11. Milo
Milo
One week later and my heart is doing cartwheels as Connor and I step into Cycle Stop together.
“I’m so excited,” I say, my heart full of glee.
“Oh, don’t worry, I can tell!” Connor replies drolly, a glint in his eye…
The little bell above the door jingles, and Mr. Deeney looks up from behind the counter.
But his friendly smile falters the second he sees who’s standing next to me.
His bushy eyebrows pull together like two angry caterpillars, and his gaze narrows on Connor like he’s personally responsible for every missing socket wrench in the shop.
I squeeze Connor’s hand tighter. He gives me a small, reassuring squeeze back, but I can feel the tension in his big frame.
“Milo,” Mr. Deeney says, voice clipped. “Your bike’s ready. Though I have to say I’m surprised to see him with you.”
I feel my stubborn spark flare instantly.
I step forward, chin high, refusing to let anyone make Connor feel unwelcome.
“Mr. Deeney,” I say sweetly but firmly. “Connor has been nothing but kind and helpful to me. He rescued me when I crashed, fixed my bike enough to get me home, and has supported my business idea every step of the way. So if you have a problem with him being here with me, then you have a problem with me too.”
Deeney opens his mouth, then closes it again. He grumbles something under his breath about “young men not knowing what’s good for them” but eventually wheels my beautiful, freshly modified mountain bike out from the back.
My two wheel business bike looks amazing. I let out a happy squeal and throw my arms around Mr. Deeney in a quick hug, even though he’s still frowning.
“Thank you so much! It looks perfect.”
Connor steps forward and pays for the work without a word, ignoring the older man’s sour look. As we wheel the bike toward the door, Connor’s jaw is tight.
Once we’re outside on the sidewalk, he stops and looks down at me, something vulnerable in his dark eyes that I’ve rarely seen.
“That bothered me more than I expected,” Connor admits quietly.
“The way he looked at me. Like I’m still the town monster.
All I want is to… settle in a bit more. Be part of this place instead of just hiding in the woods.
Even if Deeney’s a long-game project, I’ll make him see I’m not some mountain asshole. ”
My heart swells so big I think it might burst. I reach up and cup his stubbled cheek, stroking my thumb over his jaw.
“I’m really proud of you,” I whisper. “And I’m going to help you with that long game. You’re not the monster they think you are, Connor. You’re my mountain Daddy.”
He leans down and kisses me softly, right there on the sidewalk in broad daylight. When he pulls back, there’s a small, almost shy smile on his lips.
We wheel my bike down the street to the specialist mechanic Connor recommended, a younger guy named Tyler who runs a custom workshop on the edge of town. The second we walk in, Tyler’s face lights up.
“Connor King! Haven’t seen you in forever, man.” Tyler wipes grease off his hands and offers one to Connor. “Heard you were helping this young man with his dream coffee-bike setup. Let’s see what we’ve got.”
I watch in delight as the two men immediately start talking shop: frames, weight distribution, mounting points for the coffee equipment and book racks, even ideas for a little solar panel setup so I can have a powered cooler on hot days.
Connor knows his stuff, and Tyler treats him with genuine respect.
No side-eye.
No rumors.
Just two guys geeking out over bikes and builds, and I’m all there for it.
By the time we leave the workshop, my bike is safely in Tyler’s hands and scheduled to go to his specialist friend in the city for the full custom conversion.
I’m practically floating.
As we walk back toward my apartment, I slip my hand into Connor’s again.
“You hungry?” I ask, looking up at him with my best hopeful smile. “I make a mean grilled cheese. And I’ve got tomato soup. Come up for lunch?”
Connor hesitates for half a second, then nods. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
* * *
My apartment is small but sunny, filled with soft blankets, fairy lights, and way too many cushions. Connor looks comically large sitting at my tiny kitchen table, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He watches me move around the kitchen with this quiet, warm look in his eyes that makes my tummy flutter.
Lunch is simple but perfect: gooey grilled cheese sandwiches with fresh basil from my windowsill plant, and mugs of creamy tomato soup.
We eat at the table, knees touching, talking easily about everything and nothing. He tells me more about his novel. I tell him about the final logo design I’ve been working on for Milo’s Wheels & Reads.
After we finish eating and clean up together, Connor leans against the counter and looks at me. There’s a new softness in his expression.
“You want to do some Little stuff?” Connor asks, voice low and careful. “I can be your Daddy. See how it fits. If you’d like that.”
My heart leaps so hard I actually bounce on my toes.
“Really?” I whisper, eyes wide.
“Really.”
I don’t even hesitate. I dash to my bedroom and come back with my old plastic tub of Barbie and Ken dolls, the ones I’ve had since I was little and never quite grew out of.
I spread a thick, fluffy rug on the living room floor and dump the dolls out in a colorful pile.
There are even a few Action Man dolls there too, much to Connor’s amusement and pleasure.
Connor lowers his big body onto the rug, looking a little self-conscious at first. His long legs are bent awkwardly, and he picks up a Ken doll like it might bite him.
I giggle and settle cross-legged opposite him, already slipping into that soft, floaty headspace I love so much.
“This one is BFF Kenny,” I explain, holding up my favorite doll in his sparkly blue trousers. “And this is Sir Ken. He’s very brave but sometimes grumpy.”
Connor’s mouth twitches. “Sounds familiar.”
We start playing. At first he’s tentative, moving the dolls stiffly, voice flat when he makes Sir Ken speak.
But I don’t rush Connor, I want him to find his way naturally.
I just chatter away in my Little voice, making up silly stories about the dolls going on adventures in the mountains, finding hidden lakes, and drinking magic coffee.
Slowly, Connor relaxes. He starts making Ken grumble in a deep voice that sounds suspiciously like his own. He even makes Sir Ken rescue BFF Kenny from a dangerous cookie monster, one of my stuffed animals I placed nearby. And the more Connor plays, the more natural it becomes.
I slip deeper into Little Space with every minute. My shoulders drop. My voice gets higher and softer.
I feel completely safe. Seen. Cherished.
At one point I crawl into Connor’s lap, still holding two dolls, and lean back against his broad chest with a happy sigh.
“Daddy?” I murmur, nuzzling into him.
“Yeah, baby boy?” His big arms wrap around me gently.
“Thank you for playing with me. I feel really Little and safe right now.”
Connor presses a kiss to the top of my head. “Good. That’s exactly what I want you to feel.” His voice is rough but warm. “You can be as little as you need to be with me, Milo. I’ve got you.”
We stay like that for a long time. Me curled in his lap on the rug, surrounded by scattered Barbies, the afternoon sun streaming through the windows. I play with his fingers while he occasionally makes one of the dolls say something silly just to hear me giggle.
For the first time in my life, I don’t feel silly or ashamed of this side of me. Connor doesn’t just tolerate it...
He’s playing with me.
My big, gruff, mountain Daddy is sitting on my living room floor playing dolls because it makes me happy.
I tilt my head back and look up at him, eyes misty with how full my heart feels.
“I think I’m falling for you, Connor King,” I whisper.
But Connor doesn’t answer with words. He just tightens his arms around me and kisses my forehead, long and slow.
And in that moment, surrounded by plastic dolls and fairy lights and the steady beat of his heart against my back, I know I’ve never felt more at home.
* * *
The afternoon melts into evening in the sweetest, coziest way possible.
We stay on the rug playing with my Barbies until my tummy starts rumbling.
Connor orders pizza, extra cheese and pepperoni, my favorite.
And even better, we eat it straight from the box on the couch while a feel-good movie plays on the TV.
I’m curled into his side wearing nothing but one of his big t-shirts and a pair of soft frog-green briefs with a white waistband, his arm heavy and protective around my shoulders.
But I can’t concentrate on the movie at all.
My mind keeps drifting to the way Connor played with me earlier. The way he let me be Little without any shame. The way his big hands moved the dolls so carefully. The safety I felt in his lap. Every time I shift, I feel the ache between my legs grow stronger.
I’m restless. Needy .
I tilt my head up and look at him. “Daddy?”
“ Hmm ?” His eyes are on the screen, but his fingers are stroking my arm.
“I can’t focus,” I whisper, biting my lip. “I need you to give me something to focus on.”
Connor’s gaze snaps down to me instantly.
That dark, hungry look I love so much floods his eyes. He doesn’t say a word. He just slides one big hand into my hair, tilts my head back, and claims my mouth in a deep, possessive kiss.
I melt instantly.
Connor’s tongue sweeps in, dominant and sure, tasting me like he owns every inch. I whimper into his mouth as he pulls me closer, shifting me until I’m straddling his lap. The movie keeps playing in the background, completely forgotten.
Connor kisses me harder, one hand gripping my hip while the other slides under the t-shirt to run over my pecs and stomach. His thumb brushes over my nipple and it’s sensitive and super-hot. I moan, rocking against the growing hardness I can feel through his jeans.