcus."

"Teamwork makes the dream work," I quipped, sharing a conspiratorial smile with Lucy. Our eyes locked for a moment, and I felt that spark again.

After lunch, I headed to the basement to test the newly repaired pipes. Water flowed smoothly through the system, no leaks in sight. Relief washed over me – at least one thing was going right today.

I climbed the stairs, finding Lucy in the hallway. "Looks like the house is back in working order," I told her. "You should be all set to stay here tonight."

She hesitated, biting her lower lip in a way that made my heart skip. "Actually . . . if it's alright with you, I'd prefer to stay at your place a bit longer."

Warmth spread through my chest. "Of course," I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. "You're welcome as long as you need."

Her eyes met mine, gratitude and something deeper reflected there. "Thank you."

The air between us crackled with unspoken tension. I wanted to pull her close, to protect her from everything that had hurt her. But it was too soon. We'd only just begun to understand each other.

Instead, I offered her a gentle smile. "Ready to tackle the living room next?"

She nodded, determination replacing the vulnerability in her eyes. "Let's do it."

As we walked side by side down the hall, our hands brushed. Neither of us pulled away.